He rocks his large hand over the steering wheel. "I always love watching you dance, angel. From the first time you got up on those boxes at the club I was hooked on you."
Now I do blush. Because it's Jared. Admitting he's had a thing for me.
"And I loved watching you yesterday in that ballet class."
I sense a but coming, and I stiffen, as if he's my mother getting ready to offer constructive criticism.
Like usual, he's too damn in tune with me. He glances over, a startled wrinkle between his brow.
"Is there a but?" I ask. Might as well make it easy for him.
The way he turns his focus back to the road and rolls his grip on the steering wheel tells me I'm right.
What could it be? I'm not as skinny as the rest of the bunheads? Too uptight?
"There was no joy. When I see you dance at the club, you're alive. Shining. What I saw yesterday? Made me want to throat punch your professor for sucking the life out of you."
The sound that comes out of my mouth is a half-laugh, half-sob. How is it possible that in five minutes Jared saw what my mom couldn't see in eighteen years? What I couldn't bring myself to admit out loud for the past four? What my dad would never even understand?
He pulls up in front of my house and reaches for my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"No." I pull my buns out of my hair. "I'm upset because you're right. And it's the center hub my life spins around. This thing that doesn't work for me."
I stare at him, hopelessness rising up and drowning me.
He narrows his eye. "So I do get to go and throat punch your professors?"
I let out a watery laugh. "If only that would fix this." I push open the car door, suddenly way too constricted inside.
He follows me out and opens my front door. "Fix what?" His voice is sharp, like he's determined to fix my life any way he can.
I shake my hair down, walking away.
"Hey." He catches me around the waist and pulls my body back against his. "You don't get to turn your back on me when you're upset. Not for a goddamn second." His voice is a growl in my ear, the rough stubble of his face scraping my cheek.
Everything I've been bottling in that's been straining to get out as my graduation approaches jostles up into my throat.
"I hate it!" I admit. "I don't fit the mold and I can't make myself want to fit it anymore."
Jared drops me and spins me around. His green eyes bore into me. "So don't."
The laugh-sob comes up again.
"Who are you doing this for? Your teachers? Your old self? It's okay to change your mind. It's okay to veer from the path you set for yourself."
A tear leaks out of my eye. "See that's the thing. I don't even think I set this path. I think my mom did."
Jared's lip curls but he doesn't say anything.
"I think she wanted to be a ballerina but her parents couldn't afford lessons, so she's living vicariously through me. I don't even know if I ever liked dance, or if she just told me I did."
Jared shakes his head slowly. "You love it on Saturday nights."
"That's not really dance," I mutter.
"The hell it's not." He gets right up in my face, but it doesn't scare me.
Instead, I square off against him. "What do you know about dance?"
He blinks and swallows. Backs off. Shoves his hands in his pocket.
Have I hurt his feelings? Crap.
"You're right. I don't know dance. But I know you. Whatever it is you do on Saturday nights, you love."
I step into him, my need to soothe him apparently as strong as his for me. My hands hit his chest and the sizzle of contact runs through me. "That's about… the joy of creation. It's my baby. I dreamed it up. I staged it. I got Garrett to agree to it."
He covers my hands with his. "Yeah?" It's a prompt. He wants me to go on.
I draw in a breath, following the thread. "It's the only place in my life I got to be in charge. To execute my vision. Do you know what I mean?"
He nods and pulls one hand from my chest. "Come on, let's go for a walk."
"Why?" I ask, but follow his lead out the door.
"When I need to work through stuff running always helps me." He leads me at a brisk pace. It's beautiful out. I love spring in Tucson, when the air is warm and everything starts to bloom. The sweet smell of citrus blossoms perfume the air. Pink penstemon are making their bell-flower appearance just in time for Easter.
I have to admit, walking feels good. Like I can leave the shit pile of my situation behind. "So what other visions do you have?"
I'm unbelievably grateful for the question. It would be so easy to start complaining about my controlling parents right now. Or how every day that draws closer to graduation I feel more and more stuck.
"Well, honestly? I'd love to have my own dance company."
There. I said it out loud. The angels of dance didn't even strike me down.
"Mmm hmm. What would your dance company be like?"
I have to take long strides to keep up with Jared, which is freeing. "It wouldn't be a ballet company. I guess more contemporary, but I see it as more of a hybrid. Like one part performance art, three parts dance-but any kind of dance-ballet, modern, hip hop."
"Uh huh. Is that what you do at the club?"