• s t a y •

1

"And you're one hundred percent sure you don't need a new pair of shoes? Ms. Karissa won't mind that they're worn out or dirty?" My mom reaches into my duffel, recounting everything for a fourth time.

Watching her in this state every year never fails to amaze me. Especially considering the moment I arrive in Chicago she'll begin to worry she sent me with too much stuff.

"Mom." I laugh under my breath, watching her grab out my pointe shoes, giving it a spin and analyzing it's condition.

"Mom!" I try again and grab her hand off of my luggage. She finally gives in and scoffs at my relaxation.

"If there's one thing you can trust me on, it's that my shoes have been counted multiple times by the both of us, and Ms. Karissa will most definitely not care if I have a small rip in the fabric of my pointe shoes." I smile. "And you can also trust that I'll have a good time. You know I always do."

She stares at me with that familiar sadness in her eyes. The same one every year. I return her stare, just add more sympathy to mine.

"Come here." I extend my arms to her. She accepts my hug and gently rubs my back.

"Alright enough sappy-ness. We've gotta get you to Chicago." She ends the hug with two slightly aggressive pats. "Grab the clothes and duffle, I got the rest."

She grabs a few of my bags off the kitchen floor and I finish up with the rest, following out right after her.

Every school year it feels like I count down until this moment. June 12th at one in the afternoon, I leave Wood River and spend my summer in Chicago, or as I like to know it as, my second home. Second life. And of course, with my second family.

I only get to see them for these 3 months before we all break apart and spread out all across America. So these three months are the most precious time of our year.

Not to mention how fun they are, also.

Me and my mom finish loading all my things into the back of her trunk, then the two of us hop in the front seats of the car.
"Are you sure you don't wanna run by your Dad's house before you go? You could see Jamie and Sophia one last time?"

I shrug while fastening my seat belt. "That's what FaceTime's are for."
She has a small frown on her face.

"Mom," I breathe, "it has nothing to do with the divorce. I'm fine with it, really. I just cannot wait another second. I wanna be with my friends."

She gives me a long stare. I feel like I'm under a microscope, or that she can see straight through me.

"Okay." She says, and then she puts the car in reverse and starts backing out of the driveway.

The next step, the worst step.

The 5 hour drive.

Wood River is located on the far southwest side of Illinois, whereas Chicago is on the far northeast side of everything. So basically we drive across the entire state.

And when you're looking forward to something, that final stretch of 5 hours is the most torturous experience. I've even tried to convince mom to move us to Crystal Lake.

One, because it's only an hour away.

And two, because my partner in crime, Gianna lives there. And since we first became friends at this camp, we've dreamed of living closer.

The rest of my friends in Chicago also live too far for my liking. Iris is in Bloomington, Finn is in Rockford, and Elaine—or Lane as we call her—comes all the way from Manchester in Tennessee.

And obviously I know all of them (except Lane) aren't so far that we could've visit during the school year. We all just have this unspoken understanding that seeing one another outside of Chicago would spoil the excitement of our annual reunion.

So we choose not to.

Around two hours into the drive I put away my phone and reach into my bag, grabbing out a book. Sophia, my younger sister, recommended it.

"Again, but Better" by Christine Riccio. She claimed it to be the best story she's read and told me that the main character reminded her of me. I'm not much of a reader but to say I was intrigued would be and understatement.

"How's it coming along?" Mom glances at me from the steering wheel. I look up at the widow and close the book. "I'm on page 16 mom."

"Well yeah I know but..." she gives my shoulder a little nudge. "It's just exciting to see you give books a try, you know?"

She smiles at me and I scoff, going back to the page. "Don't think this is a new thing. Soph just made it sound really interesting."

I don't have to look at her to sense my moms smile. But I don't mind. I'm making her happy.

Three and a half hours in, and I can't wait another tedious second. This car ride has always been the worst part of the trip, and it seems to be getting longer and more aggravating as the years go on.

Four hours in and there goes my sanity.

•  •  •

My seat belt flys off of me and I open the door to the car, the very minute we park. I breathe in the lovely Chicago smell. Cigarette smoke, car gasoline and the sticky humid air of the parking garage.

I smell home again.

"Alright now before you bolt off we have to lay ground rules again." She gives me a stare as the two of us grab out the five million luggages in the trunk.

"Mom, I already know. They're the same every year. No smoking, no drinking, no sneaking out with friends past curfew, no getting into street fights, blah blah blah–"

"Caroline."

I huff and pause what I'm doing to give her my attention. She yanks out the last luggage and shuts the back of the car.

"Alright sweets now I know you're a mature kid." She starts. "And I know you're responsible and smart enough to make good decisions and..."

She must notice the impatient-and-anxiously-dying-to-go-see-my-friends look on my face because she sighs and gets straight to the point.

"Don't mess around with any boys."

"Mom!"

"In past years I haven't had to worry but now that you're 17 I just—"

"I'm not gonna do anything with boys! I'm not that stupid and besides, I've never had a crush on any of the guys I've danced with."

And it's true. As intimate as dance can be I don't really fall for any of my classmates. Plus I've only ever had a few partners, and they've all left. Finn is the only one who's stuck around as long as I have.

She stares straight into my soul for a beat. And another.
"Okay. I trust you."

"Good, I mean it's not like I'm your daughter or anything." I wink to indicate to her that I'm only joking. She rolls her eyes in that knowing way and throws a backpack over her shoulder.

"Alright let's get you inside, huh?"

"Please."

We trudge my 500 pounds of luggage to the elevator, then across the streets of Chicago, until we arrive at the place.

In those big bold letters I've missed so dearly, it reads "Chicago Institute of Dance Arts."

My heart pounds through my chest. Partially because it's 78 degrees and humid and I'm carrying a hundred pounds, and partially because I'm nervous.

More nervous than I've ever been. Why? Absolutely not a single clue in the world.

"Alright," Mom turns to me with a slight sparkle in her eyes. "Ready?"

I nod and we walk inside.