Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series)

  Rival

  A Feuds Novella

  Avery Hastings

  St. Martin’s Griffin

  New York

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  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 someone.

  She stumbled, but two strong hands gripped her shoulders and stopped her from falling. “I’m so sorry,” she said, a little out of breath. She looked up and met a pair of blazing eyes, hazel bordering on golden, like a cat’s. Then her own eyes wandered downward.

  He was shirtless and wearing only a towel secured by what looked like a very loose knot. Davis felt her face heat up and she quickly darted her eyes back to his face, which she realized she recognized.

  “Seth!” Davis exclaimed, immediately regretting it.

  “I’m sorry … do we know each other?” He cocked an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face.

  Davis took a deep breath, hoping her embarrassment was imperceptible. Not only was he insanely gorgeous, with sandy brown hair just slicked back from a shower and eyes that practically glowed against his olive skin—he was also one of the best dancers in the Olympiads. He’d nearly won the year before, and now he was working as a top-level trainer.

  “Well, it’s just … everyone knows you,” she said, flushing for a second time. “I mean, from the Olympiads last year. You had that amazing routine to the waltz from Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty. I remember that battement en rond; it was so beautiful, so surprising.” Davis stopped, realizing she was rambling.

  “I’m impressed,” he told her, looking amused. Davis couldn’t help but notice him tugging at the knot around his waist. “You remember it so vividly.”

  Davis nodded, trying to appear confident. Inside, she was quaking. She tried to remember Vera’s mantra: never let them know you’re faking. “That’s because no one’s ever pulled it off like you did,” Davis said, her eyes lingering a little too long on his mouth, which was curved into a slight smile. “Everyone remembers it,” she continued. “It was kind of big news for a while. So can we just chalk this up …”—she paused, indicating her near fall—“to another complicated dance move.”

  He laughed, tilting his head back. “Sure,” he said. “Yes. You’re a dancer, too, aren’t you?”

  “Normally a much more graceful one,” she said, feeling her confidence returning with the ease of his banter. “But yes. I’m training for this year’s Olympiads.”

  “Really?” His eyebrows lifted in interest, and Davis opened her mouth to respond.

  “Here I am!” chirped a bubbly voice. Davis turned to see Vera’s lithe form rounding the corner, her trademark red nails striking a startling contrast against her pale skin and blond hair. “Sorry I’m late—oh.” She stopped in her tracks, staring at Seth’s naked torso.

  Seth smiled in return.

  “Well, gotta get going,” said Davis, steering her friend in the opposite direction before she could say anything potentially awkward. “Nice to meet you, Seth.”

  “See you around, Davis,” he said, giving them a casual wave. He knew her name. Davis was thankful Seth couldn’t see her face anymore—she was sure it was as red as Vera’s nails.

  Chapter 2

  “Holy hell,
” Vera said. “Who was that? He was, like, totally confident about being half-naked. As he should have been.”

  “Shhhh.” Davis gripped her friend’s elbow hard.

  “Whatever, he can’t hear us. He’s hot, girl. You should bump into him more often.”

  “How did you know I bumped into him? Were you spying on me?”

  Vera smiled impishly, her blue eyes alight with mischief. “Are you telling me that you stopped a hot, half-naked stranger to flirt?”

  Davis shook her head, laughing as she steered Vera into the spa reception area. You’re so full of it. My god,” she told Vera, distracted by the scent of lavender in the air. Davis could feel the heated stone floor through her thin ballet shoes; it instantly calmed her. The room was lined with plush white chairs and a row of changing rooms concealed by gray linen curtains. Davis peeked behind one to find its mirrored cubbies stocked with thick cotton slippers and robes. “Besides, he’s a trainer. You know it’s completely off-limits for trainers and competitors to hook up. And I’m really, really, really, really—”

  “I get it. You’re really hoping to make it past the Pre-quals.”

