Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (56)
He looks at me with a soft smile. “You know, sometimes it takes time to realize there are people in the world who want to help you without wanting anything in return.”
I have a feeling he also noticed something was wrong when I came out of the bathroom with puffy eyes. Nobody brought it up and I was grateful for it, but I’m pretty sure it was because Elias gave them a silent warning.
“Sometimes it isn’t so easy,” I whisper.
Kian turns to the dark sky. “I don’t know if that’s true. I think people show you who they are pretty quickly. It’s up to you to decide if you want to trust them.”
He’s right about that. Elias showed the kind of guy he is immediately. I didn’t need to think long about wanting him to be my fake boyfriend.
I take a bite of the cupcake. “Philosopher Kian tonight?”
“You don’t know? I’m like an advice wizard to these guys. They can’t do anything without my help.”
“For some reason, I actually believe that.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “I think we’re going to be great friends, Sage.”
“Is it because I’m the only one who won’t rag on you?”
“Pretty much.” He gives me a sideways look. “Don’t go changing that.”
“I won’t.”
We sit like that for a while. The only conversation is the one happening inside, and I can’t help but bask in the quiet understanding that settles between Kian and me. It’s the kind of quiet that makes you feel heard. Something I never experienced before I met Elias.
Note to self: Let the light in.
TWENTY-FOUR
SAGE
CRYING ON MY birthday is my own little tradition. Except this year it’s less existential and more about feeling like a loser. The clock on the wall of the ballet studio glows red; it’s been three hours since I came in here. Everything I have is going into perfecting my pieces for the roles of Odette and Odile, just in case I get an invite to audition for NBT. The rest of the time I filmed content for my page and posted it to share with my followers. It’s already 4:00 p.m., which means I’ve worked away more than half the day.
Being alone on my birthday feels like torture. Though it’s not like I had special plans. I have no friends in Toronto, Sean is at his friend’s house, and even my fake boyfriend is busy watching game tapes with his team. I’m officially pathetic.
The glass door of the studio chimes, and my students slowly trickle inside. I didn’t bother taking the day off when I didn’t have any plans, but this is my only class of the day. The interest in our beginner program has been overwhelming, and when the studio emailed me about taking on additional classes, I agreed. It turns out that some of my followers live in Toronto and looked me up online. I don’t mind because with my days packed, I can actually keep my bank account afloat.
When the time ticks to four thirty, I play the music on the speakers and instruct the class to show me what they remember from our last session. I walk around the room, correcting and praising each one of my students.
“Miss Beaumont, I can’t do the extensions,” one of them says.
“I used to struggle with this too, Jamie. Let’s focus on some exercises that can support your movements.”
I show him the use of développés and battements to emphasize control and alignment throughout every movement. When he tries again, I encourage him to repeat the form to get the best extensions possible. He nods happily, and I head to the front of the class.
With a few more practice rounds, we near the end of the class, and I teach them some ballet terminology. The French is mangled on their tongues, but soon they’re pronouncing it correctly.
They repeat after me, but I pause mid-word when the door to the studio jingles and Elias walks inside. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s wearing a blue Thunder T-shirt and jeans, hair tousled from the wind.
It’s the gasp from one of my students that draws my attention back to them. “It’s Eli Westbrook!” one of the girls announces.
The mix of ballet and hockey fans in this class never fails to amuse me. The kids stand and run up to him. Elias is so tall they barely come up to his abdomen. He looks to me with an alarmed expression, hands up in surrender when they start spewing questions at him.
“Did you drink a lot of milk to get that tall?”
“Are you dating our teacher?”
“How much money do you make?”
“All right. Leave him alone, guys.” I disperse them by standing in front of Elias like a shield. “Your parents are waiting outside.”
They groan in unison, but head out to their parents, eyes still on Elias. That’s when I spot Nina, quietly packing her things, and not partaking in the kids’ thorough interrogation of Elias.
I stop her before she can head out to where a beat-up pickup truck honks obnoxiously. “Hey, you’ve been quiet today. Everything okay?”
Watery eyes meet mine. “I’m fine. My mom signed me up for another ballet competition this week. The prize is a lot of money, and I don’t want to disappoint her.”
“You’ll do great no matter the outcome. And if you ever need help, I’m here.” I pull out one of the studio’s business cards, and write my personal number on there too. “That’s my number in case you need it.”