Page 1 of On Dancer
One
Principal dancer:the most skilled dancer(s) in a ballet company, usually cast in leading roles.
Rudy: October
You need to get over your silly crush, I lectured myself even as I craned my neck, looking for the one and only Alexander Dasher, otherwise known as the source of my personal gay awakening and decade-long obsession. No biggie. Certainly not a cause for stress. This was simply any other country club party, not a reason to be weirdly nervous.
Our mothers were friends. Our paths should have crossed long before this. Well, technically, they alreadyhad, but with any luck, Alexander wouldn’t remember my fourteen-year-old self, blushing and stammering when I met him backstage postRomeo and Julietperformance with my parents in tow. Alexander had been a sweaty vision of perfection in ballet tights. I had been fourteen and a short, skinny, pimpled messof hormones. No, better he meet me tonight as an adult. A professional. A potential colleague. And I would get through the required introduction without even a hint of pink cheeks.
I exhaled hard, trying to come up with a use for all this jittery energy. Naturally, my older brother Waylon chose that moment to seek me out for a greeting and his typical brotherly hug.
“Nice shirt.”
As he released me from the hug, Waylon indicated the white dress shirt that had taken me far longer than hoped to iron. I’d paired it with my nicest pair of slacks, which happened to be black. I’d looked pretty sharp in the cracked full-length mirror some prior occupant of my apartment had left up, but Waylon didn’t seem inclined to agree. Shaking his head, he snorted. “You look like part of the catering crew.”
“Mom said to dress professional, but not super fancy.” I tugged at my too-tight collar. I’d debated adding a tie, but I’d decided that would be overkill. Plus, my few ties were all super nerdy with the sort of inside-joke humor unlikely to go over well at this posh event.
“Well, you took the advice to heart.” Waylon patted my shoulder like he was fifteen years my senior rather than seven. “At least it’s good weather for the party.” He gestured beyond us to a large cement patio where several firepits had been set up along with twinkling white fairy lights. “Probably last tolerable weekend till spring.”
“Yep.” October in Pennsylvania was a mixed bag, the last gasp of nice weather, complete with pumpkin patches and apple harvests, alongside shorter days and cooler temperatures that said another mid-Atlantic winter wasn’t far off. “The fire pits are a fun fall touch.”
“More like a liability.” Waylon’s eyes narrowed in the way only a seasoned litigator could pull off. “Thank goodness we’ve got a babysitter, or the kids would be all over the open flames.”
“You should have brought them.” I didn’t hate my high-achieving brother, or my equally acclaimed sister, for that matter, but I adored my nieces and nephews. Being a beloved fun uncle was far better than being the much-younger surprise brother who had yet to measure up.
“You sound like Mom.” Waylon released a groan as he rolled his shoulders. His dress shirt was light gray, and while we had the same dark-brown hair, pale skin, and short, skinny build, he managed to look far more stately. “Everyone needs an adult evening every once in a while.”
“Eh. Adulthood is overrated.” The two years since I’d graduated from college had hammered that home.
“Says the guy whose usual idea of a party involves dice and orcs.” Waylon laughed like he hadn’t been equally as much of a nerd once upon a time.
“You used to be that guy too.” I gave him a pointed look.
“Yep. And then I grew up.” Waylon shrugged as if he had zero regrets about leaving his character sheets,Odysseycards, and dice collection to me around the time he met Shannon and became the most boring dude in existence. “You’ll see when you finally settle down.”
“I’m in no rush,” I said airily.
I was twenty-four. Plenty of time to figure myself out and find a use for my communications degree beyond serving as our mother’s assistant at the local ballet school. Besides,Dungeons and Dragonscampaigns andOdysseytournaments were so much more fun than stuffy chamber music and forced mingling like this party.
“As we all know.” Waylon rolled his eyes in the way only an older brother could get away with before straightening back into his respectable civil rights lawyer self. “Oh, there’s Shannon with our drinks.”
“You should go help her.” I gestured toward his wife, who, while lacking even a hint of a nerdy bone in her tall, lanky body, was an otherwise lovely person currently toting two wine glasses across the crowded event space.
“Good call.” Waylon clapped me on the shoulder one more time. “I’ll catch up with you later. I want to hear how your work is going.”
“Sure.” I kept my tone as noncommittal as his.
I doubted he really wanted the latest ballet school gossip. Both Waylon and our sister Helen were only too relieved that I’d been available to step up and help during our mother’s recent health scare. And I’d been happy to do it, and a challenging job market had made my choice that much easier.
Ballet wasn’t my passion, though, my longtime crush on Alexander Dasher notwithstanding, and as Mom recovered, I found myself dodging more and more questions about what was next for me.
Not in the mood to socialize with Waylon and Shannon, nor to seek out Helen or our mother, I drifted out onto the patio, only to collide with a tall man lurking in the shadows near one of the fire pits.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” Understatement.
As I stepped back, the twinkling lights caught the legendary blond hair of Alexander Dasher. If possible, he was better looking up close and personal than my fourteen-year-old self remembered.
“No problem. I’m sort of hiding out.” Alexander shrugged. His voice was as cultured as his parents, not much trace of the Philly-area accent common around our suburb. “And my cup is empty anyway, so nothing spilled.” He held out an empty clear cup. “Are you collecting trash?”
