Arrows (6 page)

“I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

“Do you think I’m being stupid?”

Peyton gaped and smacked me with the
Inspire others
pillow. “I never think you’re stupid.”

We shared a small smile, two friends who had fallen in love with our guys on the same night. We were the friends who would lie as needed and sit next to each other on
Dream big
and
Be happy
. Why couldn’t Danny be more like Nick? I squinted.

“Do you think there’s a way Nick could coach Danny on how to be a better boyfriend?”

Peyton lit up. She loved talking about Nick. “Oh, Nick’s too much of a guy. Do you really think Danny would go for that? Boyfriend lessons?”

“I was joking.”

“Right.” Peyton stood and snapped her fingers. She dragged her feet into a few familiar dance moves, then circled around and grabbed both of my hands. “We need to get out of this funk. I know just the thing.”

“Hmm.”

She plugged her phone into the sound system. A song from our favorite movie,
Dirty Dancing,
began to play.

“Ha!” I grinned, shaking my head.

“Come on,” she urged.

I pretended to hate it but swung into the center of the room, mimicking Baby, the character from the movie with swingy hips. God, to be her, stuck on some ritzy vacation where the guy of her dreams sweeps her off her feet. Thanks to Juliette and her love of classic movies, we knew the scenes by heart.

Peyton laughed and tossed her hair just like Johnny Castle, the hot dancer guy, the love of Baby’s life. She dropped to her knees playing air guitar.

“What did I tell you?” she said. “No funk allowed. Now dance for me, you sexy thing.”

“Oh my God,” I protested.

We met in the center, just like in the movie, and made a horrible mess imitating the parts we remembered.

Juliette walked in. “Wow.” She clapped as we stopped. “I officially regret ever showing you girls that movie.” She was smiling.

“You’re proud we know all the parts,” I said. It felt good to mess around, like we were little kids again, best friends and dancer buds for life.

“We need to plan another Auntie Night soon,” Peyton said. Her tone implied that I needed one more than usual. Auntie Night was sacred, a ritual we’d started last year that included the three of us and, after she was born, Nell. Requirements: all the big blankets spread out in Juliette’s chill space, pillows, yoga pants, total comfort. We ate pepperoni pizza and watched classic movies and drank too much soda. We took turns snuggling Nell. We stayed up late.

Auntie Night did sound good.

“Why don’t we talk about Auntie Night after your dance pieces are in better shape?”

I already felt exhausted, but there was no point in dwelling on the fact. The sounds of the forest, a rhythmic crick and creak, drifted through the screens. I forced a stage smile.

“Here.” Juliette reached into her bag and held a photo toward me. “Look what I found. A little inspiration for you.”

“Oh my God, my bangs!” The image of me at age fourteen, beaming. The memories flooded back. No one in Chicago had expected a country girl from Lakefield to advance to the New York City finals. I took the photo gently and held it toward the light. Peyton came to see, too.

“You were good that day,” Juliette said. For some reason my stomach felt twisty and unsettled. She tapped the photo with a manicured nail. “This was the day I knew you were meant for big things.”

I could feel Peyton looking at me, could feel that she was thinking about New York, but I didn’t acknowledge it. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.” Three years since I’d earned a scholarship to American Ballet Theatre in New York. Two years since I came back to Lakefield after my year in the city, high on New York, high on ballet. I’d been so desperate to get back. My break wasn’t supposed to last long. Just enough time for Mom to save money so I could reenroll. Then I got the scholarship to go back. I’d just turned seventeen.

Then homecoming happened.

Juliette nodded slightly, a slow nod. A sad one. She remembered, too, and so did Peyton. We stood there, seeing it all in that photo, each of us remembering why I’d changed my mind about becoming a ballerina to focus on a modern dance career, which was better suited for my age. I had a baby. I had to heal. I wasn’t getting any younger.

“Put on your pointe shoes,” Juliette said. “For old times’ sake.”

