Page 6 of Kissing the Debutant
Not when it came to dance. She bent to where her phone rested on the front desk and turned on Spotify. Her favorite playlist started up through the Bluetooth speakers, and she launched into a series of turns, each one quicker than the one before.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her eyes fixed on a divot in the wall, each time coming back to it to keep from getting dizzy. The music picked up, and so did her dance. Spins were easy. She’d been doing them since she could walk.
Some of the jumps, however…
She ran halfway across the room before leaping into agrand jete, her legs stretching into a split, but she came out of the move a half second too late. She stumbled on her landing and cursed herself.
Too high. She’d jumped too high.
Yet, she’d wanted to, to push herself to the limit and see which boundaries could be moved or broken altogether. It was part of who she was.
“Again,” she muttered to herself.
This time, she didn’t get the height, but she tried to turn as she jumped and stumbled backward on the landing before falling on her butt.
She could hear her mom’s voice in her head.If you can’t be extraordinary, it isn’t worth doing.
And what was Lillian? Ordinary? Average?
She knew that wasn’t true. Every girl in her class wished they could dance like her, but it still wasn’t enough for her mom. It never was. So she pushed, harder and harder, hoping it wouldn’t break her.
She kept trying until her legs burned and her lungs cried out for air.
You’ll never be the dancer I was.
Yes, her mom had said that to her too. More than once. That was what happened when one was raised by a dance prodigy. Daria Preston was revered once, now she was part of ballet history.
And she’d never forgiven the world for moving on without her.
You’ll never live up to the Preston name.
Those words kept Lillian out of competition after competition. She’d never tried, never let herself fail. If she didn’t try to win, she couldn’t lose, and maybe her mom wouldn’t be disappointed in her.
Then why this competition? Why now?
She pumped her arms before using all her remaining strength to jump once more. This time, when she landed, her ankle rolled, and she cried out as her leg collapsed beneath her.
There was her answer. All of this could end at any moment. Just ask her mother who’d had to stop dancing after an injury. For once, Lillian wanted to know if she had what it took.
“Are you okay?”
At the voice, Lillian jerked her head up, her eyes clashing with those of a boy who looked about her age. He wore tight jeans with a rip in one knee and a black t-shirt. Shaggy brown hair flopped into his eyes. He pushed a steam mop in front of him.
“Fine.” She scrambled to her feet, testing her ankle. It didn’t hurt when she put weight on it, and she released a breath.
The boy pushed hair out of his face. “You’re trying too hard.”
“What?”
“The jump. I’ve been watching you. You’re trying so hard to make every element perfect that when one small thing is off, it throws the entire jump out of control.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Sure, and I’m supposed to take dance advice from a janitor?”
He shook his head and pushed the steam cleaner farther into the room. “I need to clean this room. I am just the janitor after all. Are you done here?”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
