Page 64 of Forbidden Dance
“I just asked him not to come. He’s going back to LA tonight, and I felt a protracted good-bye could do more harm than good.”
My whole body freezes. Tonight? Already? Why hadn’t he told me?
“We just shot the video two days ago!” I exclaim.
“And he’s all over the media already. He’s getting bookings on morning shows, late-night shows, press in every direction. I’m calling a meeting with all the girls’ parents this evening to discuss how to maintain their privacy during this.”
I sit back. “You think they’ll be in danger?” I picture photographers stalking Gwen and Gabriella and my panic rises.
“Mostly an annoyance,” she says, waving her hand to dismiss the idea. “But I want to make sure they are using common sense and that even if some of them want to talk about their experience with Blitz to the media, they don’t compromise the privacy of any of the other girls.”
“Gwen won’t,” I say, then realize I’m giving myself away. “Probably only Daisy’s mother would be interested.”
“I agree,” Danika says. She looks at me pointedly. “So what is your situation with Blitz?”
I don’t know what to tell her. It isn’t really any of her business, is it? “Why is that important?” I ask.
She runs her fingers across the back shaved part of her hair. “I’m responsible for you when you’re here. Your parents were very insistent that we watch over you or else your ability to attend dance here would end.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” I say. “He’s leaving tonight and I won’t see him again.”
I’m proud to have said that with strength and confidence, rather than falling apart like I want to do on the inside. I’m desperate to check my phone, realizing I might have texts there that explain everything Danika is saying. The phone is totally silenced, so I wouldn’t have heard them on the way.
He might even want to try and get together before he goes.
“You two seemed very close during the filming,” Danika says. “Are you okay?”
Her concern chips away at my bravado. “I just need to check my messages so I can see what’s going on.”
“You can do that,” Danika says. “I just worry about you. I know you can’t speak to your parents about this … relationship you’ve gotten mixed up in. I feel very responsible.”
“Nothing has happened,” I say, hoping she can’t hear the tears in my voice. “It was just some harmless flirting.”
“It doesn’t look harmless based on your expression right now.”
I want to be alone to look at the messages. “I’m a big girl,” I say. “No matter what you or the other instructors or my parents think.”
“I know that,” Danika says. “I’ve encountered parents like yours before. It’s just gone on a lot longer than it should. You’re well over eighteen, right?”
“Nineteen,” I say. “I graduated but I’m homeschooled. I’m taking my SAT soon.”
“Will you leave home for college?”
I look away, staring at framed portraits of Danika’s daughter Juliet dancing.
“I take that as a no,” Danika says. She stands up and comes around the desk to perch on the corner. “Livia, would you like some help? We can get someone to advise you on college applications, how to get financial aid and on-campus housing. You seem like a smart girl. I bet you can go anywhere you want to go.”
“I like it here,” I say.
What I can’t say is that if I go away, I don’t get to see Gabriella. And this is Blitz’s hometown. Even if he returns to LA, he has to visit his family. Thanksgiving is next week, and then Christmas. That’s two chances to see him. I’ll do anything.
“You can go to UTSA right here in town and still stay on campus. If you want to stick with your Catholic heritage, there is St. Mary’s.”
I know about these places. They seem like pipe dreams. “Dad thinks I should do online college.”
Danika leans in, her blue hair bright on the tips from the lights overhead. “I know Blitz seems like an easy out. Like he can rescue you. But he’s leaving tonight for LA. He’s going on a talk show tour. And if the groundwork he’s laid here at the academy and around the city works out, he’ll be back on his show. There will be no place for a young, impressionable dancer who has very little experience in the world.”
Her words are gentle, but they still cut through me. “We’re different,” I say. “He’s a different person with me.”
