Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series) Page 4

  Davis dialed her dad on DirecTalk, her hand shaking.

  “Daddy,” she said. “Dad. I’m on my way home. I’m—”

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice laden with concern. “Davis, you sound upset. Did something happen?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I passed a fight. A fight about Priors and Imps and the strike and segregation and—it just got so violent. I’m scared, Dad.”

  “Where are you?” he asked, his voice urgent.

  “It was … within Columbus proper. Just outside the restaurant where I was eating.” It wasn’t a lie, but Davis knew her father wouldn’t have wanted her so near the Slants.

  “Just get home, sweetie. It’ll be okay. I promise. I’m working toward straightening all of this out. That’s what the campaign is about. We’re working for it. Just get home safe.”

  Davis said good-bye and hung up, but as the monorail sped past the city she realized she was only partially heartened by her dad’s response. His words had been comforting, but his tone was urgent, like he was rushing to convince himself of what he was saying. Davis pushed the thoughts out of her mind. It was almost easier to think of Seth than what was happening across the Slants.

  Then the thought of Gaby’s message hit Davis all over again, and she slumped in her seat.

  When Davis reached her building, she could see from the outside that the lights in the apartment were already off. She took the elevator up to the thirty-fourth floor, then punched in her passcode. All she wanted just then was to collapse on her bed. She opened the door to her bedroom to find Fia curled up on her bed, reading a book.

  “Fi-fi, it’s way past your bedtime,” Davis said in a mock-stern tone. Still, Fia was exactly who Davis needed to see just then. She couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her sister’s black curls splayed all over the pillow as she yawned widely. She shot out of bed, knocking her book to the floor, and hurtled herself toward Davis, wrapping herself around Davis’s legs.

  “You forgot my good-night story,” Sofia reminded her. “You forgot yesterday, too.”

  Davis felt a pang. Even though Fia could easily read her own stories, she still loved having the tradition. But Davis had been so focused on the Olympiads lately, she’d forgotten almost everything else.

  “Is that why you were waiting up, sweetie?” she asked. Fia nodded and spun in a circle around the room, her arms outstretched. Fia was so innocent, so unencumbered by the things Davis thought about. Fia twirled until she fell, giggling madly. Davis laughed, too, lying next to Fia on the carpet. In an instant she realized: Fia was having more fun play-dancing than Davis ever had at rehearsal anymore, with all the pressure she was facing.

  She scooped up her sister, grunting under her weight, and faux-flew her to her own bedroom, making noises like an airplane before depositing her in her bed. Fia grinned up at her, her brown eyes bright. Davis almost teared up. It had been so long since she’d really spent time with Sofia.

  “Too tired for a story?” Davis asked. “Looks like you might be pretty tuckered out.”

  “One story!” shouted Fia. So Davis opened her tablet and read aloud from Tinker’s Tucket, Fia’s favorite from when she was little. As Davis read, Fia’s eyes began to droop until they were closed altogether. Davis slipped the book from the bed, switched off the light, and allowed herself a big yawn.

  Davis tossed and turned in her own bed a few minutes later. Gabrielle was getting in Davis’s head; that much was true. She couldn’t get that text out of her head. Now she’d probably screwed things up with Seth irreparably. She was still shaken by the monorail fight, too. What had happened had seemed … so outside the rules, the norm that she was used to. For once, even her father’s words didn’t comfort her.

  Then she realized: nothing had to stay within the rules. Nothing was expected.

  If Gabrielle was going to play hardball, so was Davis. She had to fight her softer instincts and be smarter and tougher than Gabrielle, if she was going to honor her mother at the showcase.

  Davis picked up her DirecTalk and dialed Seth’s number.

  “Hello?” His voice was sleepy and cautious.

  “Seth,” she said. “I’m sorry about tonight. I had … a family thing.”

  “I understand.”

  Davis could sense trepidation in his voice. She didn’t blame him.

