Killer Pointe
Kristi Helvig
Copyright © 2020 by Kristi Helvig
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by The Cover Collection
Also by Kristi Helvig
The Wing Collector
Wingless: The Wing Collector Short Story Prequel
The Missing
The Boy Who Wasn’t There
Countdown Cafe
Burn Out (re-releasing Summer 2020)
Strange Skies: Burn Out Book 2 (re-releasing Summer 2020)
For the dancers of the world
Dance on
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Preview of The Wing Collector
About the Author
1
I stared straight ahead, my left hand on the barre. The strains of music washed over me for the tenth time in a row. My right arm arched overhead, my toe pointed as it slid over the polished floor. The whole studio reeked of sweat—whoever thought ballet was girly had never smelled the tail end of a three-hour session.
Adrian moved throughout us, picking up an arm here, clucking disapproval there, encouraging “more focus” everywhere. He stopped next to me and I sensed his eyes studying my form.
“Nice, Bree” was all he said before he moved on to Catelyn. “Chin up, Catelyn,” I heard a second later, and I swear the heat of her glare penetrated the back of my head. Like she needed another reason to hate me.
Adrian strode to the front of the class and stopped the music. “Enough. What I’m seeing today is causing me physical pain.” His crisp, slightly-accented voice sounded harsher than usual. “If classical music could be damaged by inept ballet, Tchaikovsky’s work would be bleeding up here. Do you hear me? Bleeding.” He clapped his hands. “Go home. Practice. Do better.”
I sighed and picked up my bag, my feet aching from the pointe shoes. As the others girls filed towards the door, Catelyn threw me a dirty look over her shoulder.
“Don’t forget,” Adrian called, and all heads swiveled toward him. “Sleeping Beauty auditions are one day away. That’s tomorrow, for the math challenged among you. It will be in addition to the regular practice days this week. Practice, people.”
Like I needed to be told that. Even when I wasn’t in class, I was dancing—at home, in the grocery store aisle while Mom picked out chicken cutlets, even during passing period at school when no one was looking. Ballet was fun for me, the same way that catching a football was fun for my little brother. I’d practice until my feet cracked and bled, and then I’d bandage them up and practice some more. No wonder Adrian seemed to like me—I didn’t mind torture.
In the hall, I tried to change my shoes as quickly as possible without drawing any attention, but I heard the whispers.
“Bree, the magnificent, will play the part of Aurora,” Catelyn said, in an exaggerated imitation of Adrian’s voice. “In fact, we will be changing the title of the play from Sleeping Beauty to Sleeping Bree.”
Several girls snickered. I wanted to stand up and yell that the ballet had nothing to do with the real story of Sleeping Beauty anyway—that I had actually been there when it all went down, but that would get me locked up in a psych ward which would make getting to the audition problematic.
“Knock it off, Catelyn, you’re just jealous,” Ava said while yanking a wayward bobby pin from her hair. I looked up and smiled at her. It’s not like I left a lot of time for friends, but Ava was one of my closest. “Bree can’t help how intense Adrian is.”
Another girl chimed in, “Yeah, it’s like he thinks he’s leading the New York City Ballet instead of a group of kids from the ‘burbs.”
Relieved to have the focus off of me, I pulled my jacket on and zipped it all the way up. I couldn’t risk catching a cold before the audition. Maybe the other girls weren’t as intense about dance as me, but ballet was in my blood and Julliard was in my future. Or so I hoped. The money issue was a problem, but if things worked out right, my unusual side job would take care of that.
I pushed past the throng of girls and stepped outside. The chilled night air blasted my face. Geez, you’d never know it was only October. I shoved my hands into my pockets, looking for the keys to my car. Having my own car was supposedly one of the perks of being a “good girl,” according to my mom.
Never mind all the minuses, like staying far away from parties or having the cutest guy in class look straight through you as though you didn’t exist. I braced myself against the wind and hurried toward the vehicle my mom called “Old Reliable.” I just called it old.
“Bree-ee, wait up!” Ava had a way of drawing out my name the same way my little brother did.
I whipped my head around. “Hey, A, thanks for sticking up for me in there.”
She hurried to my side. “Don’t listen to Catelyn. She can be sort of a bee-atch.”
“Sort of?” I asked.
Ava smiled. “She can’t help it. She feels threatened by you.”
I grinned at her. “No wonder I like you so much.”
She shuffled her feet back and forth. “Also…I wondered if I could catch a ride home with you.” Her breath formed icy rings in the air.
She’d never asked for a ride before, but I hadn’t seen her mom’s car around in awhile. “Yeah, sure.”
Ava beamed at me and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “Great. Thanks. My dad’s at soccer practice with my brother, and my mom had to work late again.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said, though actually it was a pretty big deal because the fact that we were friends didn’t make me any less mortified to have her ride in my junker car. I had to get in the driver’s side door and lean over to pull up the lock on the passenger’s side.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m pretty sure this is the only car left in circulation without automatic locks. Don’t tell everyone how lame it is.”
