Passion and Pain (Dancers and Divas)

Copyright © Kathy Petrakis 2012

Antartis
Publishers

The right of Kathy Petrakis to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead,
is purely coincidental.

To my parents for loving me unconditional
ly

A world without love is not a world worth living in.

To my friend Anna Cunningham

For her incredible patience and generosity
.

This would not have happened without your
honest feedback and encouragement.

I am truly grateful.

To my friends Karen Diamond and Hamilton Hay

Who gave up their time so freely to review my initial
book
,

give
me feedback and encourage me.

To my editor Tanya
Egan Gibson

Who
pushed my boundaries,
even when I
was
resist
ant

To my friend Marissa Joseph

For her generosity in assisting me with my promotions

To all my family, friends, writing colleagues and acquaintances

who
inspired, encouraged
and supported me on this journey.

I am truly grateful.

Prologue

On a mild Friday afternoon in October
,
twelve
-
year
-
old Elena Martinez smiled as she walked across Harlem on her way to her dance class.  She
’d come
straight from school
,
still dressed in her favorite outfit
-
ripped jeans, a loose red top and denim jacket, but made sure she had a change of clothes in her backpack. At four in the afternoon, the crowds
swelled
as she walked down
Broadway
from
West
116
th
. Not wanting to be late, she tried to keep up her pace as she dodged past adults and children alike, but
was
losing the battle
.
Crossing West
114
th
, she looked towards Riverside, wondering if it would be worth the extra blocks to avoid the clumps of peop
le traffic.

BAM! Out of nowhere, a bicycle crashed into her
from the left
, sending
her and the rider
sprawling over the sidewalk, limbs in one direction, her bag in another.

“Hey! What’s with the lunatic cycling?” she yelled, as she rose slowly and examined herself for any damage. Satisfied that everything was still intact, she turned to see a small boy lying helplessly beneath his bicycle, speechless.  Before she
had a chance to help him, three pre-teen boys in private school uniforms came running around the corner,
scowls printed
on their
flushed
faces. She moved to the middle of the sidewalk, crossed her arms and glared at them defiantly.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah
—
we’re after him,” the taller boy in the middle declared, gesturing to the heap on the sidewalk.

“Well, he’s with me,” she said, taking advantage of her height to peer down at the boys.

“Oh yeah?” he
replied, attempting to imitate her stance
. T
he other two boys follow
ed
suit.

“Yeah!”
Elena said as she stepped closer and ran her finger through her studded belt, challenging
the
boy
s
with her stare, one by one. 

He hesitated. “We don’t fight girls. We’ll come back for him later.”

“You do that,” she said. “But remember
,
I know what you look like.” She stepped in closer, seeing their thin facial hair moving with her breath. The boys
’ shoulders slumped in unison as they walked backwards
slowly
down the street
, gesturing to her,
before turning and fleeing round the corner

Elena turned back
to
the cyclist, who had finally unraveled himself
and was now staring at her with his mouth open.
He was a small boy,
the top of
his
head
barely reaching her chin. His dark, unruly hair hung in curls, partially covering large dark blue eyes.

“Thanks!” he said.

“I did it for my own protection. I didn’t really want to be run over by you every time I come here.” She sighed as she picked up her backpack and started walking. He held onto his bike and walked beside her.

“Is there anything else you want?” she asked, exasperated. Last thing she needed was some kid clinging to her.

“I know you,” he said, a wide
impudent
grin on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“I see you walking past my place every Friday afternoon. You do classes at the Youth Center, right?

Elena stopped to look at him. Cute as the kid looked, this was starting to feel creepy.

“Maybe,” she said.

He looked at her confused.

“Yeah, OK,” she admitted.
“
My mom’s friend works there so I can go to some of the classes for free, even though I don’t live around here.”

“I go there
,
too.  I
take
acting classes there.”

Elena relaxed. “I would love to do some acting.”
She turned to him abruptly. “How old are you anyway?”

“
T
hirteen.
S
eventh
grade.”

“Little small for seventh grade aren’t you?”

