Chapter 3

“Well, I am looking forward to the break,” Tati says, stretching her legs out. “Considering I got kicked out of lead.”

“Yeah, that’s nuts,” I frown. “Did the board tell you why you got kicked out of such a big role?”

Tati’s face changes, just a hint. “Not really. They just said it wasn’t the right fit for me.”

“Well, it is a good chance for Aggie to show her skill,” I throw in.

Tati smiles. “Yeah, of course. You’re an incredible dancer, Aggie. You deserve it.”

Aggie pushes to her feet, not answering. I know she feels like she has taken something away from Tatiana, and she doesn’t like talking about it, but she deserves a chance, too.

“I should get packing,” she claps her hands together. “I am kind of excited, I won’t lie.”

“Yeah, I should, too,” I say, pushing to my feet. “I will see you girls in the morning.”

I leave the studio, and by the time I reach home it’s past sunset, the sky a streak of orange above the gates. My family’s house glows from every window, but inside it always feels cold, like a hotel nobody really lives in. I sling my bag by the front door and try to creep up the marble staircase without making a noise. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

I should know that’s not possible.

Rounding the corner, I pause and see my mother is sprawled on the white velvet sofa, a crystal wine glass in her hand. She is halfway through a phone call, the voice on the other end somefriend that she absolutely will call another friend about and say awful things as soon as she hangs up. There is no loyalty in her world. None.

“-unbelievable, Susan, that’s what I’m telling you. She took the seat next to the mayor, and I, quite literally, had to sit with the caterers.”

I pause in the doorway, hoping she won’t notice me. She does. She always does.

“Grace, dear, come here.” She pats the cushion.

I cross the living room on autopilot, waiting for her to start in on my posture, or my hair, or the fact that I am home earlier than usual.

She studies me for a moment, her perfectly filled lips pursing—well, at least they’re trying to. “You look tired. Have you finished packing for tomorrow?”

Is there an answer that won’t make this conversation continue on for longer than I want?

“Almost,” I say. “I am going to finish it now. I’m trying to figure out what to bring.”

She waves her hand, dismissing the matter with the ease of someone who has never packed her own bag. “Your father wants you ready by ten. There’s a brunch at the club before you leave, and you know how he feels about public appearances. Make sure you have that dress he likes ironed, the white one.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. Most people have unconditional love for their parents. I wonder if I have any at all for mine. Sometimes, I feel like the answer to that would scare even the best therapist.

I don’t reply.

She dismisses me with a wave of her hand as she returns to her phone call.

I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and move down the hall to my father’s office, where I know he’ll be sitting,either on the phone or working intensely on his laptop. I try to walk past, to no avail. When he sees me, he holds up one finger for me to stop—and then slams the phone mid-sentence.

“Sit,” he says, not even making eye contact.

I do. The chair is too large, as if purchased purely to make the person sitting in it feel small.

My father is absolutely the kind of man who would do something like that.

“Have you got everything prepared for your trip? I assume your mother told you about the brunch before you go?”

I nod. “Yes.”

I won’t bother telling him I haven’t; it will only end in a fight.

“Can I ask again, what is this trip for? You know we have the showcase in a matter of months, it is incredibly unexpected...”