Ava pulled the door shut while I cranked up the heat. Strange noises churned from inside as the heater engaged. “No problem. At least with its color, you’ll never lose it in a parking lot.”
I cringed. That had been my dad’s exact wording when he’d painted the car neon green. Getting a great deal on this piece of crap car had been a source of pride for him.
“Who needs fancy shmancy bells and whistles?” he’d told me while tinkering under the hood. “You just need something dependable to get you from Point A to Point B.” He’d “surprised” me with the color one weekend after I’d been away at ballet camp.
“I guarantee you, B, no one will have a car exactly like this one,” he’d said, patting the car on its blindingly green hood. He couldn’t have been more right about that.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that because of my car, some kids at school had taken to calling me Kermit. Most of them drove new Audi’s or BMW’s. I knew of one kid who drove a used BMW, but even that was only a year old—his mom had decided she wanted a different color and then gave him her o
ld one. My car was one year, plus a few decades old.
I didn’t realize I’d been silent until Ava spoke again. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I mean, it’s great you have a car to drive. My parents won’t buy me one … well, another one. It was just one little accident, and it was barely my fault, you know?”
Even though that meant it was totally her fault, I nodded. Flaunting my perfect driving record wouldn’t win any brownie points. I turned onto Main Street and headed toward our subdivision.
“About the play,” she said in a rush, “I know you’re going to get the lead … you totally deserve it, but do you think I have a shot against Catelyn for the Lilac Fairy?”
I didn’t want to crush her spirits, but Catelyn was really good. Not at all disciplined, and she obviously spent more time on her nails than her pirouettes, but she had talent. Ava worked harder than anyone in class, well, except for me, but she always struggled with the moves. It just didn’t come as naturally for her.
“Sure, A, you’ve got a great chance,” I lied.
Ava heaved a sigh of relief. “Whew, thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m gonna practice as soon as I get home, well, after my stupid algebra homework. You’re so lucky you’re in A.P. and don’t have to deal with Ms. Lerner. Did you know she has no eyebrows? She draws them in. I heard it’s because she has trich … trich…”
“Trichotillomania?” I offered as I turned onto a side street.
“Yeah, that. It’s weird, huh? Anyway, you’re so awesome for taking me home. Oh, I almost forgot, we’re gonna hang at Trevor’s house party next weekend, right? I haven’t gotten my groove on in a while. I think Rae is going with us too. I need to call her and double check.”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” I said, pulling up to her house. Though I’d never been hesitant to perform classical dance on a stage in front of hundreds of people, the thought of jamming to bands I’d never heard in a room full of classmates made me downright queasy.
Ava patted my shoulder. “It’ll be fun. You know Ty Wilder will be there, but rumor is that he’s officially going out with that fake-nailed, fake-haired, spray-tanned she-devil. Anyway, we don’t need guys, we’ve got girl power.”
It figured. The hottest boy in school—the one who had never noticed me despite having several classes together—had been lured by the carefully cultivated appearance of Catelyn Grey.
I tried to smile. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Watching Ty and Catelyn grind on the dance floor was the least fun thing I could think of.
Ava opened the car door. “Yay! I’m taking that as a ‘yes.’ Okay, see you tomorrow, and thanks again.” She hopped out and waved several more times on the way to her front door.
I breathed deeply as I pulled away. My only prospects for dance partners were my friends. Go me.
It wasn’t that I was shy—but aside from my little circle of friends, I didn’t fit in with any particular crowd. Ballet wasn’t exactly a contact sport, so I didn’t fit in with the jocks. I was smart but wanted no part of the extra-curricular clubs that the nerds geeked out over, so they didn’t understand me. I’d hoped to fit in with other dancers, but no one at my studio seemed to take dance quite as seriously as I did. My dreams involved seeing my name up in lights at Lincoln Center.
Mom was racing around the house when I got home, her cell phone in one hand and a protein bar in the other. The faint smell of canned tomato sauce lingered in the air.
“Thank goodness you’re home,” she said, and planted a kiss on my head. “My shift starts in half an hour. Cal is finishing up his homework and then he needs to get to bed.” She yelled into the other room. “Hear that, young man? Don’t give your sister any trouble.”
“Got it, Mom,” his little voice called back.
Mom wore her scrubs with the rainbows and unicorns all over them. She had an assortment of scrubs featuring various flowers, zoo animals and cartoon characters. Since she worked as a pediatric nurse on the oncology floor of the local hospital, she said it was important for the kids to see her as someone “fun.” That they needed a little something to brighten their day.
Working the overnight shift brought in more money, and since Dad died, we never seemed to have enough. His death seemed to make her even more determined to keep her patients from dying. Maybe part of it was guilt that his heart attack happened while she was at the hospital saving other people, and no one was there to save him. Well, I was there, but I couldn’t save him. I tried. In the end, I could only hold his bluish-colored body while tears streamed down my face as I waited for the ambulance.