  “Did you get the invitation?” Davis avoided her friend’s eyes and held her breath. She hadn’t been sure how to bring it up, but the chances of Vera not getting the showcase invite were slim. She was the most talented cellist in Columbus.

  “Of course.” Vera waved her hand in the air carelessly. “And you did, too?”

  “Yesterday,” Davis said, still relishing the thought of the invitation tucked away in her bag.

  “That’s great!” Vera jumped up and down, kissing Davis on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you! Let’s celebrate. None of our usual manicure bullshit. Let’s go for the hydromassages. On me.”

  “Vera, those things are way expensive for non-members.” It wasn’t that Davis’s family didn’t have money—like most Priors, they did, and plenty of it. But she knew how hard her dad worked, and she always felt wrong spending too much of his money, somehow.

  “On my family’s account, I mean,” Vera said. “Trust me, they won’t mind. My parents will be happy for you!”

  “Okay,” Davis agreed, hugging her friend. “Sounds amazing.”

  And it was amazing. Five minutes later, they were facedown on adjoining massage beds in their bikinis, letting warm currents of high-pressure water course against their aching muscles. Well, at least Davis’s muscles were aching—and all over, since she’d been spending an average of six hours per day in training. Vera’s body got sore, too, Davis knew, from holding the heavy cello while she practiced for just as many hours.

  “Could this feel any better?” Vera asked.

  “Nope. Heaven.”

  “So back to the boy,” Vera prodded. “You’re not a competitor yet, you know.”

  Vera was right, but the thought of doing anything even remotely close to violating a rule made Davis’s stomach clench into a knot. “But I don’t want to jeopardize my chances,” she said slowly, watching beams of soft light pulse in the glass floor in perfect rhythm with the waves of the hydromassage. “Remember that time Auralie’s sister was disqualified just because someone saw her trainer leaving her building in the morning? One of the judges lived there, too, or something, and spotted them. I can’t take any risks.” She hesitated before continuing. “Plus, it’s not like we know if he even likes me. Or thinks I’m pretty. So this whole conversation is basically pointless.” Davis didn’t mind how badly Vera always seemed to want to set her up with the right guy, but sometimes she went a little too far.

  Vera rose a little in her bed, knocking against the upper-body jet streams. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “I can’t believe you just said that. You’ve got to know how ridiculous that sounds. Number one, who wouldn’t like you? Number two, obviously you’re pretty and lovable. All Priors are pretty—”

  “Not all Priors are lovable,” Davis pointed out. “It’s not like there are personality enhancements.”

  “You wouldn’t need a personality enhancement even if they did exist,” Vera told her. “Since when did you unleash the inner Imp? Talk about insecure.”

  Davis rolled her eyes. Vera was ridiculous.

  “Anyway,” Vera went on, “the heat was practically radiating off the two of you in giant waves. I could basically see it. Even I was getting worked up.”

  Davis laughed, raising her head, too. “You’re so dramatic.”

  “I’m a little dramatic from time to time,” Vera agreed, shaking out her blond curls. “But when I know, I know. You guys had chemistry. Plus, you have so much in common! He’s a dancer. And he’s older, which is hot.”

  Davis rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so much in common.” Still, she couldn’t help wondering if Vera was right. It would be nice to date a dancer, to be with someone who understood what it was like to really care about the way the body moves to form art.

  “Just give it a chance,” Vera said.

  “Okay, okay. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Def. Have you heard who else has been invited to perform in the showcase? I’m sure everyone was talking about it in the training room, am I right? God, you should have heard the musicians this morning. Everyone’s so smug.”

  Davis reached up to adjust the jet that was centered on her shoulders.

  “Gabrielle Rydell,” she said. She couldn’t help tensing, despite the relaxation therapy.

