The Boyfriend Whisperer 2.0

by Linda Budzinski

  Andrew hesitates.

  “What?”

  He points to my tablet. “I guess you’ve seen it?”

  “Seen what?”

  He steps into my room and sits down at my desk. “It’s not that bad, you know. In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Andrew gives me a side-eye. “You really haven’t seen it?”

  “I don’t know, since you haven’t told me what it is.”

  “Oh, if you’d seen it, you’d know.”

  “Then tell me.” I’m shouting now.

  “Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands. “Sorry. I thought I heard you moaning, so I figured … Joe Blackman sent me the link. It’s a video. I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  “A video? What the—?” An alarm bell goes off in my head. Joe graduated with Andrew. His sister, Lacy, is in my class. Whatever “it” is, if Joe has seen it, Lacy has probably seen it. And if Lacy has seen it, the entire school has seen it.

  Andrew pulls out his phone. “Calm down. I’ll send it to you.”

  I grab my phone and click on his text, and the video pops up. It’s Darius’s rap. My heart aches at the sight of his ocean blue eyes peering at me from my screen. “This is the video? I’ve seen this. It’s no big—”

  The words catch in my throat, because the sound track continues playing the rap, but the video suddenly changes. Instead of Darius dancing, it’s me. Last year. At prom. I stare in horror as the camera zooms in and shows me perched atop a riser by the DJ’s stage, eyes closed, twirling like a deranged dervish.

  I was in my own world that night, reeling—literally—from the breakup with Ty. I’d wanted to skip prom, but I was up for queen, so everyone would have noticed. They would have assumed I was home sobbing into a giant bowl of ice cream. Pride made me go. I would not let Ty make a fool of me.

  Instead, I made a fool of myself.

  I have no idea what possessed me to climb up on that riser. I only know I wanted to shut out the rest of the world and lose myself in the music.

  “No, no, no.” My stomach clenches as I watch myself stomp and sway and perform dance moves I’d never even realized I could do. What a nightmare. I’d faced hallway stares and giggles for pretty much the rest of the school year. There had been at least a dozen videos going around, taken from every possible humiliating angle. Mercifully, the whole thing blew over during the summer. Until now. I guess Darius’s video gave some idiot an excuse to dig up their footage and create this homage to my mortification.

  Finally, as the rap ends, my image fades and the video switches back to Darius and the last line from our presentation. “Promposal, Shakespeare style.” Crap. He’s probably the one person at Grand View who’d never seen any of those videos. Guess he will now.

  “I like how they matched up some of your movements with the song,” Andrew says. “Like when he sings, ‘Come off your cloud,’ you’re doing that thing where it sort of looks like your arms are floating, and then later, when—” His mouth snaps shut as he notices my glare. “Seriously. It’s kind of cool.”

  I start to protest, but my phone buzzes. And buzzes again. Maggs. Then Brie. Oh, my. This is spreading quickly. “Out.” I point to the door, and Andrew rises to go. He attempts to imitate my floating-arm motion, and I throw my pillow at him. “Stop. And shut the door behind you.”

  I clutch my phone, eyes closed, trying to calm my breathing before checking my texts. That photo with Ty and me already had everyone talking, and now this. It’s too much.

  Brie: You OK?

  Maggs: Call me.

  I text Brie back to tell her I’m fine, even though I’m not, and I call Maggs.

  “Hey. I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

  “Yes. My life is over.”

  “No. It’s fine. It’s kind of cool, actually.”

  “That’s what Andrew said, but it’s not cool. It’s horrifying.” I sink back into my pillows and close my eyes.

  “Who do you think made it?”

  “Who knows? Probably someone who heard the rumors about Ty and me getting back together and wants to embarrass me. Could be one of his exes. Or girlfriend wannabes. I don’t even want to know.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. By the time we go back to school, everyone will forget about it.”

  “Or not. It took two months for them to stop talking about it the first time.”

