Chapter 2
“She gave you a what?” My mom exclaims while aggressively tossing a load of dark clothes into the washing machine.
“A B.”
“I can’t believe that woman! Did you tell her you worked on that thing for four hours every day this week and two every day last week?”
“Yes.”
“Did you explain to her the importance of the scholarship?”
“Yes.”
“Did you get on your knees and cry?”
“…No?”
“Yeah, that’s a bad idea; it would have made you look too desperate.”
I chuckle and walk into the kitchen, hearing my mom’s bare feet against the tile behind me.
“It’s just,” she takes a sip of water from a glass on the counter. Her hair is pulled back in a folded over bandanna and up with a pony tail holder. She is wearing black yoga pants that hug her long legs tightly and a white t shirt that hangs loosely on her thin torso.
“Who cares if you maybe got a little bored with your assignment? I mean, it’s a physics project for Christ’s sake. She could cut you a little bit of slack.”
“There will be no one cutting me slack in college.”
She raises her glass and nods. “Good point, baby girl.”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe this is a sign. I have to focus on ballet a little more.”
She smiles. “You’ve always loved ballet, no question about that.”
“Yeah,” I reply, “But lately I’ve been looking at it as a chore too, like everything else in my life. That’s probably why my dance for the showcase is so dull.”
My mom looks down at me and twists one of my curls around her small, delicate finger.
“Shilah Dayvor, you are so talented. Just remember that. Remember all the gifts you have, and never be afraid to flaunt them. They weren’t given to you so you could hide them away. Be proud of who you are. Show it off. Don’t be afraid to open up your heart and love everything you do.”
“It’s easy for a professional model to say.”
She smiles. “It’s also easy for a mother to say to her troubled daughter in need of some counseling.”
I laugh and nod in agreement. “You know what?” I say, a sudden excitement welling up inside me.
“What?”
“I’m going to the studio. I’m going to work on my dance until I get it perfect.”
“Good idea. Just don’t be too hard on yourself.”
“Oh, mom I’ve never been hard on myself,” I smirk and turn to go upstairs and change.
The feeling of the soft leotard and tights on my body is the best feeling in the world. I pull on some black cotton shorts and a cardigan, along with some leg warmers and flats. It’s still chilly out, so I leave my hair down and flowing to cover my ears. I jog to the studio, and when I get there, I’m overwhelmed with joy when I see there’s an empty classroom. It’s calling out my name.
I sit in the middle of the dance floor, staring at myself in the mirrored wall.
“Who are you?” I ask my reflection aloud. “What are you doing with your life? You are seventeen years old. You have never had a boyfriend. You have been to a single dance, and without a date. You are anti-social. You are shy. You are a little mistake compared to the rest of the student body. You are a nobody in the eyes of popularity. You are me. Shit.”
I feel anger rising inside me. My heart beats faster. I am beginning to hate myself. I am beginning to despise everything I am. I hate my personality, my freckles, and my body. I hate that I’m a dork and a perfectionist and that I’m awkward with people my age. I hate that I’ve never truly been in love or understood what it feels like. I hate that my life is flying past me and that it’s my fault I haven’t been enjoying what could be the best parts of it. I grip my hair in both my fists and let go quickly, ruining the perfect curls that had been hanging beside my face.
I get up off the floor and shove the first CD I see into the stereo. “Say it Right” by Nelly Furtado blares from the speakers. I throw off my cardigan aggressively and let the music seep into my pores, my veins, and I let it flow through my blood. My fingers tremble and the feeling of pure thrill sparks through me. I feel my feet lift off the ground and my body twirl with the beat of the song. I feel untouchable and perfect. Beads of sweat pop out of my temples and slide down my face and I lose track of time. My feet pound the floor and are lifted again and my head is up then down then up again. My chest is pushed out then pulled in, going with the beat of my heart and the bass of the song. I shut my eyes and I’m a completely different person. No grades exist. No freckles exist. No stress or pressure or scholarships exist. It’s just me. Me, myself, and—
I hear the door creak. My eyes shoot open and I gracefully fall to the floor, out of breath. Before turning I get up to shut the stereo off and reach for my cardigan. I assume it’s the janitor. But then I turn and my heart falls quickly into the pit of my stomach, and I choke on the air I just inhaled.
Mike Fyler stands before me, his head nearly brushing the top of the doorway. He appears too large to be in this small dance studio. He’s wearing a different outfit from what I had seen him in this morning: Adidas sweats, the same tennis shoes, and a navy blue tank. His muscular arms are exposed and the tightness of the shirt shows his toned chest. His waves are the same way: perfectly messy.
“I know you,” he says, his voice raspy. I catch a glimpse of his pearly teeth as he speaks. His gorgeous eyes are filled with honest curiosity.