  Vera was quiet, which was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence for her. But “Gabrielle Rydell” was all Davis had to say. Vera knew what a threat Gaby was; she was Davis’s main competition. Her only competition. Davis could picture Gaby as she was the last time she’d seen her dance, in an inter-territory dance-off: performing perfect adagios in front of an adoring audience. She’d received a standing ovation and had been hand delivered a bouquet of roses personally from the judges. She’d even—and this was the worst part—been compared to Davis’s mom, the greatest ballerina of her time. It had been a punch in the gut to Davis.

  “I’ve seen the way she plays the showcase organizers,” Davis told Vera, trying to keep a tremble out of her voice. “They’re at the Apex all the time. I’ve seen her here a few times, but I’ve never seen her practice. I’m … I can’t say I’m not worried. She’s so well connected.”

  “And she’ll do anything to get ahead,” Vera finished. “You’ve told me that before.”

  “It’s just so hard,” Davis said, voicing thoughts she’d never tell anyone but Vera. “It’s not just about talent anymore. Everyone knows there are so many ways to get ahead, and people like Gaby stop at nothing. Plus, her team is totally cutthroat.”

  “That’s where she probably gets it,” Vera said dryly. “That and her stage mom. Have you seen that woman? Good god.”

  Davis laughed. It was true; she’d seen Gaby’s mom only once, nodding along with the music and directing her daughter from the floor at the inter-territory dance-off, and Davis had almost felt bad for Gaby. Until she saw Gaby tear into the next dancer on her way off the stage, making the clearly terrified girl cry throughout her entire performance.

  And besides, at least Gaby’s mom was alive.

  At that thought, the jets stopped. Davis eased herself from the hydrobed and grabbed a towel. She was toweling off when she realized that Vera had been silent for a while.

  “Ver—” Davis turned, only to be squirted directly in the face with a stream of the Apex’s signature almond-scented massage oil. She squealed and jumped up, wiping the mess from her face with the towel. Davis had to admit that it smelled, and tasted, delicious.

  “What the hell! We’re going to get in trouble!”

  Then Vera sprayed her with another stream, then another, giggling the whole time. “Coward,” Vera teased. “You need to lighten up a little. Let your hair down. And douse it in lavender!” Vera tousled her own curls for effect. “Who cares about this ‘Gaby,’ ” she said, using air quotes, “anyway? If the audience can’t appreciate your talent, then they
suck. Maybe Gaby will do anything to win, but you practice, and you’re good. Like, legit good. Like better than every other ballerina out there. So just stop worrying, and chill out, and let yourself take a break once in a while, ’kay? Unless …,” she trailed off, smirking.

  “What?”

  “Unless you want to use your own tactics …” Vera wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Unless there’s a forbidden trainer you could cozy up to, just in case, make sure you’re extra prepared.”

  Davis reached for the nearest bottle she could find, which happened to be an enormous tube of shampoo from the shower stall next to her. She squirted Vera all over her hair, arms, and towel until Vera’s swimsuit and towel both were a bright green and she was laughing hysterically and begging Davis to stop. But Davis was merciless.

  “You want to play this game? You got it,” she tried to tell her friend even as she doubled over laughing herself. She kept squirting Vera, whose back now looked like it was covered in algae strung together with bikini straps. Then Vera whipped around, her arms laden with colorful bath sponges, which she began pelting at Davis.

  Davis jumped, dropping the bottle of shampoo, and ran around the room, laughing as she tried to dodge the sponges. Her abs hurt more than they did after a long day of dancing; it was the most fun she’d had in ages, probably since the last time Vera tricked her into doing something to lighten up. But when she heard the distinct sound of a door slam, she froze.

  “Oh. My. God.” Davis grabbed Vera’s arm.

  Chapter 3

  “Shit.” Vera gripped Davis’s hand as footsteps made their way up the hall in their direction. Davis clapped a hand over her mouth in an effort to stifle her laughter and let Vera pull her into the adjoining steam room and away from the mess. They leaned into each other for support as they toweled off the goopy shampoo and massage oil, choking on their giggles. Davis felt truly happy—and grateful—in a way that had eluded her for a long time. She wrapped her friend into a long, slippery hug.