Dream Chaser (14 page)

“Hey.” I got in her path to stop her.

She glared at me with a prissy expression.

“I was wondering if we could talk at lunch?”

Jilly turned her head and walked past. Apparently she wasn’t done giving me the silent treatment. Tough! I caught up with her.

“Listen, I know you’re still mad at me, but come on. You can’t stay mad forever.”

“
Wanna
bet.” She didn’t even look at me, just kept walking fast.

“Okay, so you need more time. I get it, but I wanted to say congrats on
Regionals
. That’s so awesome! I wish I could have been there to see it.”

She slowed to a stop.

“Really? You would have been there if you hadn’t quit! Give me a
flippin
’ break. You didn’t want to be there. You wanted to hang out with your new dance friends.”

“That’s not true. You’re my best friend.” I fixed her with a stubborn stare. She knew it was true but obviously wasn’t ready to let it go.

“Oh, I heard you got the lead. It must be nice to get everything you want all the time.”

“That is not true and you know it. Now, come on Jilly, spend lunch with me.” I pleaded and was pretty sure I cracked through her tough girl façade.

“I can’t do lunch. Everyone in cheer is still pissed at you. And honestly, so am I. I don’t think they want to see you.” Jilly glared at me and then seemed to soften a bit. “I guess I could get together right after cheer practice,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I can’t. I have rehearsal.” I hated to point it out, but that was my new reality.

“Of course you do,” she said in a snotty way. “After you’re done I’ll be at work, so come by there.”

“I can’t.” I cringed inside. “I have voice lessons.”

Jilly huffed and crossed her arms. “Fine. Tomorrow night then.”

I hesitated to answer. I didn’t want to make things worse. “Tomorrow night rehearsals go late.”

Jilly’s face got all pinched up, and I knew this wasn’t going to work. “Wednesday?” she asked, irritated.

I bit my lip. “Rehearsal and voice again.” I couldn’t believe how hard it was to find a time we were both free. Dream Chaser rehearsal was sucking my life dry and with her cheer and work schedules I now saw it wouldn’t work.

“You know what? Never mind.” She brushed past.

I didn’t bother to follow. What was the point? I didn’t have time to hang out with Jilly or anyone else for that matter. I wondered if she’d be willing to see me when the show ended.

*
  
*
  
*

Rehearsal that night was all about lifts. Okay, not really, but it felt that way. There was this contemporary number, kind of lyrical. It was the “falling in love” scene.
With Eli.
Who I knew still sort of hated me. Maybe hate is too strong. But he doesn’t like me. At all!

So we learned this beautiful lyrical dance where Lauren and Zach fall in love. It’s very graceful and heaven-like, except it didn’t feel like heaven. Nope, much more like hell.
My own private living hell.

Tyson stood with us, describing each step in detail. “Good, now after the
chassé
,
Willow turn out, do a
gran
jeté
, and as you leap, take his left hand. Eli, put your right hand on her hip and extend it lifting her up over your head.” The idea of leaping into Eli’s arms posed a couple of problems.

My first problem was Eli. I’m sure the last thing he wanted right now was to
touch
me, let alone lift me. He still avoided speaking to me at all costs, unless we were learning a dance together.

My next problem, also Eli.
I know we used to do this stuff all the time when we were kids, but now he’s older and taller and, I have to admit, smells good. Maybe not too good now, after an hour of rehearsal, but earlier when we stood close, I noticed he smelled like shampoo or shaving cream or something. Back when we used to dance together, he didn’t shave. Back then he smelled like a kid who drank a lot of Sunny D, not a guy who showered daily and wore deodorant.

My final problem wasn’t Eli, it was
me
. This wasn’t cheer, and I knew Eli wasn’t going to launch me in the air, but still, terror overwhelmed me at the mere thought of being aloft. What if he couldn’t lift me, what if he tripped and dropped me? I could envision a neck brace in my future. None of this had bothered me during auditions, when we did those two basic lifts, but that happened so fast I didn’t really have time to think about it.
But now?
Not so much.

Tyson walked through the moves and explained how it would work.

“Willow, once Eli has you up, put your arms in high third and scissor your legs open. Eli, you’re going to move stage left then rotate her and release her by rolling her forward to the floor.”

The three of us marked the moves. I reached over our heads for Eli’s left hand while he crouched down a bit with his hand on my hip. Then I was supposed to jump, and he was supposed to lift me over his head! One handed!

Like
that
was going to happen.

Tyson corrected our hand placements and the angle of my body. “Good. Now
Willow
, for practice sake, jump as high as you can. Eli, see how you’ll need to get under her right away to get the right angle. Push with your legs as well as your arms.”

Eli stood behind me, just inches away. He held my hand firmly. His other hand rested on my hip. His long fingers curled around to my butt.

Why did I eat two slices of pizza today plus fries? I never ate that much at lunch, but today I figured I needed the energy to get through all my rehearsals. Bad idea.

Eli’s eyes focused in serious concentration. “Ready?”

“On three,” I said. So standing in place with no space to step or run into it, I counted. “One, two, three.” I gripped his hand and did the best standing high jump I could despite being at a sideways angle.

Eli bent at the knees and tried to get under me. Tyson moved in to support Eli, but I didn’t have enough momentum and Eli had the wrong hand placement, so partway up, I started tumbling down.
Into Eli’s unwilling arms.

“
Umph
.”