A little thrill shot through me as I dug the pair of pink satin shoes from my bag. I tested the construction, which creaked in my hands, the satin frayed along the toe.

“I should order a few new pairs before the competition,” I said. I wasn’t practicing pointe nearly as much anymore, but I didn’t want to injure myself.

Juliette propped herself against the wall. I rose into position, testing the boxes beneath my toes. Hopefully they could last a little longer.

She pressed play on the music. The sultry sounds of Lana Del Rey moaned from the speakers, violins reverberating in long chords, the sandpaper trot of drums.

I closed my eyes and sank into a deep stretch.

The floor was cool to the touch, my legs across it. My breasts smashed against my kneecaps, a tiny choke rising in my throat at the idea of going back to New York. God, I’d loved it there.

I gasped to compose myself and stood.

The desire to perform was a force pulling the tips of my fingers and strengthening my feet. My toes began to feel hot as I rolled through my pointe shoes, slow movements first, followed by fast ones that spanned the length of the room as Lana’s voice murmured from the speakers.

I became completely lost in the moment, onstage, on display, and for the next hour my dance was all that mattered. My dance was me—a girl turning into a woman, a lifetime of work turning into something amazing. My dance—graceful, fluid, perfect, on point.

Day 2

The room Juliette had helped me rent was stuffy and dark. I stood, lifting the edge of the curtain that covered the window, a hint of stale smoke in its fibers.

A car drove by, the sedan hazy through the room’s old glass. I used to envy humans with their dark homes and ceilings, so different from the endless clouds of Mount Olympus.

I pushed the curtain aside, flooding the room with light, and dressed quickly in jeans and the T-shirt Juliette’s friend had lent me. The Nutty Pine Bar logo had a pine tree with crossed eyes and a mouth.

Yeah.

I left my apartment with the keys in my pocket and ran down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell I glanced up. I’d forgotten to lock my door, though it probably didn’t matter. Standing with my hand on the exit, the stairwell felt like the only thing protecting me from reality. There was a softness to the space—the narrow hall and twenty-nine evenly spaced steps. The passage felt symbolic. To reach the bottom of those stairs was me taking action. Me fixing the past.

The grocery store was two blocks away, across the railroad tracks. Five cars were parked in the lot, and I, Son of Eros, passed through the double doors with no codes to stop me, just another guy in a store that smelled like fried chicken and doughnuts.

Food. Soap. Deodorant. A black can of body spray described as spicy, masculine, and exciting, to paraphrase the label. I tossed it into the cart and paid for it all by sliding Aaryn Jones’s bank card into the machine, first the wrong way, so I had to fumble around and slide it again.

Card accepted.

“Have a nice day,” the cashier said. She was the kind of girl who looked obsessed with being different: early twenties, piercings everywhere, and spiked hair dyed two bright colors. She seemed sad, though, like she wasn’t getting the attention she wanted in life. I offered a smile and she smiled back, surprised almost, like she hadn’t expected me to do that.

I wished there was a way to tell her I did see her. That we weren’t so different, and that I knew what it was like to feel invisible. Knew the need to control something, even if it was just your hair color.

But remembering my purpose now on Earth, I walked out.

—

Lakefield was small. Most of the houses I ambled past on the way to the high school were run-down in some way, not terribly, but there were little things: grass that had grown too long, flower beds mixed with too many weeds, sidewalks that were cracked and uneven. The few homes whose owners obviously took pride in them were the ones that stood out.

The high school doors were locked. I pressed the white button next to the
Visitors must report to the main office
sign for three seconds. Cupped my hands to the glass. Groups of students filled the hallway. Somewhere inside, Karma and Danny were waiting for me.

I straightened when I spotted Karma. The buzz of the door seemed much louder than necessary.

I was in.

Karma and the other girls from Shining Waters were there, along with a few faces I didn’t recognize.

