fear, my anger. Seth… I didn’t get a chance to talk to him, not when he was so sick and so tired. Not when he thought his mom was dead, and she’s now back, when in his nightmare he was calling for her like a child.
That had struck me straight through the heart, even more so knowing he’d thought her dead. Maybe in his dreams she still is.
But I didn’t talk to him, and I won’t be doing so, either. We’ve established that, and why are my thoughts circling back to him again? This is ridiculous.
Fred is the one I’ll talk to. He’s the one I want, the one I desire and the one in whose arms I want to hide. The one who’s practically my boyfriend, apart from the fact we haven’t kissed yet, or done anything more than hold hands from time to time.
He really is.
And I will call him. Just watch.
***
“Physical therapy?” Fred, who’s driving us to the party in my car, sounds affronted by the words. Looks affronted, too. His glasses are steaming up, I swear. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I fidget with the hem of my sweater. It’s warm in his car. Or maybe it’s the argument we’re having. Me and Fred, we never fight. This is terrifying. “I thought it might be a good idea.”
“Why on Earth would you think that?” He thumps his hand on the wheel, and I jump a little. He’s never been even remotely violent, so this show of it shocks me. “It has nothing to do with dancing.”
“I know, all right?” Why is he acting like this? “That’s the point. I don’t want to do something that will remind me every day of what I can’t do.”
“This is…” He huffs and puts his foot to the gas, accelerating. “When you told me about it, I didn’t think you’d already given up the fight.”
Now I’m getting angry. “What do you want me to do? I told you, I am out.”
“What about other schools? In other towns? Hell, other states?”
“They’ll see my rejection report, Fred. They’ll see I am a liability to them. I talked to my advisor about it.” Briefly, but it was enough. “He also said it’d be dangerous to me.”
“So you’ve accepted it? That’s it? No more dancing?”
I flinch at those words, and all my defenses are up, like the spines of a porcupine. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? Yes, Fred, dancing is over for me. I failed before I even started.”
“Don’t be like that, Madeline.”
“Like what?” God, why did I think I could tell him about this? And why did I agree to going to this party and concert with him? “I was just telling you about my decision. About my future.”
“But this physical therapy crap, it doesn’t even have anything to do with the arts! You’re betraying your nature, Madeline. You’re an artist. You can’t throw that away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I like taking care of people. Helping them. I think I could be happy.”
“You’re just saying that now. Dance is your life. You told me so yourself, many times.”
I sit there, stewing, as he parks in a side street, because what can I say? He’s right, I did say so, and I did feel it. I still do. But what if I’m right, too? What if I could be happy doing something else?
His gaze is focused on the rearview mirror as he parallel parks. It takes him a few tries, and I’m so pissed at him I want to laugh and mock him, but I don’t.
I won’t. This is the guy I have a crush on, for Christ’s sake. Maybe he’s having a bad day, too. And yet I can’t help wondering whether Seth would have parked better, or listened to me more patiently. If he’d made me feel so bad about my choices.
Which is a dangerous path to go down on. I haven’t seen or talked to Seth since I left his place three days ago, and it’s about time I stopped thinking about him.
“Look,” I say after Fred’s done parking and twists around to grab his jacket from the back seat. “I can’t change how things are. Can’t change the fact my body won’t allow me to be a professional dancer.
That had struck me straight through the heart, even more so knowing he’d thought her dead. Maybe in his dreams she still is.
But I didn’t talk to him, and I won’t be doing so, either. We’ve established that, and why are my thoughts circling back to him again? This is ridiculous.
Fred is the one I’ll talk to. He’s the one I want, the one I desire and the one in whose arms I want to hide. The one who’s practically my boyfriend, apart from the fact we haven’t kissed yet, or done anything more than hold hands from time to time.
He really is.
And I will call him. Just watch.
***
“Physical therapy?” Fred, who’s driving us to the party in my car, sounds affronted by the words. Looks affronted, too. His glasses are steaming up, I swear. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” I fidget with the hem of my sweater. It’s warm in his car. Or maybe it’s the argument we’re having. Me and Fred, we never fight. This is terrifying. “I thought it might be a good idea.”
“Why on Earth would you think that?” He thumps his hand on the wheel, and I jump a little. He’s never been even remotely violent, so this show of it shocks me. “It has nothing to do with dancing.”
“I know, all right?” Why is he acting like this? “That’s the point. I don’t want to do something that will remind me every day of what I can’t do.”
“This is…” He huffs and puts his foot to the gas, accelerating. “When you told me about it, I didn’t think you’d already given up the fight.”
Now I’m getting angry. “What do you want me to do? I told you, I am out.”
“What about other schools? In other towns? Hell, other states?”
“They’ll see my rejection report, Fred. They’ll see I am a liability to them. I talked to my advisor about it.” Briefly, but it was enough. “He also said it’d be dangerous to me.”
“So you’ve accepted it? That’s it? No more dancing?”
I flinch at those words, and all my defenses are up, like the spines of a porcupine. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? Yes, Fred, dancing is over for me. I failed before I even started.”
“Don’t be like that, Madeline.”
“Like what?” God, why did I think I could tell him about this? And why did I agree to going to this party and concert with him? “I was just telling you about my decision. About my future.”
“But this physical therapy crap, it doesn’t even have anything to do with the arts! You’re betraying your nature, Madeline. You’re an artist. You can’t throw that away.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I like taking care of people. Helping them. I think I could be happy.”
“You’re just saying that now. Dance is your life. You told me so yourself, many times.”
I sit there, stewing, as he parks in a side street, because what can I say? He’s right, I did say so, and I did feel it. I still do. But what if I’m right, too? What if I could be happy doing something else?
His gaze is focused on the rearview mirror as he parallel parks. It takes him a few tries, and I’m so pissed at him I want to laugh and mock him, but I don’t.
I won’t. This is the guy I have a crush on, for Christ’s sake. Maybe he’s having a bad day, too. And yet I can’t help wondering whether Seth would have parked better, or listened to me more patiently. If he’d made me feel so bad about my choices.
Which is a dangerous path to go down on. I haven’t seen or talked to Seth since I left his place three days ago, and it’s about time I stopped thinking about him.
“Look,” I say after Fred’s done parking and twists around to grab his jacket from the back seat. “I can’t change how things are. Can’t change the fact my body won’t allow me to be a professional dancer.
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