Chapter 6 Playing Dirty
The light from Sloane's phone is blinding in the dark basement. Caspian and I freeze, still pressed together between the cold metal cabinets. I can feel his heart hammering against mine.
"Get that light out of our faces, Sloane," Caspian snaps. He steps away from me, his voice regaining that Prince of Vance ice.
Sloane doesn't move the phone. She taps the screen, likely saving the photo to a cloud drive. "I don't think so. I came down here to find my missing earring, and what do I find? The star student and the janitor girl breaking into the private archives."
I step out from the shadows, my hands clenched into fists. "We aren't breaking in. Caspian has a key."
"A key he isn't supposed to use at night," Sloane counters. She looks at me, her eyes filled with hate. "And definitely not with you. What were you doing, Zoe? Looking for a way to steal the Gala prize? Or maybe just looking for more dirt to mop up?"
"Shut up, Sloane," Caspian says. He walks toward her, but she steps back, keeping the door between them.
"Or what?" she challenges. "You'll tell your father? I'm sure Arthur Thorne would love to see this photo. He's very big on reputation, isn't he? I wonder how he'll feel knowing his perfect son is sneaking around in the dark with a girl from the Flats."
My stomach does a slow, painful flip. If she sends that photo to Arthur, the forty-eight hour deal is over. He won't just sue us. He'll destroy us tonight.
"What do you want?" I ask. My voice sounds hollow.
Sloane lowers the phone slightly, a cruel smile on her lips. "I want you gone, Zoe. I want you to walk out of that dance studio and never come back. If you drop out of the Gala tonight, the photo disappears."
"She isn't dropping out," Caspian says firmly.
"Then I guess I'll just hit send," Sloane says, her thumb hovering over the screen.
"Wait!" I shout.
Caspian looks at me, his eyes wide. "Zoe, don't."
"I have to," I whisper. I look at Sloane. "Give me until tomorrow morning. If I'm not gone by then, do whatever you want."
Sloane laughs. "You have until the first bell tomorrow. If you show up for rehearsal, everyone sees this."
She turns on her heel and walks away, the sound of her expensive heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor.
The silence that follows is heavy. I look at the filing cabinet. The V section is still open. The answer to the lawsuit is right there, inches away, but it feels like miles.
"You aren't actually going to leave," Caspian says. He sounds angry.
"Did you see her face? She'll do it, Caspian. And if your dad sees that photo, he'll know I'm plotting, he'll say I've made you an ally. My mum will lose the one thing she's held on to for years."
"We can find another way," he argues, grabbing my hand.
"There is no other way. I'm a janitor, Caspian. I'm a girl with a paralyzed sister and a mom who works three jobs. I don't have a Board of Directors to protect me."
I pull my hand away and start walking toward the exit.
"Where are you going?" he calls out.
"Home," I say without looking back. "I need to look at my sister and remember why I'm doing this."
The bus ride back to the Flats feels like a funeral. I sit in the back, watching the rain start to smear against the window. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It is a text from an unknown number.
12 hours left. Tick tock, Cinderella. Sloane.
I finally arrive at my apartment, the smell of burnt toast hits me. My mom is in the kitchen, her back to me. She is scrubbing a pan with so much force her knuckles are turning white.
"Zoe? You're home late," she says. She doesn't turn around.
"Practice ran long," I say. It is becoming a habit, lying to her.
"The lawyer called again," she says, her voice cracking. "He said the Thorne firm is moving up the date. They want a meeting tomorrow afternoon. Zoe, I don't know what to do. I can't lose my job. Lumi needs this apartment, she needs the elevator. Why would Arthur sue now?
I walk over and hug her from behind. She feels so small. So fragile. "It's okay, Mom. I'm handling it."
"How can an eighteen-year-old handle a man like Arthur Thorne?" she asks, finally turning around. Her eyes are sunken and tired.
"I just can," I say, trying to sound brave.
I go into the bedroom I share with Lumi. She is already asleep, her breathing deep and even. I sit on the edge of my bed and look at her legs. They are so still. So quiet.
I reach under my pillow and pull out the old, tattered program from the night of the crash. It is a program for the State Ballet Finals. Lumi's name is printed in gold letters.
I was the one driving. I was the one who wanted to get home fast so I could practice my own routine.
My fault, I erased her dreams. The words echo in my head. They are louder than the rain.
I stay awake all night. I watch the clock on the wall. 3:00 AM. 4:00 AM. 5:00 AM.
As the sun begins to rise over the jagged rooftops of the Flats, I make my choice. I pack my bag. I don't put my ballet shoes in it. I put my mop bucket rags and my industrial soap in it.
I walk to the Academy. The air is cold and crisp. I don't go through the front glass doors this time. I go to the service entrance.
I swipe my janitor ID. Beep. I walk to the supply closet and grab the heavy yellow mop bucket. I fill it with hot water, the steam rising into my face.
I don't go to Studio A to dance. I go to the hallway outside it.
I drop the mop into the water and start to scrub.
Ten minutes later, the elevator opens. Sloane walks out, looking like a queen in her silk wrap and designer leggings. She stops when she sees me.
"Good girl," she whispers, leaning over so only I can hear. "I knew you knew your place."
She walks into the studio, her head held high.
I keep mopping. My heart feels like a piece of lead in my chest, but I keep moving the mop back and forth. Back and forth.
Then the studio door flies open.
Caspian stands there. He isn't wearing his dance clothes. He is wearing a suit. A suit that looks exactly like the ones his father wears.
He looks at the mop. He looks at me.
"What are you doing?" he asks. His voice is a low growl.
"My job," I say, not looking up. "The floor is dirty, Thorne. Move your feet."
Caspian doesn't move. He reaches down and grabs the handle of the mop, stopping me mid-stroke.
"The photo is gone, Zoe," he says.
I finally look up. "What?"
"I took her phone while she was in the dressing room. I deleted it. And then I dropped the phone in the toilet."
I stare at him, my mouth open. "You did what?"
"I'm a Thorne," he says, a dark spark in his eyes. "I know how to play dirty too."
He lets go of the mop and steps closer. "Now, get that bucket out of here. We have a rehearsal, and you're late."
Behind him, Sloane steps out of the studio, her face pale. "Caspian! You can't do that! My father will—"
"Your father can talk to mine," Caspian snaps, not even looking at her. "But right now, Zoe and I are busy."
He looks at me, waiting.
I look at the mop. Then I look at the studio.
I let go of the bucket.
"Fine," I say, a small, dangerous smile touching my lips. "But if I fall because the floor is wet, it's your fault.”