My steps are all wrong. My jumps aren't high enough, not fast enough, not good enough. My tempo majorly sucks.
I rub the back of my neck.
This is one of the worst training sessions I've ever had. And I've had pretty bad ones in the past.
I need to get my shit together. Daddy Dearest is looking for any possible weaknesses, he's pushing me to stop thinking I can make a career out of dancing, he's threatening to pull the money plug. And it's too late to get a scholarship. So far, Mom's been on my side and Dad wants to avoid a scandal. But I need to do better.
I drop my bag in the hallway, already hearing my father telling me that it's not in its place. I almost bring it with me upstairs but then again, annoying my dad is half of the fun. The house is almost too cold, and I'm not sure if it's the fact the AC is set to sixty-five or because our family's been in a deep let's-pretend-everything-is-okay hole.
"You're home." Mom's in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of lemonade. Her hair is half-up, half-down, kind of crazy, compared to the very strict way she usually has it up. And she's wearing sweats for the first time in her life.
"What's up?" I ask and sit at the counter. She offers me a glass of lemonade which I take in my hands, still searching for any signs that she's either lost it, or maybe she's slugging back a cocktail a little earlier than usual.
"I'm going on vacation." She sips her lemonade, staring into space. "On spa-cation."
"Okay." I enunciate slowly, raising my eyes to the ceiling. Mom going to the spa is as new as me wanting to become a professional dancer.
Mom places a hand over mine. And I almost jolt back. That's new. Personal contact in this house isn't the norm. Mom air-kisses her friends, she gives me the occasional hug (the birthday hug, the Christmas hug, the celebratory-in-front-of-everyone hug after a show). She never touches my hand like she's doing right now—like she wants to pass on some sort of message to me, which I don't understand.
"It might be a long spa-cation. I need some distance," she says and bites her lip. "Not from you. Never from you. You know that, right?"
"I'm pretty hard to be away from," I joke because I have no clue what else to do in this situation, and it's easier than to dwell on the reasons she wants to leave. Mom and Dad have been fighting a lot. Even more than usual.
She removes her hand and her bland smile is back on. "True. Anyways. Be good while I'm gone." She doesn't tell me to listen to my father. Interesting.
"Always. I'm the definition of good." Good at school. Good at dancing. Good in bed. Hmm, not something Mom probably wants to hear.
"I have to pack. I'm going to the same place as always. Come visit me?" Her tone is all over the place between sad and excited, as if she's not sure what emotion she should convey.
"Of course, I will."
"I'm leaving in an hour."
That means if I didn't come home now, I probably wouldn't have seen her. I would have gotten one of her handwritten notes on my desk that may have said more about the reasons behind her spa-cation.
She's more truthful on paper.
Author's note:
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying getting to know Em & Nick! I'll be publishing two new chapters every Friday and would love to hear from you, so don't hesitate to leave a comment. The full novella is already published/available on all e-retailers for only $0.99 in case you don't want to wait for the next chapter :) More information on www.elodienowodazkij.com :)
YOU ARE READING
A Summer Like No Other
Teen FictionShe's his best friend's little sister. He's the biggest player of them all. They shouldn't be together. But this summer's just too tempting. Sixteen-year-old Emilia Moretti's goal for the summer is simple: forget her brother's best friend-Nick Gra...