“Small in size, large on charm.”

“Yeah, right.”

Jogging to keep up with her
,
he continued, “You know, I figured that since we happen to be going to the same place at the same time, we could walk together.”

Elena stopped again, and leaned forward, her hands on her knees. “Maybe I like walking on my own.”

His blue eyes widened. Elena wanted to laugh. You’d have thought she
’d
told him she had landed on the moon. She left him gasping and continued on her way.

He recovered quickly, catching up with her. “I could stay at a close distance beside you so it would look like we were walking together
,
but actually we would just be walking
near
each other. Then you could still think you’re on your own and I can think I’m walking with you. See? Everybody wins.” Panting from the pace, he grinned broadly.

“Why do you do classes there anyway?” she said.

He made an exaggerated wave of his hand and said in a dramatic voice, “I
’
m the next big movie star.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else in the world
.
”

“Plus I want to get into Montacrue Performing Arts School.”

“
Hmmm.
I heard it’s great. A bit out of my league though. Aren’t there kids in your acting class you’d rather walk with?
Boys maybe?”

“None that live near me.
Besides, I thought maybe
we
could be friends.”  He looked up at her with those sad blue eyes and Elena stopped in her tracks, disarmed.

“You’re cool. I
…
I get a good vibe from you.” Those eyes pleaded with her and then looked down at his shuffling feet. Elena was speechless.

Abruptly, he looked back up and added, “Plus
,
those boys would stop picking on me.”  He glanced at her sideways, a slow grin forming. “You’re pretty scary.”

“Ha!” Elena said as she snapped out of his spell, silently berating herself for being so gullible. “So you don’t want to be friends, you want a bodyguard?”

“You don’t have to put it
that
way. Besides, I’m a cool guy.”  Elena had to shake her head in disbelief. The little man had attitude. Who would have thought?

“So why aren’t
you
scared of me?”

“If you wanted me
fried,
you would have left me to those prep boys! Plus, you
dance at a
Youth Center, how bad can you be?”

One part of her wanted to cuff him across the head and the other wanted to praise him for his
spunk.

She sighed.
“Fine.
This is the deal. I come past your place and we walk together. But you are not going to give me a headache by constantly rehearsing your drama roles. I’m happy to wait until you are actually the next big thing, OK?”

He nodded enthusiastically.
“Deal!
Pleasure doing business with you.”
He offered his hand to shake on the agreement and exploded into the biggest,
smug
grin ever. Elena slapped his hand away and rolled her eyes to stop herself smiling.

“I’m Sebastien Duval, by the way. Yes, it’s French like my dad. Most people call me Seb.”

“I’m—”

“Elena Martinez. I know.”

“Colombian like my mother,” she said, mimicking his introduction. She frowned as she considered his comment. “You know a lot for someone who doesn’t know me. Where I walk, when, what my name is. Tell me what classes I
take
and I
’l
l be really freaked.”

“Hey, I’m not a stalker,” he said, placing his hand on his chest and raising his eyes upward. “I’m just good at reading people.” He whipped his head around to her and acted as if he was appraising her, one finger tapping his lip.

“If I had to guess, I would say you do dance classes from how fast you’re walking, and
you’re
probably a natural actress as well
-
you project your emotions quite strongly
.
“
He
trailed his tongue over his teeth in satisfaction.

She merely grunted an acknowledgement, uncertain whether she should be flattered or insulted.

And yet what could she say? Annoying as he was, the kid had attitude.  It was hard not to like him.

One

Two years later, Elena looked at the two bags resting on her single bed. The first one was a light blue
duffle
bag.
She checked
the contents
against her list
—
tights, sports top, loose shirt, shoes, towel, spare underwear, toiletries. Check. She zipped up the bag and moved to the black backpack.
Folder with blank paper, history textbook, English book, pens, diary.
She tried to unfold the creases in the used history tex
t
book but gave up quickly. She zipped it up, stepped back and looked at the bags on her bed. She would be carrying this load every day. She didn’t care. It was worth it.