  “More like a month. And I know you refuse to believe it, but there were plenty of us who thought your dancing was really cool. And in the video, with Darius rapping, it’s even cooler.” She pauses. “Alicea?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How are you doing? Are you going to be okay?”

  I sigh. “Probably not. I’m thinking about going emo. I’ll wear lots of black, and eyeliner, and perma-earbuds so I can legit ignore everyone forever.”

  Maggs snorts. “You couldn’t pull that off.”

  “I could.”

  “No. Sorry, babe, but you couldn’t. Nor should you try. You should rock what you’ve got. You need to look everyone in the eye—including Ty and Darius—and act like you own the world.”

  “Right. Emo it is, then.”

  Maggs giggles. “Give it a few days. You’ll come around. And Merry Christmas. ”

  “Thanks, Maggs. I feel a little better already.” I do. Maggs has that effect on people.

  Still, a little extra eyeliner never hurt anyone.

  Turns out it’s impossible to be emo and wear a tiara. I can’t help but smile as I check every angle in the mirror. Tonight’s the night. This week’s rehearsals were rough, mainly because my feet—and my whole body, really—felt as though they were made of lead. I need to put my mood aside, forget about my miserable love life, and become Dewdrop. My stomach tightens. Can I pull it off?

  Mom stops by my bedroom door. “Oh, sweetheart, you look beautiful.”

  I strike a pose. “You look pretty, too. I love the scarf.”

  She smiles and comes over to kiss me on the cheek. “Your dad and I are going to head over to the gallery now. We’ll pop down to the studio at nine to watch.” She starts to leave. “Do you think you’ll be able to come up for a while? If you’re too busy, we’ll understand.”

  “Sure. I should be able to stop in during one of our breaks. Not that you’ll need any warm bodies tonight.” The gallery tends to get a big crowd for the First Night Celebration.

  “Good.” She grins. “We have a very special exhibit tonight. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Can’t wait.” I paste on a smile. Mom’s idea of “special” and mine are very different. Whatever it is, I’m guessing it won’t feature monarch butterflies.

  I’m the first girl to arrive at the studio, and Ms. DuBois calls me into her office. I brace myself. She’s been tough on me this week, and rightfully so. I take a seat on the bench, and before she can even shut the door, I try to explain. “Ms. DuBois, I know I screwed up a million times this week, and even when I wasn’t screwing up, my dancing wasn’t exactly inspired, but I promise that tonight—”

  “Alicea.” She holds up her hand to stop me. “I have no doubt you’ll make me proud tonight. That is not why I asked you in here.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I wait for her to elaborate, but she simply stares at me, as though trying to puzzle something out.

  Finally, she reaches over to her desk and picks up her phone. “I called you in here because of this.”

  As she swipes at her screen, the realization hits. O. M. G. How did that video get all the way to Ms. DuBois? Has everyone in the entire freaking county watched it?

  Sure enough, she plays it for me.

  “Yes. I’ve seen it.” I motion for her to turn it off. “I’m sorry. I look ridiculous. I’m so embarrassed, and—”

  “Stop.” She frowns and folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t want apologies.”

  I bite my lip. Wow. She is really upset. Why does she … oh, no. She wouldn’t k
ick me out of dance, would she? And certainly not before tonight’s performance? I know that video doesn’t exactly represent DuBois Dance Studio in the best light, but that was prom. It was on my own time, and it would be totally unfair if—

  “I think this is wonderful.” She shakes the phone at me.

  “What?”

  “This is what I’ve been trying to get from you for months.”

  “You’ve been trying to get me to do … that?”

  “Well, not this exactly, but … ” She hits play again. “Look at this emotion, this passion.”

  I watch, but all I see is a girl making a fool of herself. I cringe and hit the “stop” button. I shake my head. “That right there is a mess.”

  “No.” Ms. DuBois sits down next to me. “Not a mess. It’s … raw. And sometimes raw is good.” She takes my hands in hers. “Alicea, you are a skilled dancer. You practice so hard, you have beautiful technique, and you learn the choreography. You perform every movement just so. Sometimes, though, I wish you would … let go. Surrender. Like in the video.”