  “I want to see you.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds perfect.” Suddenly his voice was more alert. “You’ll be at the gym tomorrow, right? I’ll find you.”

  “Perfect,” Davis said before hanging up the phone. A small smile passed over her face. Maybe, she thought as she fell asleep, she could get used to life outside the rules.

  Chapter 8

  Davis was pulling on her pale pink leg warmers—classy, classic, she always thought—over black tights when her DirecTalk pinged with a message: Skip Apex, it read. Come to my studios on MacKenzie.

  What’s the address? Davis typed back. Seth probably made such a great living as a trainer that he was able to keep a few separate empty studios for private lessons on the side. It made him all the more attractive—like he’d already “made it” at such a young age. How old was he? Davis wondered while she waited for his reply. Nineteen? Twenty? He’d gone straight into training after high school; it had made sense. He was an amazing dancer.

  Davis was so distracted by her thoughts of Seth’s body—the way it looked weightless in the air and yet strong enough to lift any ballerina—that she almost missed the ping of her phone.

  317.

  That was it. Not even a smiley. Davis frowned. Was Seth not as excited about seeing her as she’d thought he’d be? Maybe their kiss had meant nothing to him. She deflected the wave of embarrassment that swept over her. No. She was not one of those insecure girls who fluttered around worrying what boys thought. Davis took a huge breath and pulled on a light silk bomber-style jacket over her tutu. If she was going to break the rules, she was going to look damn good while doing so.

  ***

  Davis didn’t know what to expect, but the studio space was bare-bones. Only the floors were shiny and new, constructed from high-quality engineered wood. The rest was very industrial and made of concrete blocks, aside from the large glass panes that bordered each of three studio rooms. All the other studios she’d been to were sleek and luxurious and full of comforts, as if they were showing off their talent without their talent needing to actually be there. This was so minimalist, so void of frills. Davis felt a little like a fish in a bowl as she stood there, staring into the rooms. One of them was empty—was Seth inside?, she wondered, feeling her chest tighten. Inside the second, a young boy of about twelve was practicing. She found Seth and a young dancer in the third. Davis approached the glass and Seth held up his palm, fingers spread. Five minutes.

  Davis waited, scrolling through her DirecTalk a dozen times for new messages. Finally, she went inside the empty studio to check things out. It was a big space—and for the millionth time she wondered how it was that Seth was so successful. How could he own all this space? She began flexing her toes instinctively. The walls were soundproof; she couldn’t even hear the smallest hint of music from the other rooms.

  Eager to banish all thoughts of the previous night’s message from her mind, Davis began her basic warm-up, stretching while she waited. She moved her legs into a split, and she felt a twinge in her ankle where she’d twisted it, but the pain wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t going to let anything get in her way. Not anymore.

  She thought of Fia, twirling in her room the night before, and laughed aloud. Fia was so sweet and unencumbered … and so obsessed with Davis. It was adorable. Taking a cue from her little sister, Davis spun around in a large circle with her arms outstretched. She began to lose herself in the movements, twirling and leaping with a freedom she’d never felt in any of her choreographed routines. Was this what improvisation was like? Davis had seen amazing improv, but she’d never imagined she could pull it off. It was really wonderful, the feeli
ng of dancing without any rules or restrictions.

  Seth cleared his throat. He stood in the doorway to the studio. Davis stopped abruptly, her cheeks flaming. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

  “Improv?” Seth raised his eyebrows. “No way. That’s the quickest way to lose any competition.”

  “Hello to you, too,” Davis said, trying to sound tougher than she felt.

  “Hey,” Seth said. His tone was so casual. They stood there for a second, eyeing each other. Had their easy intimacy of the other night completely disappeared? For the millionth time, Davis wondered if she’d misread the signals.

  But then, why had he told her to come here?

