The (Im)Perfect Escape

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

June 16th – 4:19 P.M.

I never thought I would feel this nervous about doing something I love. As I stand on the beach back at the house, my heart is literally about to jump out of my chest as the music flows from the stereo I found and brought out here. I’m guessing it’s from my stepmom’s disco days, since there are multiple disco ball stickers and slogans that say such things as “groovy, baby!” all over it. I almost dropped it when I saw all the bedazzled jewels on the handle. I was nearly blinded by its sparkliness.

I try to shake off my nerves, but it doesn’t work that well. I haven’t danced since the accident. Tori and I were on the dance team together, and after, I just couldn’t do it without thinking about everything that happened that night. How I ruined her life. I close my eyes and take a couple of deep breaths. It’s just dancing. It’s not like I’m diving off a bridge. I’m capable of doing it.

Slowly, my body starts to relax, and I allow myself to be immersed in the music. The fluidity of the notes calls to me, and I find myself drawn into the haunting melody. Before I know it, all my fears and qualms fly out of me and are long forgotten. The beat takes over my body, and soon, I forget about everything—where I am, all the bad things that have happened in my life, and so much more. It’s just me and the dance.

I’m amazed when my legs slip back into their old patterns and start sliding in triple pirouettes and leaps that I haven’t done in a quite a while. I let the music take me where it wants and I find myself surprised when my turns are still as flowy and airy from the last time I did them. I throw in another pirouette, not because the song called for it, but because I love doing them and feel exhilarated by the sensation of the wind in my hair and almost like flying.

Effortlessly, I do a grand jete and find the corners of my mouth turning up. A smile graces my face, as I throw in a small leap. Slowly, I turn and spot something dark on the edge of my vision. I throw a sideways glance and nearly jump in surprise when I spot someone standing on the porch. I quickly stop mid-step and stand frozen in place, as I gaze at Logan who’s smiling at me now that I spotted him. Finally, I find the courage to shut off the stereo and walk over to him.

One of my eyebrows quirks up. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t know you’re a dancer.” He shoves his hands in his cargo shorts pocket, and his grin widens.

I bite my lip. A tendril of unease starts to course through me. It’s not like guys haven’t seen me dance before—trust me, they have, but this is just different. He crept up on me and stood there silently watching me dance. That screams psycho stalker to me.

 Lila, when on earth did you get so paranoid? Maybe the dude was just liked your awesomesauce-ness, or he was dumbstruck by the epic failure you call dancing? Although, you did win several awards in it, so we’ll go with the first one.

“When have we had a conversation that would bring up this subject?” I force myself to give him an easygoing smile.

Casually, he shrugs. His lips curl into a Cheshire cat-type grin. “You’re really an amazing dancer. Those leapy things you did were cool.”

Lightly, a blush spreads across my cheeks. “Thanks.”

Playfully, he punches me which makes me knit my eyebrows together. Did he just punch me? Even though it didn’t hurt, it’s kind of an odd thing to do to a girl you just met a few days ago. “Oh, Lil, you’re so silly. You don’t seem the kind to be shy. Embrace that hotness you have on the dance floor.”

I blink at him. Did…I…Did I really just hear that right? He gave me a nickname, called me “silly,” punched me, and then flirted with me all in one minute? Huh, dude’s got game, I suppose. What do you say to that?