Chapter 1
Davis pointed and flexed her toes impatiently, then bent to stretch her left calf muscle, pulling the sole of her foot upward with her palms. She didn’t want to feel nervous—she shouldn’t have—but she did. Why did good news always have to come with such a big batch of nerves?
On top of that, Vera was late. Though of course, Vera was always late to things— last year, she’d shown up two hours late to her own birthday party—and it’s not that Davis minded waiting. The Apex still felt like a dream to her. Its spa and training facilities were top-ranked in all of New Atlantic for providing the best, most exclusive service to athletes—serious and recreational both. It was almost impossible to become a member, and the cost was unfathomable. When Davis had broached membership to her own father last year, he’d outright laughed. She was only there now on Vera’s guest ticket.
Davis and Vera had made a plan to meet in the training room just adjacent to the spa. While Davis had spent her whole life in training rooms, none of them had ever been as enormous as the private dance room she was currently standing in. There could have been fifty other dancers practicing with her and she wouldn’t have noticed them. But Davis could only put in so many stretches after an entire day spent preparing for next week’s performance, and besides, she was anxious. Distracted. About that very performance.
She sank into a split, then reached back and grabbed her right ankle with her opposite arm, wishing Vera would show up already but knowing she should be grateful to be here at all. Vera was the whole reason Davis was able to put in extra hours of ballet rehearsal in the first place. Vera’s family had always been members. Vera’s dad played water polo; her mom played tennis; and though her parents had genetically modified Vera to be more musical than athletic, she had no qualms enjoying the complimentary spa facilities that came with membership. They had one seasonal guest pass to share each year. And this year, rather than giving it to one of Vera’s dad’s colleagues at the firm, Vera had convinced them to give it to Davis.
Davis finished her workout and stood, letting the euphoria of working out—plus receiving that morning’s news—wash over her. It was her little sister, Sofia, who had first found the envelope stamped with the Olympiads crest and Davis’s name slipped under her apartment door. Curious (no one used paper anymore, except for
really
important occasions), her sister had picked it up from its spot on the carpet and walked it into Davis’s room, then leaned so close she was practically in Davis’s lap as Davis eagerly tore into it, pushing aside Fia’s wayward curls so she could get a better look. The sight of Davis’s name so close to the Olympiads’ ornate symbol made her vitals go crazy—even now, as she just thought about it, a small spike in her heartbeat registered in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She almost had to pinch herself.
She, Davis Morrow, was going to be featured in the pre-Olympiads showcase. A spot in the showcase practically guaranteed an Olympiads nomination, if you looked at the track record, which Davis had been doing
since
she was Fia’s age. Seven of the past nine Olympiads champions had performed in the showcase. Davis shuddered with excitement. It made all the hours and all the grueling workouts totally worth it.
Just then, Vera’s voice piped in through Davis’s DirecTalk. “Hey, girl, see ya soon! Go hang in the spa and I’ll find you.”
Davis pulled off her leg warmers and grabbed her workout bag, then eyed her sweaty tank. She pulled that off, too, content to walk around in just her favorite blue sports bra and spandex leggings. The spa was just down the hallway, and soon she’d be ensconced in one of their signature fluffy robes. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she left the room, and swung the door open, walking smack into something.
Or
Davis pointed and flexed her toes impatiently, then bent to stretch her left calf muscle, pulling the sole of her foot upward with her palms. She didn’t want to feel nervous—she shouldn’t have—but she did. Why did good news always have to come with such a big batch of nerves?
On top of that, Vera was late. Though of course, Vera was always late to things— last year, she’d shown up two hours late to her own birthday party—and it’s not that Davis minded waiting. The Apex still felt like a dream to her. Its spa and training facilities were top-ranked in all of New Atlantic for providing the best, most exclusive service to athletes—serious and recreational both. It was almost impossible to become a member, and the cost was unfathomable. When Davis had broached membership to her own father last year, he’d outright laughed. She was only there now on Vera’s guest ticket.
Davis and Vera had made a plan to meet in the training room just adjacent to the spa. While Davis had spent her whole life in training rooms, none of them had ever been as enormous as the private dance room she was currently standing in. There could have been fifty other dancers practicing with her and she wouldn’t have noticed them. But Davis could only put in so many stretches after an entire day spent preparing for next week’s performance, and besides, she was anxious. Distracted. About that very performance.
She sank into a split, then reached back and grabbed her right ankle with her opposite arm, wishing Vera would show up already but knowing she should be grateful to be here at all. Vera was the whole reason Davis was able to put in extra hours of ballet rehearsal in the first place. Vera’s family had always been members. Vera’s dad played water polo; her mom played tennis; and though her parents had genetically modified Vera to be more musical than athletic, she had no qualms enjoying the complimentary spa facilities that came with membership. They had one seasonal guest pass to share each year. And this year, rather than giving it to one of Vera’s dad’s colleagues at the firm, Vera had convinced them to give it to Davis.
Davis finished her workout and stood, letting the euphoria of working out—plus receiving that morning’s news—wash over her. It was her little sister, Sofia, who had first found the envelope stamped with the Olympiads crest and Davis’s name slipped under her apartment door. Curious (no one used paper anymore, except for
really
important occasions), her sister had picked it up from its spot on the carpet and walked it into Davis’s room, then leaned so close she was practically in Davis’s lap as Davis eagerly tore into it, pushing aside Fia’s wayward curls so she could get a better look. The sight of Davis’s name so close to the Olympiads’ ornate symbol made her vitals go crazy—even now, as she just thought about it, a small spike in her heartbeat registered in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She almost had to pinch herself.
She, Davis Morrow, was going to be featured in the pre-Olympiads showcase. A spot in the showcase practically guaranteed an Olympiads nomination, if you looked at the track record, which Davis had been doing
since
she was Fia’s age. Seven of the past nine Olympiads champions had performed in the showcase. Davis shuddered with excitement. It made all the hours and all the grueling workouts totally worth it.
Just then, Vera’s voice piped in through Davis’s DirecTalk. “Hey, girl, see ya soon! Go hang in the spa and I’ll find you.”
Davis pulled off her leg warmers and grabbed her workout bag, then eyed her sweaty tank. She pulled that off, too, content to walk around in just her favorite blue sports bra and spandex leggings. The spa was just down the hallway, and soon she’d be ensconced in one of their signature fluffy robes. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder as she left the room, and swung the door open, walking smack into something.
Or
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