  “So, is there anything specific you’re looking for? Dance-wise?” he asked. “I’m giving you a free hour,” he told her. “That’s what you wanted, right? Training advice?” His tone was friendly, but Davis was thrown all the same. Disappointed even. Half of her was thrilled that he was taking an interest in her dancing, and half of her was dismayed to have misunderstood his intentions.

  “Why don’t you just show me the beginning of your routine,” he suggested. “I’ll watch with a careful eye.” He winked, and part of her felt mad that he kept teasing her, plus awkward at the implication of scrutiny—but there was no choice. She had to bring her best game to the performance.

  “I’m going to be dancing to music from Le Sacre du Printemps,” Davis told him. “Can you cue up the ‘Glorification of the Chosen One’?”

  “The Rite of Spring.” Seth nodded approvingly. “Great choice. Challenging, but beautiful if you nail it.”

  “I’ll nail it.”

  “Are you the chosen one?” Seth asked as he cued up his DirecTone. “Or maybe the better question is, why did you choose this one?”

  “It was very controversial when it was first performed,” Davis explained. “It was the most avant-garde ballet in the early twentieth century. It almost caused a riot because it was so groundbreaking. The music and choreography both.”

  “You’re telling me everything I already know,” Seth reminded her. He walked over to her and pulled her arms above her head, easing her gracefully into a full-body stretch. Davis’s breath caught in her throat. “Why did you choose this?”

  “It was my mother’s favorite.” Davis’s voice was quiet. The routine she was about to perform was one she’d practiced for years in secret. It was a derivation of the one that had made her mother famous as a debut prima ballerina with the New Atlantic Ballet Company.

  As Davis began to dance to the strains of Stravinsky’s beautiful and eerie score, she lost herself entirely. It was a shock when Seth circled her waist with his hands, lifting her higher into the air when she moved into her grande jeté.

  “You need to jump just a little higher here,” he said when he let her down gently, his hands lingering at her waist. “Otherwise you won’t have time to fully straighten your lines.”

  “I’ve actually been struggling with this,” Davis admitted, shaking her head in frustration. If only she could jump as high as he’d lifted her, but on her own. “I don’t know how to get there. I’ve tried and tried—”

  “You just need to change your transition in order to get maximum momentum before you leap,” Seth suggested. “Also, your preparation is too dramatic. It diminishes the effect of the grande jeté itself, which should really be your principal focus in this moment. What if you try switching up a pas de bourrée couru for the glissade?”

  “It’ll emphasize my jump,” Davis realized, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  “And it’ll prepare you better. You’ll literally be running into the big jump. Just make sure your feet stay close together, and really push through your heels as you move into the jump.”

  Davis nodded, and Seth restarted the music. This time, with the new step preceding the jump, she soared. She laughed when she landed; it had felt so effortless. Seth ran over and pulled her into a tight hug. “Nailed it,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t pull away, instead bringing his hand to her chin. His thumb flitted against her cheek. “You’re an incredible talent.” Davis felt her body naturally melting into his. Hearing his words of praise lit something in her. She hadn’t realized how much Gaby had been affecting her, but now, hearing that someone she admired believed in her … there was so much possibility.

  “That was amazing advice,” she said, pulling back from his embrace despite her own reluctance. The bare skin on her back still tingled from where his arms had brushed against it, but the desire to improve her routine was giving her a rush of adrenaline. All she wanted to do was dance.

  “I’d love to see the whole thing,” he said.

  “Absolutely.”

  The next forty-five minutes whirled by like a tempest; Davis danced as if her body were lifted by wings, soaring higher than she ever had. Every now and then, Seth interrupted to offer her his advice. It was like the two of them together were the perfect, symbiotic team. Davis’s mind rushed ahead, thinking of what it would be like to work together all the time. Part of it was her chemistry. His hands on her waist, his eyes locked on hers. The way he stood back, arms crossed over his chest, watching her body move. Appreciating her rhythms and enhancing them with his own. Their bodies matched. Together, they were effortless.

  When it was over, he pulled her into a long hug.