Mom gestured to a plate on the counter. “Leftover pasta for you. Reheat for one minute and pour some sauce on it…it’ll taste good as new.” She kissed me quickly again. “Have a great day at school tomorrow. Hope dance class went well.”
“It was great. Bye, Mom.” And she was gone. She wouldn’t be home until after my brother and I left for school the next morning. She slept during the day, but always tried to be up by the time we got home. On ballet days—which was most days—I barely got to see her.
I dumped the plate of pasta down the garbage disposal and grabbed a Diet Coke and some Fritos. I carried my loot into the family room, rumpled Cal’s dark hair, and slumped into a chair. “What’s up, kiddo?”
He grinned, displaying the hole where his tooth had been the day before. “Lost another tooth. The tooth fairy’s gotta pay up tonight.”
Shoot. I’d have to scrounge through my clothes to find a couple bucks to stick under his pillow. He was only six, the age I’d been when Mom adopted me, so I didn’t have the heart to bust the whole tooth fairy myth yet. He’d been an unexpected surprise when I was ten, years after Mom was told she couldn’t get pregnant. “Awesome, Cal. What are you savin’ up for?”
He didn’t hesitate. “The new Madden game. It’s so cool. I can make my own fantasy team and have real play-offs and go to the Super Bowl and everything.”
I smiled. “Dude, you lost me at Madden.”
Cal jumped up and headed towards his Nerf football. “C’mon, Bree. Throw me a few passes before bed. I’ll finish my homework in the morning.”
I shook my head. “No can do. Mom would kill me. Tell you what—after school tomorrow, I’ll take you to the park and we’ll run drills.”
His eyes lit up. “Promise?”
My heart heaved. Going to the park to play catch was something he did with Dad every weekend. Now that Dad was gone, I knew I should step up more to do the “boy” stuff he loved so much. There weren’t enough hours in the day to be a sister, daughter, student, dancer, and dad.
“I promise,” I said, and crossed my heart. “Now let’s get that homework finished and get you to bed.”
After he brushed his teeth, Cal lugged out the heavy book of fairytales that Aunt Laura had given him. I’d protested at the time but she’d insisted that the swords and dragons made the stories as fun for boys as for girls and told me that I should be more “open.” I couldn’t reveal my real problem with the book so I kept my mouth shut.
I sighed and gestured toward his football-shaped clock on the dresser. “It’s a little late. Maybe we should pick a shorter book.”
“No, puh-lease,” he whined. “George and the Dragon won’t take that long.” He settled on the bed and looked at me with such hope that I couldn’t say no.
I read the story in my best brave knight voice and tried not to roll my eyes. I wondered what Cal would say if I told him that George was really a whiny, snot-nosed wimp and that I was the one who had killed the dragon. Cal probably would have laughed and asked me to “make up” another story. I had to hand it to her Royal Highness—she had some good PR people.
I peeked in Cal’s room a little past midnight and his face looked angelic in the glow of his Star Wars nightlight. Sleep wasn’t something that came easily to me, especially on the nights Mom worked. There was also this irrational part of me that worried something could happen to Cal on my watch—like he could die on me t
he same way Dad did. Even on the nights Mom was home, I compulsively checked on him while he slept to make sure he was breathing. Sometimes, I’d crawl into his bed and sleep awhile, like the power of my presence could keep harm away.
Satisfied that he was dreaming of end zone dances, I slipped a five-dollar bill under his pillow. It was all I could find, so I’d let him think the tooth fairy had upped her payment rates. I scribbled a note with a pen filled with iridescent ink—it seemed like something a fairy would have. After putting the note next to the money, I went back down the hall to my room.
I’d be dead at school tomorrow if I didn’t get some sleep, so I pulled on my favorite cotton pajama pants dotted with tiny dancers doing arabesques and pulled on my headphones. I scrolled to the score of Swan Lake and hit play. The intense, enchanting melody filled my head and I tried to relax. My eyes started to close when something shimmered in the dark.
I bolted upright, yanked the headphones off my head, and stared into the shadows of the room. There it was again. A faint sparkle and shifting of the air.
No. This was too soon. Cal needed me. My heartbeat sped up and thudded beneath my breastbone.
The airflow increased, spun faster, and whirled into a sparkling black funnel.
Fueled by frustration, I tried to resist. I gripped my bedpost with my hands, but felt my body being pulled across the room. It was useless—there was nothing I could do.
I let go.
2
She was prettier than me. They all were. She laid very still, her long golden hair fanned out over the satin pillowcase. I crept closer. Her skin shone like flawless ivory; her lips pink as roses. I hoped I wasn’t too late. No, there it was, the slight rise and fall of her chest. She was alive.
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