Learning to Soar (White Dove Book 3)

by Maya William

  She smiles at us, points at an empty chair at our table, silently asking if she can sit with us.

  My lips form a tight line. I don’t plan to mess up Darcy’s good mood by inviting Portia to sit with us.

  However, she doesn’t wait for an answer and sits, pulling Darcy’s list closer to her.

  She flips her hair over her shoulder. “When’s the party?”

  “This Friday,” I murmur, hoping she doesn’t hear me.

  Her eyes light up. “Oh! It sounds amazing.” Her finger stops at the top of the list where Darcy wrote Costumes for Joy’s Party.

  “But we’re guests,” Darcy steps in.

  “This party is for Joy?” Portia chirps. “Like, Joy the girl who lives at your house?”

  Like there are tons of girls named Joy in this school. “Um, yeah.”

  Her back straightens, and she smiles widely. “Can I come?”

  I glance at Darcy, who shakes her head slightly.

  “Um, it’s not my party. I’m also a guest,” I reply hypocritically.

  After all, I invited Darcy. However, I know my family, especially Zach, will approve of her coming, which doesn’t apply to Portia. After all, Kellan told Barb and Joy several times that it would be a small gathering, with a few friends and the family.

  “I assume it’s going to be at your house?” Portia insists, as if I said yes to her previous question. “Perfect, count me in.” She puts the notebook back on the table and grabs her tray. “I’ll be Ariel from The Little Mermaid. Please scratch that costume from your list.”

  She walks away with a skip in her stride.

  What the…? Did she invite herself to the birthday party? Big Guy, I swear I never said she could come.

  Darcy glares at Portia. She shakes her head, takes her list and, with her pen, scratches out Ariel’s costume.

  “I don’t understand why you hang with her,” Darcy says, full of disappointment.

  “She is…uhm…nice?” I don’t sound entirely convinced that this is true.

  “Nu-huh, be careful, Samantha,” she warns. “Portia is never nice unless she wants something from you.”

  Photo Finish

  Barb and Joy kidnap me after my last class, pulling me toward the exit and pushing me into Barb’s car for my costume fitting. I break the news about Darcy coming to the party, hoping they don’t get mad at me for inviting her without consulting them first.

  “You invited Darcy? This is perfect!” Barb exclaims, interrupting me from telling her about Portia. “I have the greatest idea for her costume.”

  “Baby, don’t try to pair up everybody. She might want to bring a costume she’s comfortable in,” Kellan steps in, grounding Barb as always from pursuing one of her crazy ideas.

  I laugh, noticing a pattern with her: costumes make Joy happy, no matter if the occasion is a costume party or a photoshoot.

  “We need to invite all of the O’Flannagans,” she tells Joy. “Imagine all the amazing costumes we can come up for the twins and… Oh, my God! Anakin! This will be perfect!”

  Joy vigorously nods. Their expressions turn mischievous

  “Stick to the budget, ladies!” Kellan warns, but Barb and Joy are already discussing costume ideas.

  I guess the rest of the family is invited, then. Cool!

  My heart does a little somersault when we arrive at Miranda’s house. Every cell of my body is excited to see Samuel, even though I know he’s at the dance studio.

  Get ahold of your heart. You’ll get your chance in less than one hour!

  Miranda opens the door with a frown, puts her hands on her hips, and shakes her head. “The things I need to do to get you to visit us.” Her eyes sparkle, and a wide grin finds its way to her lips. “Come inside. Time for us to find something suitable for my Nuera to wear to your birthday party.” She points at Joy.

  My friends look at each other after hearing my nickname, their eyebrows shooting upward as they giggle.

  What is wrong with them?

  “I’ll wait for the ladies in the car, to give you all free-range for gossiping and deciding the best outfit for Samantha.” Kellan slowly backs away.

  With my eyes, I send him a silent plea to rescue me.

  He shakes his head as if saying, Nope, you’re on your own.

  “Remember, we need to leave in less than an hour, so make it quick.” He raises his eyebrows at me as if indicating, “This is the best deal I can get you.”

  Still too long!

  Judging by their uninterrupted chattering, I fear they didn’t hear him or ignored him, but I’ll trust him to come to my rescue once the hour ends.

  During dance practice, Maria makes us work on all the choreography we learned over the pasts few weeks, including the choreography to “Something Beautiful” and the “Ants Marching/Ode to Joy,” testing my memory and my strength, as well as Samuel’s.

  This is truly the hardest training I’ve had in, like…ever.

  She constantly corrects Samuel, her focus on him rather than me, which is understandable. After all, unlike her nephew, I won’t join her for the presentation.

  Her critical eye finds every tiny mistake, putting Mrs. Hathaway and Monsieur Pietro’s usual analysis to shame.

  It surprises me when Samuel accepts all of her comments, never complaining about the minimal changes he needs to make. Like a chameleon, he adapts to her recommendations, making me appear like an amateur next to him since it takes me longer to perform them.