“Um,” I exhale and swallow, “Um. Yeah. Well, I don’t know. We go to the same school. Um. I’m pretty sure.” I try not to squint at myself when I realize how extremely pathetic I just sounded.
He laughs under his breath, and walks further into the classroom.
“I just didn’t know you did ballet. I always thought you were the addicted-to-school type.”
I can’t help the leap my heart makes when I hear him say he thought about me. The fact that he even had noticed me, although it wasn’t a positive sort of notice, surprises me.
“I am,” I say quickly. “But, um…I’m also an addicted-to-ballet type too.”
He smiles. His eyes glisten. “Gotcha.”
He continues to walk towards me, tracing his perfect finger along the wall.
“Um, what are you…what are you doing here?” I ask, irritated with my stuttering.
“I’m waiting for my younger sister to get out of class,” he points to the classroom across the hall. “I saw you dancing in here and, I don’t know, figured you’d keep me busy until she’s finished.”
I nod. “Yeah, Miss Fisher’s classes always get out later than they’re planned to.”
He nods back and grins. “You’re really good.”
“Hm?” I say helplessly. I ask myself what is happening.
“At dancing. You’re really good at dancing. It was…really hard not to notice you.”
Oh my God. What the hell is happening? I am confused but thrilled at the same exact time: an emotion that has never passed through me.
“I’m…sorry,” cracks out of my pathetic throat.
“For what?”
“Being…hard to not notice.”
He laughs. That laugh. Oh, that laugh. “It’s not you’re fault. Plus that was a good song choice.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You know, it’s funny, I’ve never really noticed you that much until today, and I have no clue how I haven’t.”
“Why?” I whispered, still dazed.
“Why what?”
“Why do you have no clue how you’ve never noticed me?”
“Because.”
I raise my eyebrows and wipe a drop of sweat from my forehead. I silently wish he could be first noticing me when I look somewhat attractive and not sweating bullets. Then again I realize I’d probably be sweating bullets any time I’m around him.
“Ok.”
He smiles and rolls his sparkly eyes. “Because you’re…really cute.”
He sighs. “But you probably have a boyfriend and I’m probably creeping you out. So, I’m gonna go now.”
I don’t know what I look like, and I’m not sure I want to know. My eyes are as wide as I ever made them in my life. My jaw is dropped unintentionally. I most likely look like a dead turtle.
“You alright?”
I force myself to snap back. “Um. Alright? Yeah, of course I’m alright.”
“Ok. I’ll see you around…,” he waits for me to finish his sentence.
“Shilah.” He smiles again. My heart does something weird.
“I’ll see you around, Shilah. Maybe you can introduce me to that lucky boyfriend of yours sometime soon?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I nearly blurt out.
He tilts his head, as if he heard me wrong. “Well then, maybe I can take you out sometime?”
I nod. That’s all I’m capable of doing at this point.
“Ok. We’ll talk later, at school or something.”
“Yeah.”
“K, bye, Shilah.”
“Yeah. Oh, I mean, Bye Mike.”
I stare at him until his beautiful being is no longer visible from where I’m standing. I melt down to the floor and stay there until everyone has left and the only people left in the studio are me and the janitors.
Chapter 3
The leather seats in the bus are clammy and the air is cold but muggy since its raining outside. I woke up this morning feeling beautiful and refreshed. I had pulled my hair back in an elastic and let it float down my back. I’m wearing my favorite faded blue jeans that hug my legs perfectly and have a little rip in the knee. I paired them with a v-cut white T under a colorful unzipped sweatshirt from Pink and some bright blue Converse.
I have my knees squished up against the back of the seat in front of me, and my Physics book is on my lap. I’m trying to focus on the page in front of me but it’s simply uninteresting this morning. The bus comes to a sudden stop and my Physics book becomes completely invisible as I look up to see Mike Fyler getting on. He is wearing faded, ripped jeans again, a gray shirt that says American Eagle across it, some gray and white Puma tennis shoes, and a navy unzipped sweatshirt. His hair is the same, his skin is glowing the same way, and his eyes are just as beautiful as the last time I had seen them.
I’m scared to look up at him as he approaches my seat because I think he might change his mind about me, or that yesterday was just a dream. Yet he comes to my seat and looks down at me. I look up at him, like I just noticed he was on the bus.
“Long time no see,” he jokes and plops down on the seat.
The back of the bus is abnormally quiet. The only things I hear are something splat onto the floor and the rain pelting on the windows.
“Hi,” I nearly whisper.
“Studying?” He asks, signaling to my physics book.
I shut it quickly and sigh. “Not really.”
