Page 13 of Forbidden Dance
“Look at this,” Mindy says. “Rumor is that Blitz slept with as many as twenty of the contestants on his show.” She looks up at me. “Twenty!”
She leans back against the cabinet, her knees tucked to her chest. “I wonder if he’s any good or if they flock to him no matter what because of who he is.”
I can’t think about this. The idea of these other women makes me a little crazy.
Mindy sits up suddenly. “You could find out!” Then she frowns. “Except you have nothing to compare it to!”
My face heats up. I want to tell her I do, but I can’t do that. She’d want more details than I’m prepared to provide. I don’t want to risk getting caught by looking any longer, so I type in “Most famous hymns” in the search box. I click and click on a bunch of links like Mindy taught me. When everything in the recent history looks good, I shut it down and close the lid.
“Blitz Craven,” Mindy says with a sigh. “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s not even happening to me.”
I lie back on the flat carpet of the storage space and stare up at the water-stained ceiling. “I don’t know anything about how long he’ll be there or if he’ll even look at me again,” I say.
But I do know one thing. I’m not supposed to have class again until Friday, but I’m going back to Dreamcatcher tomorrow.
Chapter 6
Danika keeps a studio room open most mornings for dance students who want to use a space to work on their recital routines. That’s where I was on Monday when Blitz found me.
So the next morning, I dress in my best light blue leotard and skirt — one without any mended tears — and head to the living room to tell my mother I want to get in an extra practice this week.
It should be fine, because my father always meets his friend Larry for lunch on Wednesdays, so he won’t be home asking what I did that morning. Mom is fanatical about telling the truth and prefers the answer to be “some chores around the house and studied for her SAT.” This gets an approving nod.
I’m not sure I’ll get to go to college, but I like studying for the test and thinking about a future away from my family.
And there’s Gabriella to consider. My situation is perfect for seeing her.
There’s no need to change things. The transition from home high school to studying for the college admissions test has been seamless. Other than a cake with a graduation cap on it six months ago, my life has been no different for four years. Only the grade levels on the booklets ever changed anyway.
Mom looks up from the pie crust she is rolling out. “You’re dressed for dance. You going up there?”
“Just getting a little extra practice in. I really want thosepointeshoes.”
She pauses. Her hair has bits of gray in it, twisted in the elaborate braid that she favors. She wears an old pair of jeans and a Houston Rockets T-shirt. Seeing the shirt sends a bolt of nostalgia through me. Our old life. Watching basketball games on TV with other families. Picnics. Movies. Going to the beach at Galveston.
Dad flipped so hard after the baby, after everything. He became a different person than he was before. Controlling. Angry. Disturbed. It’s hard to blame him. We all lost so much.
“How long will you be gone?”
“Just an hour, probably, less than two for sure.” I pick up an apple from the fruit bowl and take a big bite. Mom watches me, her hands on the rolling pin, the dough still thick on a cloud of flour.
“All right. Just be sure to come back in time to do some studying. Your dad will ask.”
I nod in agreement. I think my mom probably wants to end my house arrest, but she doesn’t go against my dad. She has plenty of reason to, maybe even to leave him. But after the baby, our whole family took a turn for the religious, as if getting our church on would erase all the terrible things that happened.
It’s a small church and very old-fashioned. Mom has fallen in step with everyone there, deferring to Dad as the “captain of the ship.” The Rockets T-shirt is possibly her only form of protest, although I’m betting she put it on after Dad left for work and will change it before he gets home. She doesn’t like confrontations. The last big one in our family almost destroyed it. She’s careful. She teaches me to be careful, too.
My eight-year-old brother Andy comes in, arms full of books. “Science test today,” he says with a grimace. “Will you help me?”
I ruffle his hair. “After lunch, okay?”
He looks at Mom. “Can we take it after lunch?”
She gives him a half smile. “Only if you study hard until then.”
“Do a good job, Buddy,” I say to him.
I pick up my bag by the door and leave the house.
