One True Thing (9 page)

The sound of a lone, frantic violin fills the theater and I glance out into the audience in the split second before it’s time to start moving. I wish everyone had made it here in time to see this routine—moody and evocative, it could easily be on an episode of American Dance.

As the music gets louder, we spring into action, sliding across the stage as if pushed by an invisible wind, my splits are perfect thanks to years of flexibility training and my extensions are dynamic thanks to Madame. Fifteen years of dance lessons all come together in one moment so that each pose, each flex and each leap look effortless. I leap in midair and Courtney catches me by the back foot, pulling me into a split and then a spin as I stand up on one leg and arabesque over her crouching form. The violin reaches a crescendo and I can feel the audience along with us, clapping to the beat as we pound on the wooden stage with our feet in perfect synch before split-leaping together and landing with barely a sound. I can feel the other dancers exhale as the most difficult part of the routine is passed and we swirl toward the end with a final pull of the violin strings. The stage goes dark except for one lone spotlight just as the last note is cut off.

The full house bursts into applause as we get up from our positions and give a little wave before rushing offstage to the dressing rooms. “Wonderful job ladies,” the stage manager says, huge headphones covering his ears as he directs the next group to their places.

I’m already twisting my hair into a tight bun as we reach the chaotic dressing room. I find my place on the floor by the mirror and secure the knot with pins and a choking mist of hairspray before checking my makeup and swiping at a stray line of mascara that’s appeared under one eye.

“That was killer,” Nina says, from her spot two chairs away. “I caught the beginning of the piece from backstage. Who choreographed it?”

“A few of the girls got together and did it,” I said. To say that I did most of it would just sound obnoxious.

“Well, it was world-class. I can totally see that on American Dance.”

“Thanks,” I say, hoping she really means it and not just trying to make me feel better.

Nina straightens her skirt as I stand up and pull my black dress off in one motion, quickly changing into the short white skirt and sleeveless top that Madame has chosen for this traditional piece. I love contemporary ballet, but Madame insists that in order to break the rules beautifully, you first have to know them perfectly.

Nina sticks her head out of the dressing room. “We have like four more minutes,” she says to everyone who’s still here frantically trying to find the bits and pieces of their costumes.

I put the cotton pads on the sore spots on my foot and cram it into the toe-shoe, lacing it whip-fast up my right leg. I look around my corner of the dressing room, but I can’t find the other one.

“Shit!” I say, throwing things out of my bag and searching through the piles on the floor.

“What?” Nina asks.

“My other shoe is missing!”

“It can’t be,” she comes over to help me look, but after two frantic minutes, it’s nowhere.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I ask, panic threatening to take over. I should have a second pair in my bag, but I needed more money to replace the last pair that wore out.

“Here,” Nina says, holding out a left toe-shoe. “You can use this.”

I glance at it. “You have tiny feet. It’s too small.”

She shakes her head sadly. “You don’t have a choice.”

I hesitate for only a second before I realize she’s right. Grabbing the shoe, I pull it on my foot, stretching the back to get it over my heel. I know I’m going to regret this, but Nina’s right—it’s either wear the shoe or skip the number.

“Ladies!” Madame calls into the room, clapping her hands and shooing us out toward the stage. Two steps in my toes are killing me, but I try to push the pain to the back of my mind and just focus on the next four minutes and seventeen seconds.

And it works. Mostly. There’s a little wobble on one of my elements as I try to balance on the unfamiliar shoe and my fouette jete could have been smoother but I stay up, focusing on my grace and extension to try to cover for any screw ups. The audience applauds as we strike our ending poses and I exhale for the first time since leaving the dressing room.

The minute we walk offstage, my foot starts throbbing and I limp toward the dressing room as fast as I can.

“Jenna,” Madame reaches out with one hand to stop me. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, and turn to go.

“I do not think you are all the way fine,” she says, pointing to my left foot where a spot of blood is starting to show through the light pink satin.

“Perfection is pain,” I say, echoing her lessons and am rewarded with a tight smile.

“Ice, then heat,” she says as she focuses on the next group.

“Yes Madame.”

Somehow I make it to the dressing room and flop down in my corner. I’m afraid of what I’m going to see, but it’s not too bad—a raw and bleeding spot on my little toe and a blister on my heel.

“Ugh,” Nina says, peering over my shoulder.

“I think I owe you a new pair,” I say, looking at the stain on her shoe.

“Don’t worry about it, I have more. Is your foot okay?”

I shrug and rummage through my bag for the cotton pads and Band-Aids. “Nothing that a good soak won’t fix. Thanks for saving my ass.”

Nina smiles. “The least I can do.”

I know she feels responsible for the whole Ty situation, but it’s not her fault. “I’m going to clean up and then watch backstage.”

“I’m right behind you,” she says.

We watch the rest of the show from the wings and then head out to the lobby where I lose Nina in the crowd.

“Jenna!” Gramps yells, bending down to pick me up in a hug. He may be old, but he’s still a big guy, with a barrel chest and suspenders holding up his pants.

“Careful! You’ll throw your back out,” I say.

“You were amazing honey,” Mom says, kissing me on the cheek. Gram shuffles slowly over and gives my arm a squeeze. Because I don’t see them every day now, I’m always shocked at how much older they are than I remember.

“Thanks so much for coming,” I say. “When did you get here?”

“At the start of the ballet,” Mom says. “I’m so sorry we missed the first dance.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “There’ll be other shows.” I squeeze in close to them so that other people can get by.

“That colored girl dancing with you wasn’t half bad,” Gramps says way too loudly.

“Gramps!” I lean into him. “You can’t say that!”

“What? Colored?”

