Page 40 of The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

I wasn’t sure when this new development had started. What I did know was that it needed to stop. Immediately. If not for my own sanity, then for the sake of our partnership. Colton was my coach. He was helping me with my list, and that was it.

I needed to remember that for next time.

Turns out, the next few days were Colton-free—which should’ve made me happy.

But it didn’t.

Confusion, irritation and a tiny bit of disappointment were what I felt most, but luckily, my mind was on other things at the moment.

It was midnight on Friday, and I was in the middle of choreographing a new dance. My room had a full-length mirror propped against one wall which allowed me to see the lines and shapes I created, my iPod playing music on the nightstand. I got some of my best ideas at night. My mind would start going right as I tried to fall asleep, and I would have to get up and get it all out before I lost it. This was one of those nights when creativity struck.

And thank goodness for that.

Not only did it take my mind off Colton, but with another round coming up forDancer’s Edge, I knew I had to start choreography if I wanted to finish and make the deadline in a few weeks. The hard part wasn’t coming up with ideas either. It was coming up withgood ideas.

I had journal after journal filled with concepts, and I never knew which ones were creative, unique and difficult enough. Which to pursue and which to leave behind. I mean, when did you know your work was good? Was it when someone else said so? Or did it only matter what you thought? But wasn’t the goal of creating something to share it with others and have an impact?

Well, that was my goal anyway.

Ironically, the scariest part of sharing my work…was sharing my work. It was taking that first step. I knew only too well that I couldn’t control how people reacted to the things I created. And I was interested in everything: drawing, photography, dance, poetry, even video games. I’d only ever managed to share a few of my gaming ideas and my dances—but even if I was completely in love with a piece, theDancer’s Edgepeople still might hate it.

I looked to the memory board across from my bed. My rejections letters, all seven of them, were there, printed out and placed where I could see them every day.Too sweet. No edge. Lacks life experience.I was reminded every day of what I needed to work on. But it wasn’t as masochistic as it sounds. The rejections also meant that I’d given it a shot, that I was reaching for my dreams.

And I couldn’t regret that.

The new dance I was working on was a mix of styles. Ballroom-meets-Contemporary with a bit of theater thrown in for good measure. And it definitely wasn’t “nice.” One of the things I always tried to do was tell a story. A wise woman once said: A dance should tell the story of the music. My aunt had said those words to me, and I’d never forgotten. I had no idea if this particular idea would work, but I’d found a song that I hadn’t been able to get out of my head. It made me think of light and dark, softness and intensity, a push and pull between two opposites. It was sensual and aggressive…and there was so muchpassion.

In my head, I pictured a woman being torn by her feelings for two men.

Ooh yes, I thought, moving through the song as the idea bloomed fully to life.

One woman.

Two men.

Their fierce battle to win her affections.

Neither of them knowing that she’s the one in control the whole time.

Now, if I could tell that story through movements, I felt like I might really have something.

I re-started the song, sat on my bed to take some more notes—but when I opened the journal, my list fell out. The lopsided daisy teased me. I frowned, tried to concentrate harder on my choreo, but it was no use.

Colton had flaked out on me. He’d avoided me all day at school Wednesday and again on Thursday. When Friday rolled around, I’d finally caught up to him, and he said he was working at the garage again tonight—I hadn’t even known he had a job, but apparently, he’d been doing it for three months. He was supposed to call when he was done so we could work on the list.

But guess what?

He didn’t call.

Surprise, surprise.

Guy promises to call and doesn’t. Girl waits and waits and waits. Girl finally gives up and feels disappointed even though she should’ve never put her faith in Guy in the first place. Tale as old as time.

When I’d called Kyle to see if he wanted to hang out, he said he had to work on a big project for school—which sucked because I felt like I hadn’t seen my best friend in forever.

Guess I’d be spending another Friday night at home.

I frowned harder. So, what? I thought. Because the twins weren’t here, I couldn’t move forward without them? Just because Colton and I had checked off three items didn’t mean we had to do everything together. Ever since that kiss, my mind hadn’t been right where Colton was concerned.

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