Page 133 of Friends with Benefits

Does Caro deserve thesnapin Evie’s voice?

Yes.

Caro pops her gum. “’Kay.”

“I’ve got it.”

Evie once lived for these last four weeks of summer. Now? It’s going to be unbearable teaching with a fucked-up ankle, with no future in dance, withCaro. Not Theo. He took some internship in New York. Subletted an apartment somewhere. Since spring break (or, as Imogen calls it, the Topher Incident), their communication has been extra exclamation points. Excessive apologies for delayed responses. Super off. Neither addressed it. Both kept showing up forSurvivorWednesday, and the texts in between became sparser and sparser, but it was fine. Evie was certain dance camp and Afters and time together in real life would be a reset. She never considered that he wouldn’t come home.

It’s fine.

They’re fine.

“Morning, girls!”

Miss Stella waltzes into the studio carrying coffees forherself and Caro and a chai for Evie. Stella Hoffman is still as gorgeous and graceful as she was when Evie became her student over a decade ago; her only sign of aging is the stripe of gray in her platinum-blond ponytail. Evie was once obsessed with Miss Stella’s hair, her nails, her lipstick. Now? She can acknowledge that her slight fixation on her dance teacher in elementary school was so baby gay.

It quickly faded.

Her crush.

Evie became a dancer and didn’t have time for crushes.

Miss Stella’s eyes shimmer when they meet hers. “It’s good to see you in the studio again.”

Evie beams. “It’s better tobehere.”

“I missed it, too,” Caro adds, as if she misses it in the same way.

Caro chose not to dance.

Evie had dance taken from her.

She ignores the comment as she ties her tap shoes, then pops two Tylenol as tiny dancers in tights and tutus filter into the studio in friendship clusters, all between the ages of six and ten. They greet Evie and Caro with enthusiasm, wrapping their arms around their waists.I missed you, Miss Evie!Sophia Rose, one of her former students, exclaims with her cheek pressed against her torso. Evie leads warm-ups while Caro sets up the arts and crafts station, then teaches the first thirty-two counts of choreography to a routine that the dancers will perform for their parents at the end of the summer. Attempts to mask the pain that spikes her heart rate whenever she overextends her bad ankle. Fails to hide the fatigue that builds over the course of the morning session. Dance camp is more babysitting than dance, so she thought she could handle it and is unprepared for the physical toll.

By lunch, she’s ready to nap.

For the rest of the week.

Miss Stella notices.

“Ev.”

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrow. “Go home. Caro and I can handle the afternoon session.”

Evie wants to scream.

She is too tired to scream.

Stella adjusts her schedule without fuss. Slashes her hours from full-time to part-time. Morning sessions Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Afternoon sessions Tuesday and Thursday. Doesn’t slash her pay and Evie’s stomach flips, embarrassed because a naïve part of her believed if she just rehabbed her ankle, if she just managed her Crohn’s symptoms into remission… maybe,maybeshe wouldn’t have to let go of this.

Dance.

She wipes her tearstained cheeks in the bathroom after her last session of the week concludes.

Feels so stupid.

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