I roll my eyes. Oh my God, it’s like the Beverly Hillbillies came to town. “Yes!” I whisper. “It’s African American now.”

“Colored, black, African American…who can keep track? Anyway, she was good too.”

I glance around to make sure nobody else is paying attention. “Her name’s Nina. And yeah, she is.”

Just as I say that, Nina waves at me from across the room and I wave back. “Is she your friend?” Gram asks. “You get her on over here. You never bring your friends by anymore.”

“No, seriously. It’s fine.” Gramps has no filter when other people aren’t around—I can only imagine what he’d say to her face.

But Gram is already motioning her over. Nina looks behind her to see if Gram is pointing to somebody else, but Gram insists.

“Hang on,” I say, walking quickly over to Nina. “Listen, my mom and grandparents want to meet you. But my gramps he’s…old fashioned is maybe a nice way of putting it.”

Nina nods. “It’s cool. I’m sure I’ve heard worse.”

“He promised he’d be on his best behavior, but I never know what he’s going to say.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Nina plasters on her most professional smile as she walks over to meet the folks. Gramps gives her a tight smile while he’s shaking her hand and I’m pretty sure she’s one of the few, if not the only, African American people he’s ever touched like that. It’s not that Grand Junction is all that backwater. We have a Dairy Queen and a Sonic and the second grocery store in town opened last year. It’s just that the older people have a certain mindset about things and they’re usually not shy about sharing it.

“So where are you from dear?” Gram asks.

“Just outside of Austin.”

“Oh! I have a cousin that lives there. Elenore Frish—do you know her?”

“Gram, Austin is a really big place,” I say. I’m trying to find a graceful way to get Nina out of here when Mitch walks up.

“Here you are,” he says, putting one arm around her waist.

Gramps’ eyes would like to have bugged out of his head at this point, but to his credit, he just keeps his mouth shut and smiles. I wonder if anyone else notices the bulging veins in his neck.

“Everybody,” I say. “This is Mitch. Nina’s boyfriend.” There’s a round of ‘nice to meet you’s’ when I feel someone behind me.

“There you are. I lost…” he starts, but shuts up completely when I turn around. It feels like all the air’s gone out of the room—an entire week of avoiding Ty and now he’s standing right behind me, close enough to touch. He looks amazing—the green button-down shirt makes his eyes shine and he’s got a new haircut. I glance at Mitch and Nina, silently urging them to get him the hell out of here. But Mitch doesn’t get it.

“This is my friend Ty,” he says to the family.

I want the earth to open into a gigantic hole and swallow me up. There’s a beat where the name sinks in and then everyone is suddenly animated again. “Ty!” Mom says, leaning over to give him a hug. Gram and Gramps both shake his hand and Ty looks over at me in total confusion. If there’s a God, He would take me now. Blow a massive tornado through the Arts Center, an earthquake, an aneurysm—anything would be better than this.

“I was wondering where Jenna was hiding you! She’s not one to talk about her boyfriends, but I knew from the start you were different.” Mom says. “We’ve been asking Jen to bring you home for supper one weekend, but she never listens.”

I can’t look at him. This must be the most pathetic thing Ty’s ever witnessed. What can he possibly be thinking? “Uh…I don’t…” I begin, but Ty takes a step forward so that he’s standing next to me.

“Thanks so much,” he says, looking down at me with a smile. “I’ve been really busy with school and baseball.” He puts one arm awkwardly around my waist. “I haven’t been around as much as I’d like.”

I look up at him, but he’s busy smiling at the family. What the hell?

“Well, y’all must come to dinner with us!” Gram says. “Right now, before we head back.”

“That’s so nice, but we really can’t,” Nina says. “It was great to meet all of you.” Mitch gives a little wave as they walk back into the crowded lobby.

“Now I don’t want to hear no excuse from you,” Gram says, putting one hand on Ty’s arm.

He looks at me and I shake my head slightly, giving him an out. “I really should get back,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder. “There’s a game tomorrow…”

“Nonsense!” Gramps says. “We’ll have you back before the chickens head to bed. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I bite my lip and look over at Ty. I can’t believe this is happening. He must think I’m the biggest loser he’s ever seen.

I can almost see the decision cross his face as he nods slowly. “Thank you. I’d love to come.”

Chapter Nine (Ty)

“So how are we going to do this?” Jenna’s grandfather asks as we walk out of the front lobby of the Arts Center, her grandmother leaning on my arm for support. “We don’t have room for the both of you in our car.”

“I’ll drive,” Jenna says. Her jaw is clenched so tight that I can see the muscles in her face twitch.

“Okay,” her mom says. “We’re parked out that way, so we’ll meet you at the restaurant?”

“Sounds good.” We watch them walk toward the car and the minute they’re out of earshot, Jenna turns on me, her gorgeous brown eyes flashing with anger. “What in the hell are you doing?”

I’m not ready for this. I thought she’d be happy I covered for her. “Um…helping you out?”

“Don’t do me any favors! Now they think that you’re my boyfriend or something.”

I fold my arms across my chest—I have no idea why she’s mad at me now. “Seems like they already thought that.”

I see some of her resolve weakening. “That…that was a mistake. Gram kept hassling me about meeting a guy, so one day I just pulled a name out of thin air.”

“
My
name?” For some reason, I love that she gave them my name.

She rolls her eyes. “I was on the phone…she was bugging me about a boyfriend and I saw your bike…”

“So this had nothing to do with me?” I say.

“No. It was all before…” Jenna waves her hand in the air, but we both know what she means. Before I touched her in the most intimate places. Before I felt her writhe and shudder under my hand. Before she tasted the salt on my skin. Before I promised a lot more than I could deliver.