“Hey,” I said. The group fell silent. The girls switched between looking me over and looking at each other with silent questions. The scent of someone’s body spray, strawberry, maybe, was strong and sort of delicious.

“You keep showing up,” Karma said. She was smiling a little.

“Yeah, well, you can just call me Hermes,” I joked. None of the girls laughed.

“Who?” Peyton asked. “I thought you said your name was Aaryn.”

“Hermes. The god of transitions and boundaries? Uh, Greek god? Mount Olympus?” My face felt like it was on fire.

“You’re funny,” Monique said.

Karma wasn’t listening anyway. She glanced down one hall, then the next, obviously looking for someone. The backpack in her arms looked heavy.

“Juliette told us you’re all set up in your apartment,” Monique added. Her hair was down, not in yesterday’s tight bun, and hung in tight, shiny spirals. “Nice shirt.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“I’d love to see your place,” said one of the twins. Svetlana, I thought. It was a weird statement.

“You should probably check in at the office,” Peyton said. She seemed like the kind of girl who liked reminding people of things.

Danny rounded the corner.

He was with two buddies, big guys, all of them wearing Lakefield football jerseys. They walked like they owned the place, taking up the whole hall so anyone in their path had to veer out of the way.

The smile on Karma’s face was impossible to miss.

“Prodigy,” Danny called. He made a show of kissing her, though her backpack fell in the process and landed on her foot.

“Oh my God!” Peyton said. “Did that hurt? Watch what you’re doing. She can’t afford to get injured right now.”

“I’m fine, Peyton.” Her eyes darted between the two. “It didn’t even hurt.”

“Hi.” I edged into the group. “I’m Aaryn.”

Danny slid his hand off Karma’s ass and knuckle-bumped my open palm. “Hey, dude. Danny Bader, running back.” He didn’t bother introducing his friends.

“Cool. I’m applying for the coaching position.” I hesitated, mainly because it was a good idea and saying too much felt like I could ruin it. “Maybe we’ll work together.”

Danny scrunched up his nose. “There’s an open position?”

“As of this weekend,” I bluffed.

“Excuse me, but you forgot to check in.” A woman dressed head to toe in flowers stood behind me.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mrs. Bloom, we know him,” Monique said.

I stuck out my hand. “I’m Aaryn Jones. I’m here about the open athletic position.”

Her eyes widened behind flower-printed glasses, and the daisy dangles in her ears wobbled. “Open position? There’s no open position here. If we were hiring, I’d be the first to know.”

Crap. “Are you sure there isn’t a job opening in the athletic department?” I drew out my words. “I saw it online.” Hopefully Diorthosis hadn’t bailed. Everyone around me was staring like I was crazy.

Mrs. Bloom waved to a man down the hall, her cheeks turning pink. “Excuse me, Coach Walt? Could you spare a moment to chat with this young man?” A man around her age, early forties, stomped toward us like he was attempting to crush the floor. His T-shirt was tight, his arms pumping as if they would show off his biceps better that way.

“Hey, Coach,” Danny said. The two of them exchanged a knuckle bump, then Walt focused on me, arms crossed, and the buzzer went off for next period. Teens scattered down the hall. Danny left without saying goodbye to Karma. I couldn’t help staring as she stood alone with her gaze on his retreating back.

She turned as if she’d sensed me watching. “See you around,” she said. Her hair fell over one eye when she smiled.

“What can I do for you, young man?” Walt said.

I took his hand firmly. “Aaryn Jones.”

And he would be my ticket in.

Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Bloom had printed a copy of my résumé and Walt was going over the benefit plan.

“Looks like the gods have smiled on us,” Walt said, handing me some papers after reading over the résumé. “You have a very impressive background in athletics. All that’s left now is your background check.”

“What’s that?”

“Standard procedure. We can’t allow anyone to teach or coach without a background check. Fill this out and drop it off at the office. Then you’ll be set.”