With one hip against his chest and my head dangling near his knees like a monkey, I caught the safety mat with my hands. I think Tyson had an arm around my waist, and I kneed both of them with my flailing legs. It’s horrifying to have some famous choreographer have to catch your ass, especially when it’s in the most unflattering position, and you’re wearing sweaty dance clothes. But I’m not one to shy away from a challenge, so I sucked it up and tried to erase the image from my brain for all eternity. Hopefully Tyson was gay after all. It somehow seemed less embarrassing.

“Good try,” Tyson said.

Eli shook his head and looked away with a sigh.

I felt like a cow.

“Each time you try, you’ll get a better feel. Let’s try it again,” Tyson encouraged. “Be sure to hold your whole body tight. It will help Eli lift and balance you.”

So we got back in position and tried again. This time I jumped crooked, and Eli had to step backward to keep me from going over his back. We fell onto the mat with me on top. I think I damaged Eli’s big fat inflated ego as well as his manhood. A couple more tries ended with me landing all helter
skelter
, him grabbing my boob a couple times, and my legs in awkward places like around his neck.

“Tyson, I’m too heavy. He can’t lift me. Maybe if I ran into it,” I offered, out of breath and trying to find a way to make it work. I wasn’t overweight, but he was a lean dancer, not a weight lifter like the cheer guys.

“If you jumped higher and didn’t make me do all the work, it would go a lot better,” Eli blazed and wiped off his sweaty brow.

“Hello, I’m a cheerleader.
Nobody
jumps higher than I do.”

“
Was
a
cheerleader.
You quit. Remember?” Eli said with a snide look.

Tyson rubbed his stubbly chin, deep in thought. “All right, I think I know what the problem is.”

I sat on the mat all slimy with sweat; Eli didn’t look any better. His hair stuck out all screwy from my missed leaps.

“Lifts are all about trust. And for whatever reason, neither one of you trusts that the other can do it. You just need a little confidence in each other.” Tyson reached out a hand to each of us and pulled us to our feet.

“Do you trust me?” he looked directly at me.

“Yeah,” I hesitated, wondering what Tyson was getting at. Why wasn’t Eli included in this?

“Do you think I could do this lift?”

“Okay, let’s go. You and me, right now.” His eyes glint in challenge.

Holy crap.
I thought I’d have kittens right then and there.

“No way!” It was one thing to screw it up with Eli, but with the director
?!
Uh huh.

“Why not?” He laughed.

Eli grinned. A first since we’d been thrown together. Of course, he didn’t believe I could do it. Neither did I.

“What if I hurt you?” I certainly didn’t want to damage Tyson’s man parts. Or what if it got out that even the great Tyson Scott couldn’t lift me? Oh my God!

“You’re not going to hurt me. And even if you did, I’ll recover. I’ve been taken down by far better than you. So what’s the matter? You scared?” He raised one eyebrow slowly in challenge.

Shit
. I couldn’t believe this: Tyson Scott lifting me!

Resigned, I stepped next to
him,
a sheen of perspiration covered my hands and face.

“Want me to spot?” Eli offered, having way too much fun at my expense.

“No, I’ve got it.” Tyson reached his left hand over to me. “Ready?”

“I guess.” I blew out a breath and concentrated.
Don’t screw up. Don’t screw up
.

“One. Two. Three,” Tyson counted off.

I jumped.

And, like magic, rose high above his head. With Tyson’s hand planted solidly on my hip, he moved across the stage with me floating above in perfect position. He did the choreographed turn then twirled me to the floor as if we’d done it a million times. I stood breathless, shocked and not feeling at all like a cow.

“Okay, you saw how easy that is, and now you know how it should feel and where to put your weight. Eli, now do you believe she can do it?”

“Yeah.”

Hard to argue.

“Good, now come here. You’re going to prove to
Willow
that you can lift her.”

Who’s in the hot seat now? I pointed at Eli and laughed.

“What?” he walked over. Confused.

“You said you believe Willow can do this. Now she needs to believe you can. So take your shirt off.”

I bit back my laughter.

“Why?” Eli looked super uncomfortable.

“You need to prove you have the strength to lift her.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Dude, lose the shirt.” Tyson commanded.

Eli shook his head in annoyance then reached back and pulled his grey t-shirt over his head and down his arms. He tossed it to the floor.

Yowza
! No more laughing from me. Eli’s sweats hung low on his hips. His flat stomach had that
washboardie
, six-pack thing going.
Who knew?

“Take a close look,” Tyson said to me. “See those arms? Eli flex your arms for her.”

“Aw come on man, this is humiliating.” He shook his head.

“Show the lady your guns.” Tyson tried not to laugh, but I knew he wanted to.

Eli rolled his eyes, but raised his arm and flexed. Whoa! A huge bicep appeared. Where’d that come from? Eli never had muscles before, but then again it had been a while since I had looked. I had no idea he’d been hiding all that under his t-shirts.

“Willow, come here and feel his arm.”

“No, it’s okay, I can see from here.”

Tyson gave me his
“I’m the director, so do what I say
,” stare. Eli’s face turned pink. Seeing how uncomfortable it made him made it all worth it. So I stepped up and felt his arm. Rock solid, strong, steady. Who was he? Where was the boy I used to dance with and dare to play Ding Dong Ditch?

“Do his arms feel strong enough to lift you?” Tyson asked.

Speechless, I nodded.

“Look at his chest and shoulders too. Those are the muscles that are going to lift you and lead you around this stage for every beat of every song.”