  “I understand,” I say, even though I most certainly do not. Ballet dancers do not “let go.” They exercise discipline and precision. “I need to surrender. Of course.”

  I stand, and Ms. DuBois’s eyes narrow. It seems as though she wants to say something more, but she simply sighs and motions me toward the door. “Toi toi toi.”

  It’s how Ms. DuBois wishes us luck before a performance. I feel as though tonight I’ll need it.

  We’ve prepared four dances, and we’re performing each of them twice throughout the night. In between, visitors can talk to the dancers and enjoy cider and cookies. We kick off at eight with the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.” Afterward, while the other girls mingle, I hide out in the dressing room. I saw a few kids from my calc class in the audience. I don’t want to deal with their stares and whispers, and I’m not in the mood to fake happy with everyone anyway.

  “There you are.” Brie appears in the doorway. “You okay?”

  I nod. “I’m fine. I just … can’t.”

  “I get it.” She comes over and pulls me into a hug. “You’ll to have to stay out there after the ‘Waltz of the Flowers,’ though. You know that, right? Everyone will want to talk to you.”

  I bury my face into her shoulder. “I know. But maybe no one will come to it. Except my parents, and I can deal with them.”

  “Yeah, well, since about a hundred people showed up for this one, I wouldn’t count on it.”

  I sigh. “A girl can dream.”

  She pulls away and holds me at arm’s length. “Listen to me. You do not want an empty house for the ‘Waltz.’ You want everyone in Loudoun County to watch you rock your tiara as you jump and twirl among us mortal petunias.”

  “Petunias? I’ve always thought of you more as lilies.”

  “Really?” Brie cocks her head as though considering this. “Lilies do seem more dignified. I think I can work with that.” She shakes her head, and her tone becomes serious. “Anyway, here’s the thing: I personally think that video of you dancing is awesome, but if you hate it so much, you should look at this as your chance to redeem yourself. Show the world what you’ve got.”

  I nod and force a smile. “Thanks, Brie. I appreciate the pep talk, but—”

  “No buts. You’re going to make a fabulous Dewdrop, and that’s all anyone needs to know. You go out there, you leave everything you have on that dance floor, and … bam. Drop the mic.”

  I grin. “Could you imagine Ms. DuBois’s face if I actually mimed a mic drop at the end?”

  We both crack up.

  “Speaking of Ms. DuBois,” Brie says, “she’s going to wonder where we are. We should go back out.”

  I motion for her to leave. “Go ahead. I just need a few more minutes.”

  Brie gives me another quick hug and heads to the door.

  “And Brie?”

  She turns around.

  “Thanks.”

  “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

  As she leaves, I sink onto a bench. Maybe Brie is right. Perhaps a strong performance tonight could help me redeem myself with my classmates.

  Now if only I could figure out how to redeem myself with Darius.

  Our eight-thirty performance of the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” goes without a hitch, and I even force myself to stick around for a few minutes afterward to meet and greet. Coming up next is the “Waltz of the Flowers,” and the butterflies have taken flight. As I grab a glass of cider to help calm my stomach, I spot two girls coming in the front door. Oh, no. Lauren and Michelle. Seriously? I can’t deal with them right now.

  “Ms. DuBois?” I interrupt her conversation with one of the parents. “I’m sorry. Can I run upstairs to the gallery? I told my mom I’d make an appearance.”

  She glances at the clock. “I think that would be a mistake. The ‘Waltz’ is in twenty minutes.”

  “Please. I’ll make it super quick.”

  She nods and waves her hand. “Do not be late for the ‘Waltz.’”

  I take off and scoot out the back entrance. I head up and open the door to the gallery to find my mom beaming in the lobby, which is buzzing with people.

  “Hello, dear.” She waves me over. “How’s the dancing going?”

  “So far so good. The ‘Waltz’ is next, so I only have a few minutes.”

