Page 54 of Forbidden Dance
At home I change into a long skirt and a sweater. I can’t leave the panties off. I try twice, but only get as far as the hallway when I turn around and put them back on again.
I’m just not Blitz’s speed on that.
Dad comes home for lunch, and I have to fight to keep my expression calm. When we’re all seated at the table, he passes an envelope to me.
“What’s this?” I ask. I pretty much never know if something from my father will be good or bad.
“Read it,” he says.
I open the envelope. It’s a confirmation of my testing date for the SAT. It’s in three weeks.
“Your last practice score was pretty good,” he says. “I figure if you knuckle down for the next few weeks, you’ll be ready.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom says. “You’re going to do great.”
“Once I take it, I have to start applying, or the score will expire,” I say. My future whizzes before me. Classes in an actual school again. New people. Girls. Boys. Teachers.
“One step at a time,” Dad says. “I hear there are lots of good online colleges these days.”
My excitement wilts. Right. He’s still planning to keep me here.
“Thank you for signing me up,” I say. It costs money to take the test, and we don’t have a lot. I know that’s a big deal.
“I’m really proud of you, Livia. I think extending your learning will really do you good.” He reaches for a bowl of mashed potatoes and loads some onto his plate. “Of course, you may have to drop some of your dancing. College takes a lot of time.”
My heart falls to my knees. He can’t mean that. Attending class is free and only once a week!
But I know better than to argue. I just focus on my plate. Less than an hour until I head up to the church, and then I’ll make an excuse to leave early. I won’t have as much time as I did last week, but it’s something.
I already plan to escape one night after dark. That’s even riskier, because my father might go so far as to call the cops or try to have Blitz arrested. I don’t think it would work, because I am nineteen, but he could try. The press would be bad.
No, actually, maybe I won’t try.
I swirl my fork through the potatoes and keep quiet until lunch is over.
My exhilaration isn’t quite as high heading to the church. My list of sins involving it is growing — using the phone to call Gabriella’s adoptive mother, sneaking looks at Blitz footage, and now I’m straight-up lying about being there.
Not only that, I unplugged our home phone so that it wouldn’t ring if the church secretary decided to call my mom about my leaving early. I don’t think she’d do it, but then, Mindy showed up when I was there alone that time. My parents may have made some sort of agreement with Irma to be notified if anything unusual happens.
So, yes, I’m being terrible. Liar. Sneak.
Just like four years ago.
I circle the building and go in the side.
Irma is at her desk as always. Usual messy hair. Today’s paisley print dress is pale blue.
“Don’t you look pretty!” she says. “Your hair is a crown!”
I touch the braid encircling my head, the long strands falling from it. “Mom taught me how to do it when I was young.”
“It’s a beautiful look. You tell her I said so.”
“I will.”
Irma waves her hand to the back room. “There’s a ton of mail to sort. Lots of junk. Just don’t toss any bills.”
“On it,” I say. Then I take a deep breath so I can speak the lie. “I’m only here for an hour today. Mom needs me at home.”
