Page 60 of Practice Makes Perfect
Dangerous to ignore, but tempting nonetheless.
I park in the nearly empty lot outside my dorm and kill the engine, but don’t move. The post-confession adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me drained but oddly peaceful. Because I shared my story without feeling like I’ve ripped open my own chest in the process.
“Maybe that’s growth,” I whisper, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. “Or maybe it’s just Linc.”
There’s something about him that makes me feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Not just physically safe—I know plenty of guys who could protect me in a dark alley—but emotionally safe. He listens like every word matters, even when I’m rambling about dance or my grandmother’s latest reality TV obsession.
And the way he looked at me tonight, with such genuine care when I shared my story… it made me wonder what else I could share with him. What else he might understand.
With a sigh, part exhaustion and part longing, I get out of the car and climb the stairs to my dorm room—the elevator outyet again. I’m tired, so by the time I reach our door, my dance-weary legs are screaming and my brain is thoroughly exhausted from its emotional marathon.
All I want is to face-plant into my bed and sleep for approximately fourteen hours. But when I unlock the door, I find Lea sitting at our tiny kitchen table, cradling a mug between her palms. Her hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing one of Declan’s old hockey jerseys—her comfort uniform.
“Hey,” I say, dropping my dance bag. “Surprised you’re home…”
She looks up, her expression uncharacteristically somber. “Yeah.”
I kick off my shoes and pad over to the table, sinking into the chair opposite her. Something’s off. In the time I’ve known her, I’ve found this still, quiet version of her sets off my internal alarm bells.
“Spill it,” I say, reaching across to squeeze her arm. “What’s wrong?”
She takes a long sip of tea before answering. “Declan has panic attacks.”
The statement catches me off guard. “So?”
“So… we’ve been dating for months, and I’ve only just found out.” She stares into her mug like it contains encrypted messages. “Last night he woke up gasping for air after a nightmare, and I thought he was choking or something. He finally told me the truth, and that he’s been having them since his sophomore year.”
“That’s… a lot,” I say, unsure what else to offer. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah, I’m just processing.” She looks up at me now, her eyes troubled. “Isn’t it weird how you think you know someone—like,really know them—and then suddenly there’s this whole other part of them you had no idea about? And then you wonder what else there might be?”
The question hits uncomfortably close to home, considering what I just shared with Linc. “Yeah, it is weird. Did he say why he didn’t tell you sooner?”
“He said he was embarrassed and that he thought I might see him differently if he shared that with me.” Lea traces the rim of her mug. “But we’re supposed to be past that. I’ve shown him everything—allmy weird, messy parts—and I thought he’d done the same, you know?”
As I make myself a cup of peppermint tea, I consider my own situation with Linc. We’ve known each other for such a brief time, and yet I’ve already shared one of my deepest wounds. It feels backward—sharing trauma before we’ve even properly kissed.
And it’s not just a one-way street. Although Linc said he didn’t want to talk about it tonight, I still know he’s having trouble adjusting to being co-captain, and he’s living with the constant pressure of his mother’s expectations and Mike’s… situation.
And I can’t help but contrast the situation.
“I don’t know,” I say, returning to the table. “Sometimes the big stuff is harder to share than all the little details.”
“That’s what he said.” Lea sighs. “He said he was afraid I’d think he was broken or something. Which is ridiculous—we’re all a little broken.”
The sentiment hangs between us. I think about Linc and wonder what other broken pieces he might be carrying. I remember the stress in his voice when he talked about Mike and his mom, and the weight of responsibility pressing down on him.
“Do you think…” Lea hesitates. “Do you think it means something that he’s comfortable enough to let me see this part of him now?”
I smile at her. “Yeah, I do. That’s trust, Lea. The real, terrifying kind.”
She nods slowly, processing. “Anyway, enough about my relationship drama. How was work tonight?”
For a split second, I consider telling her about seeing Linc, about sharing my Derek story, about that almost-kiss that’s still making my skin tingle. But something stops me. Maybe it’s because what happened between us feels special, almost sacred. Or maybe I’m just not ready to analyze it to death.
“Just the usual,” I say instead. “Sweated out my body weight and choreographed something new for the kids.”
“Any prima donna meltdowns from the seven-year-olds?”