He smiles and looks at me with his gentle bright blue eyes. “We should go out.”
My heart flutters and my cheeks become warm. “Ok.”
“Today. After school.”
“Ok.”
“I’ll pick you up at the dance studio at 5:30?”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
“Ok.”
I bite my lip while smiling. He smiles back and laughs under his breath.
The day is light and pretty and I’m not used to it. Even though I can hear the rain falling against the roof of the school and sliding down the windows, it’s not a stressful or sad kind of rain. It’s cleansing.
“How are you, Shilah?” Mrs. Schneider asks me after class.
I smile at her. “I’m…very good. How are you?”
“I’m very good too.”
She smiles back as I turn to leave. “That’s wonderful to hear,” I say over my shoulder.
In the hallway, I notice things I never noticed before. I notice the smiles exchanged and the loud, sweet sound of laughing and conversation bouncing against the walls. I want to record it all. I want to press play and blast the sounds and dance to them. I inhale deeply and smile. I don’t remember the last time I smiled on my way to class. I run into someone, and I immediately know from the aroma of cologne and soap that it’s Mike.
“Shilah!”
I laugh at my clumsy self. “Hi.”
“Sorry, I thought you were going to slow down.”
“It’s ok, I was being oblivious. I do that a lot.”
He smiles and I blush when he looks at me for longer than I expect him to.
“You know Josh and Carson, right?”
I recognize them from the annoying group in the back of the bus. I nod and smile.
“Um, yeah, I think so.”
“Guys, this is Shilah.”
The boys look at Mike, probably out of disbelief, then look at back at me and nod with shy smiles.
“Hi,” I whisper, then realize it would be impossible for them to hear me over the loud audio track playing in the hallway.
They nod once again and grin as they pass me by. I shake my head. I want to be outgoing and ridiculously sexy but I know I’m not. I bite my lip and look up at him, hoping that my disappointment in myself doesn’t show through my eyes.
“What’s that face for?” He asks, proving myself horrible at holding in my emotions.
“I-um-don’t think your friends approve.”
He laughs. “Yeah they do, trust me. They’re just pretty shy when it comes to girls.”
I manage to grin. “Oh.”
“We still up for after school?”
“Um, yeah, if you want to.”
“Of course I want to. See you at 5:30, Shilah!”
I turn and wave at him, his voice saying my name echoing through my pathetic head.
The day goes by slowly, and I can’t help the day dreams that enter my mind and cause all my classes to happen in a blur. As soon as I get home, I sprint up the stairs and spend almost an hour finding a suitable outfit. I pick out a light pink cotton mini skirt that flows around my legs and a white lacy tank top. I choose a dark gray button down sweater and throw that into my bag also.
After folding the clothing neatly and placing it in my dance bag, I get dressed for the studio and leave, my heart fluttering against my ribs. The dance studio seems so inviting when I pull up to it, and adrenaline immediately flows through my veins. I glance at the clock to see that it’s 4:00, and, realizing how much time I have, I become even more excited and start thinking about my piece for the showcase as soon as I enter an empty classroom.
I sit down on the floor and stare at my reflection in the mirrored wall like I had the day before. The only difference is my hair done differently: It is curled so all my waves are in perfect tact and pulled half back in a butterfly clip. I crawl closer to the mirror so I can see a close up of my face. My eyes are a brighter green than usual. I try to push out the idea that Mike is the reason for this, and decide that it’s the weather. My eyes do usually find a lighter shade when the sky is full of clouds and the pavement is damp from rain. I look closer at the rest of my face. I like to think that I resemble my mom in a way; I have her face structure, nose, and mouth. Sometimes, when I’m feeling extremely confident and on top of things, I truly believe I look like her. I truly believe I’m beautiful and sexy and the model-type. But that’s only sometimes. Maybe today is one of those times. I smile approvingly at my reflection and look at my teeth. They’re pearly, just like my mom’s, but more rounded around the edges and smaller. My self examination is interrupted when I see a figure appear at the door of the classroom from the reflection.
I quickly turn around and see Mike, standing in the doorway, staring at me. I immediately feel heat rising and stopping at my face. I was just on all fours with my teeth barred, probably appearing like some sort of man-eating creature.
“You’re early,” I say, smoothing out my leotard and standing up to a normal human’s position.
“And you’re…,” he up and downs me and begins to laugh.
I roll my eyes and feel my face become redder. “I like to look in the mirror before I dance. It helps me find my mood,” I shrug.
“What were you doing?” He asks, still recovering from his laughter.
“I was…looking at my teeth.”
“That helps you dance?”
I purse my lips and try to hold in an embarrassed smirk. “Ok, I got distracted.”