  She nods. “We haven’t forgotten. Andrew said he’ll take over for your dad and me at nine so we can watch. And he’ll come down at eleven to see the second performance.” She flashes a conspiratorial smile. “Ready to check out that exhibit I was telling you about?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  She leads me down a hallway toward one of the alcoves usually reserved for student art. As we walk, it dawns on me. Oh, crap. Darius. His mixed media piece. How could I have forgotten? I stop. “Is this what I think it is?”

  “That depends on what you think it is.”

  “Come on, Mom.” I hadn’t exactly advertised to my family that Darius and I were dating—or whatever it is we were doing—but I’m pretty sure they picked up on the fact that we were texting and hanging out a lot. “You know what I’m thinking.”

  “In that case, yes, that’s exactly what it is. And I think you’ll really—” Her grin disappears as I start to back away. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I should get back downstairs.”

  “But … ” Her eyes widen. “Oh, no. Did you two have a fight?”

  I nod. “Sort of. Not so much a fight as a—” Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn to find Darius walking down the hallway toward us. Fabulous. My stomach lurches, and the cider from earlier threatens to come up. I train my eyes on the floor and rush past him.

  Ms. DuBois was right. This was a huge mistake.

  The “Waltz of the Flowers” is a blur. Thankfully, I’ve practiced it a million times, and muscle memory takes over. The pace of the waltz—at times calm and at times frenetic—feels like a crescendo of my week’s emotions. I allow myself to get lost in the music until it’s just me and Tchaikovsky and the smooth, hard floorboards beneath my feet.

  With my body on autopilot, my pliés feel somehow too deep, my relevés almost bouncy, and my pirouettes too loose. I’m a mess, but at least I manage to get through my solo without tripping or trampling any of the other dancers or, worse, bursting into tears. Afterward, I try to make an escape to the dressing rooms, but Maggs and Brie both tackle me.

  “That was awesome.”

  “Great job.”

  “Not really,” I say.

  “Yes, really.” Maggs is beaming. “You were amazing.”

  “I was?”

  “You were.” Brie mimics a mic drop.

  Ms. DuBois approaches us and favors me with a small smile. “Nicely done, Alicea.” She motions toward the front of the studio. “And now, your adoring fans await.”

  I take a deep breath and force a smile. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. But
I still don’t want to go out there. I consider asking whether I can skip the mingling, but the look in Ms. DuBois’s eyes tells me resistance is futile. I have to do this.

  I fidget with my tiara as I head toward the front of the studio and make my way into the crowd. My mother immediately gathers me up into a hug. “Lovely dancing. Simply lovely.”

  Dad hands me a bouquet of pink roses. “Congratulations. You did it.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.” I relax a bit, and my smile broadens. “These are beautiful.”

  I accept hugs and air kisses from Maggs’s parents, Brie’s mom, one of my teachers from sixth grade, and a few of the younger dancers. This isn’t so bad. If anyone else tells me how awesome I was, I might not even need to fake—

  I blink. What the … ? Darius and Jaycee are standing by the cookie table, watching me. Jaycee jumps up and down and smiles and waves. I offer them a small nod. What is he thinking? Why would he do this to me?

  I walk toward them, a newly formed knot in my stomach tightening with each step. “Hi, there.”

  Jaycee gives me a hug. “Cool tiara.”

  “I know, right?” I risk a glance at Darius, but he’s engrossed in pouring himself a cup of cider. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Darius didn’t even tell me you were dancing, so I didn’t know until I saw the program. I came out tonight mostly for the friendship bracelet workshop at the jewelry store next door. Well, that and my brother’s paintings.”

  “Mixed media.” It’s the first words Darius has spoken, or more accurately, mumbled.

  “Pardon me.” Jaycee rolls her eyes. “Mixed media.” She grabs my hand. “Have you seen them yet?”

  “Them? So there’s more than one?” I direct this at Darius, but he continues to avoid my gaze.

  “There are three.” Jaycee is bouncing again. “But they’re all related. One of them is—”

  “All right, Jay.” Darius sets his cup down on the table. “Enough chatter. We need to get going.”