Page 7 of Part of Forever
I grab my bag and follow him down the narrow hallway to the main entrance, flipping off the lights as we go. “It was incredible,” I say. “I did well, and they loved it from what I could see.”
It sounds cocky, even to me, but he grins at me. “I knew you’d do great.”
“Thanks,” I say as we head outside into the cool winter air. Living in a beach city in the middle of winter is weird. At least, that’s what Tucker always tells us. There’s never any snow; lately, there’s rarely even rain. What we call freezing is what most Americans would probably wear a thin jacket for— another thing he often reminds us of. I shiver in the slight breeze, grateful I asked my brother to grab my coat on his way. Even by the fire, tonight will be cold.
Waiting in the parking lot is a pale green van, windows down and music blasting. Tucker cringes when we step outside.
“Leo’s having the time of his life.” Nathan laughs as we approach the minivan. Leo, Grace’s boyfriend of two months, thinks it makes him cooler to listen to rap while he drives his mother’s minivan, the only car we can all fit in without having our parents drive us.
“I have nothing against rap,” Tucker says, wincing as Leo turns the music up. “It just doesn’t make his van any cooler.”
I can’t help but laugh as I slide the door open. Leo turns the music down and we climb into the old van.
“Finally,” Grace says, but grins from the front seat. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight.”
I smile back at her, grateful that the first thing she said was not about dancing. I climb into the backseat, Tucker following me, and Nathan slides the door shut after he’s seated in the middle of the van.
“Rosie,” Grace says, “how did your audition go?”
I smile. I can’t help it. “It was practically perfect,” I say, and she grins at me. Grace has been my best friend since we were babies. I guess that’s what happens when your moms grow up as best friends. She’s petite and looks flawless nearly all the time. Grace did ballet for a while, but then found her true love in soccer.
“Yay!” Grace claps, and my smile widens. “I’m so glad it went so well. I can’t wait to hear what they say!”
“You’ll get in.” Tucker smiles at me, and Grace claps again.
“Just don’t forget about me when you’re famous,” she says, and I can’t hold back my grin.
“I could never.”
“Promise you’ll be around more now that your audition is over?” she asks, and for a moment, I freeze.
“I promise I won’t dance as much now that my audition is over,” I say, but I know the words are hollow. I know I say it a lot, but balletreally iseverything to me. It’s the one thing I’m good at—the only thing that really means anything to me. I’m not going to stop dancing for hours every day simply because my audition is over. That would feel like a waste. I have to keep training. Maybe not as hard as I did before my audition, but I’ll still be in the studio every day.
Most people think ballet comes naturally to me, especially those within the ballet world, because of who my mom is and the dancer she was. But I started later than most ballerinas because Dad wanted to make sure it was my choice to dance. When you start training to be a ballerina at age five instead of age three, you’re already two years behind. Then, when I got sick, that put me further behind. I have to work hard every single day if I’m going to be the best. I don’t mind putting in all the extra hours. I dance untilI bleed because this is what I want more than anything. I want to dance with the Paris Ballet Academy, and I want to be remembered.
“There are more important things than being famous and remembered,” Grace says as if reading my mind.
“I know,” I say, even though I don’t believe it for a second. There are billions of people on the planet. Who doesn’t want to be remembered? Eager for a topic change because I don’t want to make any more promises we all know I won’t keep, I turn to Tucker. “Any word yet?”
He’s been waiting all week to hear back from his manager, Murphy, about a possible record deal or tour opening. “Nothing yet.” He shakes his head. “These things take time.”
“But she promised she’d have news this week,” I say. I notice that even though he’s playing it off, he’s not okay about it. I can see in his eyes that he wishes he had some news, good or bad.
“That’s Murphy for ya,” he says with a half-shrug, like he’s trying to convince himself that it really is no big deal, then smiles at me. “She did text earlier saying she heard back from one of the recording studios. I guess they like my stuff, but they want to change all the lyrics of my song, so it feels like they don’t like my stuff. I don’t know. She said I could think about it, but I know there’s gonna be someone who wants meandmy songs, so I think I’m gonna wait.”
“That’s really awesome,” I say, “I mean, not the part about them wanting to change your lyrics, but you’re on the radar. Someone’s gonna pick you up.” I nudge his knee with mine, hoping to give him a little boost. He’s going to make it big some day, he’s got to believe that.
He winks. “Thanks for your confidence, darlin’.”
My cheeks grow warm. He’s called me that from the beginning. I thought it was cute and charming since he came from Nashville. It’s still charming, but lately, it’s been making me all warm inside when he says it. Even though I lie to myself every dayabout not wanting to be with him, I do, and the way he’s always flirting with me and teasing me doesn’t help.
Then he says, “But hey, this time next year, I’ll be on tour, and you’ll be in Paris.”
I smile. It’s another great thing about being friends with him. While Grace thinks I dance too much, he gets it—at least on some level.
We’ve both got big dreams that any average parent would try to dissuade and push us down a more normal or stable path, but not ours. My parents and his mom are all big dreamers. Even with his dad being who he is—one of the most famous country singers of our time and also the man who left behind his wife and child to sing—his mom still encourages him to do what he wants to do, which happens to be singing country music.
Neither of us has a backup plan. It’s Paris or nothing. It’s making it big or nothing.
