Chrissy lets go of the curtain and glances at the backstage clock. She smooths out her skirt. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. About me and Kevin.” Her voice has dropped. She doesn’t meet my eye.
“What? All’s not paradise in the land of Chrissy and Kevin?” It’s a thing Chrissy started. How in the land of Chrissy and Kevin there are no missed notes or false steps and everyone’s breath smells of cinnamon Tic Tacs.
“No, everything’s good.” Chrissy fiddles with a piece of tulle. “Well, actually, maybe too good. We’re, you know, at that point where we’re ready to take it to the next level.”
I do not know this girl who beats around the bush instead of saying exactly what she means, especially not in this department. I put a hand on my hip. I fake whisper, “You mean S-E-X?” I’d assumed she and Kevin were having sex already. Chrissy’s the one who taught me all there is to know, including using double protection—she’s been on the pill since she was twelve when her gynecologist prescribed it for massive period pains. I’ve only ever had time for two things besides dance: family and school. Chrissy’s two things have always been boys and more boys. I never wanted to be like Chrissy. I never thought I was missing out. Until now. Until Alex.
Chrissy motions me off the stage. More dancers pass us, rolling their heads and stretching their arms as they walk. Chrissy draws me to the pulleys in the back that control the skrims. Bert, the props manager, isn’t in his chair.
“OK, spill it,” I say. “Don’t tell me you’re not attracted to Kevin. I see the way you look at him.”
Chrissy’s peeking around, maybe to see if we’re alone. “That’s just it. Have you ever seen me look at another guy the same way?”
“No.” It’s the truth. The longest Chrissy was with a guy before Kevin was a week. “So, what’s the problem?”
Chrissy shakes her head. She picks at her fingernail. “It’s just. He doesn’t know about my party past. He thinks I’m a virgin.” She says the word like it’s a swear.
I try not to laugh. Chrissy grabs my arm. Her nails dig into my skin.
“It’s not funny,” she says.
“Sorry, you’re right. So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know! What do you think I should do?”
“Has he asked you? Have you told him you’re a”—I look around for Bert—“a virgin?”
“No. It’s like the idea that I’m not never crossed his mind. At first I was offended. Did he think me a novice based on my kissing? But then he was like”—her voice gets all gruff—“‘I can’t believe someone with such little experience knows how to handle—’”
Bert walks by.
Chrissy’s words become a hiss. “Certain anatomic parts that sound like peanuts.”
I press my lips together so I don’t laugh.
“I just never corrected him,” Chrissy continues.
“Ten minutes, ladies,” Bert calls to us.
Chrissy pulls me toward the front of the stage.
“So don’t tell him,” I say. “Kevin clearly has some cute little maiden perception of you in his head. Why take that away from him?”
Chrissy faces me. “You sure? You don’t think I should just tell him?”
“You can, but it might backfire. Not that your sexual history is something to be ashamed of, because it’s not. You know I support you and you’re my hero—” I take a breath. “But . . . do you think Kevin will want to hear about all of that?”
Chrissy’s hands circle her tiny waist. “No, I think hearing about it will hurt. That’s why I haven’t told him.”
I shrug. “So, listen to your gut.”
Mia, the senior who’s playing Giselle, whisks by, holding her voluminous skirts off the floor. “Are you ready to jump in? Should I twist my ankle or anything?” She makes a face like someone bonked her on the head. We’ve spent a lot of time together these past weeks. She even stayed late two nights to help me with some of the more difficult transitions. Just in case.
I blow her a kiss. “Merde!” I call out. Mia taught me that. It’s what all the French ballerinas say instead of “Break a leg.”
“OK,” Chrissy breathes. “I won’t tell him.” She leans forward to sneak another glimpse at the audience. “Oh, there’s my mom. I don’t know why she insists the balcony has the best view. You’re so far away. Where are your parents sitting?”
“Center orchestra.” I don’t tell Chrissy about this morning’s breakfast argument over apartment bids. Or that I left for the theater without anyone even noticing.
“I don’t see your parents,” Chrissy says. “But I do see Thibault.”
I grab the edge of the curtain from her. The man who will decide my dance and academic fate for the next two years strides down the aisle.
“Don’t worry,” Chrissy says. “You’ll make it in. I can’t wait to be able to pester you during precalculus and pointe.”
I don’t answer her.
Alex is behind Mr. Thibault.
The fluttering in my stomach rises to my throat. I’ve never seen Alex in a suit before. I almost tear through the curtain, run across the stage, and leap off it. Alex would catch me. I know he would.
He’s holding tulips, red with a blush of yellow at the tips, and reading the ticket I left for him at will call. Why didn’t the ushers seat him? Two women, both in Chanel jackets, follow him down the aisle. They ask Alex something. Whatever he says makes them laugh. They point him to row G. As they walk to their seats, they turn to check him out again. I don’t know why it makes me jealous—they could be friends of my mom’s—but it does.
Alex waits for an older couple to stand. He dips his head, apologizing for having to slide by them. Alex is supposed to sit next to Dad. His seat is in the direct middle of the theater. The best spot in the house.
I told Dad last night that a friend might be coming. He assumed Alex is from Deerwood. I didn’t correct him. I didn’t tell him that Alex is more than a friend either, but I think he knows. Dad understands me that way. I didn’t tell Mom anything. Dad guessed that too. He agreed she’d probably get worked up and ask a million questions. He knows I don’t bring friends, other than Chrissy, home. I think he feels bad about it.
I’m banking on Mom being late, so they won’t have a chance to talk much with Alex before the show. Alex is supposed to find me at intermission and afterward Alex and I are going out with Chrissy and Kevin, so there won’t be time for a scene. Just a quick introduction. Still, I don’t know how Mom will react. I never do. But the run-in with Danny showed me how bad it could be.
“Wait a minute, that’s your man, isn’t it?” Chrissy leans next to me. She lets out a low whistle. “My, but doesn’t he clean up nicely. Even Monsieur Thibault is a fan.”
I nod. My heart’s thumping too fast for me to speak. Monsieur Thibault smooths down his goatee as he admires Alex. It all makes me want to go out there and throw my arms around Alex to show everyone he’s taken. I don’t even care if my parents are watching.