He laughs again. The sound of it makes me calm down more. I feel the heat melting away from my face.
“Well, I would get distracted too if I was staring at you.”
I bite my lip and look down at my feet, wondering if he really just said that.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence, “Show me something.”
My eyebrows crumple on my forehead. “No.”
“Come on,” he begins to fish through CDs stacked by the stereo.
“You saw a lot of me yesterday.”
“Not enough,” he says over his shoulder and shoves a CD into the player.
“Say Ok” by Vanessa Hudgens plays softly through the speakers. I begin to laugh.
“Turn this crap off,” I say and walk closer to him.
He laughs with me, but gently pushes me away. “Just show me something. Who cares what song is playing? Just dance to it.”
I cringe. I don’t like this situation. I want to appear confident and spontaneous but I know that I’m not at all. I want to feel beautiful and perfect but I know I’m far from that.
“Hey,” Mike says and walks closer to me. The music is still playing in the back round. “Are you ok?”
“Um. I’m fine.”
“I guess you don’t have to dance if you don’t want to...”
“No, I want to.”
I walk away from him and stand at the center of the floor, staring at myself in first position. I want to. I know I want to. I question whether I actually can. I start with something simple, something I had rehearsed. I go slowly and keep my muscles tensed so I know I’m being perfect. Thoughts start to flow through my mind. I think about the juvenile lyrics playing out of the speakers, and am nearly ashamed when I realize they apply to recent occurrences in my life perfectly: "You are fine. You are sweet. But I'm still a bit naive with my heart. When you're close I don't breathe. I can't find the words to speak. I feel sparks."
I think about physics, and how angry I am with myself that I never realized how I truly didn’t enjoy it; I just forced myself to. "But I don't want to be into you if you're not looking for true love. No I don't wanna start seein' you if I can't be your only one." I think about my dad. I usually push him out of my mind as soon as he enters it, but this time I allow him to take over. I remember the day he left my mom and me, running away from everything he thought was imperfect. I wonder if he truly loved my mom or if he had just put up with her, like I had with physics. I remember the broken expression on my mom’s face, filled with sorrow and fear. "So tell me. When it's not alright, when it's not OK, will you try to make me feel better? Will you say alright? Will you say OK? Will you stick with me through whatever? Or run away?" I feel my muscles relax and the beat of the once cheesy song floats around me and I feel untouchable. But the nagging image of my father packing his car and speeding away doesn’t leave and anger rises in me also. I dance aggressively but gracefully at the same time. I feel Mike’s eyes on me. I am enveloped in opposing emotions of anger and anxiety with happiness and relaxation. The song gently fades to an end and I stop dancing.
I sit on the cold, hard floor, out of breath.
“Shilah, you are an incredible dancer,” Mike says as he sits down next to me.
I smile with my mouth shut. “Thanks.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t know. I look at dancing as a part of me. I wouldn’t able to be me if dancing didn’t exist. I don’t look at it as a hobby or talent. It’s different than that.”
I look up at him. His perfect, beautiful face is just above mine, looking down at me.
“What were you thinking about just then?”
I sigh. “Lots of things. Dancing makes me think of things I can’t stand to think of any other time.”
I can't believe I'm telling him this. I can't believe I'm talking to him like he's not extremely superior to me. I can't believe I'm not stuttering.
“Yeah, that’s how sports are for me. You just feel like there’s nothing else in the world that can stop you, like you’re the most perfect thing that ever walked the Earth. And then reality hits.”
I nod and wipe my forehead, which is dripping with sweat.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to dance,” I say with a smile.
“I think I might have a solution for that,” he replies, and takes my hand to lead me out of the classroom.
He pulls me outside, despite my constant begs to stay under a dry roof, and I feel my skin absorb the cold rain. It feels so good I can barely move. I had never done anything like this. He laughs at my reaction.
“Doesn’t it feel good?”
I squint up at him and nod.
He kicks at the pavement and splashes me. I squeal as the freezing water soaks through my tights and leotard and chills my skin. Goosebumps rise on my arms and neck and I let myself shiver uncontrollably. He steps closer to me and looks down to meet my eyes. My heart skips and I shiver more. He gently pulls me against his chest and I feel his arms, which are abnormally warm for being out here in the freezing cold rain, rest against my back. He holds me securely, and suddenly I feel the most beautiful I’ve ever felt. I hesitantly wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest, which is soaked through with cold rain but still warm anyways.
He quickly swings me up into his arms. My stomach drops and I scream. I start laughing immediately after, and he laughs too.
“Let’s get your stuff and go home,” he says over the loud splashes and pelting of the rain.
I agree but silently wonder where ‘home’ is.
But barably romantic. I have little to critique about chapter three, except one thing.