  “You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “I—” She tilted her head up, her eyes meeting his, prepared to tell him how grateful she was. But before she could get the words out, he rested a finger on her lips to quiet her and bent his own head down until his lips were on hers.

  The kiss was more intense than the last; hot and passionate, his mouth moving against hers in the same sort of rhythm they’d found on the dance floor, his warm hands caressed her cheek. Davis had never experienced a chemistry that felt bottomless, like she could hurtle through it and with it forever, never feeling scared—only the highest peaks of exhilaration.

  She couldn’t help gasping as they pulled apart. “That was—”

  “It was,” he agreed, looking a little dazed himself. “There are no words.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll see you soon, little bird?”

  The pet name made her stomach flutter as if she were a bird, as if his words were true and magic had happened in their session. Like she had grown wings and under his touch could soar. She didn’t regret it, this time. She couldn’t. The risk—the thrill of something forbidden—made her want it more. But it wasn’t the thrill of the chase; giving in felt even better than she’d expected.

  “See you soon,” she said, grabbing her things and blowing him a kiss before she exited the studio.

  “Bisous,” he called after her—a nod to the French song her routine was set to. She laughed as the door swung shut behind her.

  Davis made herself wait to DirecTalk Vera until she’d rounded the corner and was out of sight of the studio. Meet in Cooper Park, she said. Big news.

  Chapter 9

  Twenty minutes later, the girls were sitting next to each other on a chrome bench, soaking in the early-afternoon sunshine. “You and Seth,” Vera had said immediately, before Davis had even said anything at all. “It really happened.”

  Davis nodded, smiling to herself. “Vera, he is so …”

  “I want every single detail,” Vera told her, producing a plastic water bottle from her bag. “But first … mimosas to celebrate the occasion.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “My parents have a big stash. You know that. Besides,” she said with an eye roll, “we’ve gotta have something to get us through kiddie day at the Apex.”

  The girls sipped their mimosas and Davis recounted every single detail, just as Vera had asked, until they were light-headed and giggling uncontrollably.

  “I need water,” Davis said finally, reaching for her own—pure—water bottle. “I just realized, I need to be on top of my game today. Gaby’s going to be at the Apex, too, probably. Sh
e is so hateful,” she said, gulping water. Davis opened her mouth to tell Vera about the text, but the thought of recounting it stressed her out. She didn’t want to think about it yet again. She needed to stay strong. Anyway, Vera would blow a fuse and then who knew what would happen?

  Davis took another sip, steadying her nerves. Why had she had any mimosa? If there was any time not to go nuts, this was it.

  “You need to forget about her,” Vera said. “She’s trying to get in your head, and it’s working. You’re getting in your own way. Mind over matter, my friend. How do you think I got to first chair in the youth orchestra? It’s not because I goofed around or wussed out. If I’d let Steph Collins psych me out, I’d still be down in the gallows.” Vera’s nickname for the lowest levels of the orchestra had always made Davis laugh, but not today.

  “Easy for you to say,” she told her friend. “You’re the type to bully, not be bullied.”

  “Hey!”

  “Face it, Vere.” Davis elbowed Vera in the ribs. “You’re kind of a mean girl.”

  “That is absolutely not true,” Vera told her. “I’m just selectively kind and otherwise aloof.”

  The two cracked up again, but Davis knew Vera was right. Davis had to get out of her own head—like she had with Seth—for everything to work out. She was her own worst enemy.

  “She can’t touch you,” Vera told Davis, her voice serious now. “You are ridiculously talented, Davis. You always have been. She’s only trying to get in your head because she’s feeling insecure. That’s always the way it is. You have literally everything going for you. Including …” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “A superhot, smart trainer,” Davis said with a sigh, leaning back.

  “Exactly. And he cares what happens to you.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I know so. And you need to know so, too. Never let them know you’re faking, girl.”

  “I think your confidence comes from being an only child.”