  However, a part of me rejoices in knowing I’m helping them, even if I’m a stand-in so that Samuel can practice his moves. But I can’t complain, since I benefit from learning something new, and I’m being motivated by being able to ogle him.

  I bet a lot of girls would love to be in my dancing shoes right now.

  By the end of class, Samuel pants heavily and leans against the barre. But he continues standing, unlike me who sits on the floor, tempted to lie down and take a small catnap to recover enough energy to walk to the car.

  Yeah, probably not a bad idea.

  I grab one of my bags and use it as a pillow, stretching my body across the floor.

  Aww, that feels good.

  Glancing at the classroom clock, my eyes widen, noticing the hands marking nine o’clock.

  Wow, time does fly when you’re having fun, or watching Samuel dance, which is the equivalent.

  “I need you guys to come here tomorrow after school and put in a couple of hours,” Maria mentions, and Sam nods.

  “Samantha, are you up for it?” Her head turns toward me.

  With hardly any energy left, I give her a thumbs-up while trying to hide a yawn.

  Jeez, I’m exhausted.

  Maria laughs at my lackluster answer. “Get her home, Samuel, before she passes out here.”

  His serious expression softens when his eyes fall on me, and finally, a small smile reaches his lips.

  “Will do,” he declares with his gaze still on me.

  “Goodnight, Samantha.” Maria slides her purse over her shoulder and removes her car keys from her pants pockets.

  “Goodnight, Maria. See you tomorrow,” I call out. With the back of my hand, I cover my eyes, protecting them from the blinding light of the studio.

  “Don’t forget to close up,” she warns Samuel before leaving the studio.

  “Sure, Maria.”

  Her footsteps move away, followed by the sound of the door being shut.

  The blinding light disappears. I remove my hand from my eyes and look around as darkness falls inside the studio, the only light illuminating the room comes from the moon filtering through the crystal side door.

  “Scoot over.” Samuel sits next to me and nudges me until I move.

  You have literally, like, the whole dance floor, and you want me to scoot over?

  He tugs my backpack, bringing it closer to him.

  “Get your own pillow,” I whine, pushing him when I realize he plans to steal half of it.

  He laughs and pokes
me in the rib cage, making me jump away while he takes the spot I was just in.

  Too tired to fight him, or to find another pillow, I lie back down, attempting to share. My side touches his, making my stomach flutter at the warmth of his body.

  “I’m sorry the training went on for so long,” he says, gazing at the ceiling.

  My words abandon me as I realize how close his face is to mine, until a nagging little voice at the back of my mind slaps me back to reality. “No problem, glad I could help.”

  Ugh, I really need to stop ogling him.

  Reluctantly, my gaze returns to the ceiling, and I wish for a sky full of stars instead of a simple piece of concrete.

  He remains quiet, giving me the impression he fell asleep. Daring a quick glance at him, I notice his eyes are wide open, as if he’s lost in his thoughts.

  The silent moment doesn’t feel uncomfortable; his company gives me a sense of serenity and peace.

  Or Maria really overdid it with the workout, leaving us with only enough energy to keep on breathing.

  With my eyes closed, I allow myself to relax, enjoying the moment of quiet, savoring the light touch of the back of his hand against mine.

  Breathe in, breathe out…

  The sound of a door shutting wakes me up. My breathing accelerates when I don’t recognize where I am. The white ceiling doesn’t provide me any clues, either. However, the oxygen returns to my lungs as I recognize the long mirrors from the dance studio.

  A piece of cloth covers me. Curiously, I smell Samuel’s scent on it, and after a quick glimpse, I recognize his coat.

  My heart skips a beat as I realize he covered me with it. Guiltily, I take several sniffs, enjoying his scent and remembering all our lovely times together.

  Unwillingly, I put his coat on top of my bag and move my head to the other side. My stomach sinks when I don’t find him there.

  How long have I been out? Where is he?

  Quickly, I pull my bag closer and dig my phone out of it. My hand flies to my mouth when I see it’s eleven-thirty.

  I really need to go home before my siblings ground me again.

  I return my cell phone to my backpack, and my legs shake when I stand, too weak after all the hours of practice. But my stomach loudly complains about the lack of food.

  I’ll get to you in a minute.

  My reflection stares back at me from the mirrors, making me cringe at the terrible mess I turned into after the small catnap. After releasing my hair from its hairband, I run my fingers through it, trying to tame the beast, then securing it with a ponytail to make me appear partially human and less messy.

  Quietly, I leave the studio and search for Samuel’s whereabouts. Not wanting to turn on the lights, I let the moonlight filtering through the windows light up my path. A dim light from the reception area offers a potential answer.

  Found him.

  My feet come to a complete stop when, instead of Samuel or Melissa, a girl with long, blond hair sits at the desk.

  Luckily, the light from the monitor shows part of her profile. My eyebrows shoot upward. “Lyra?”

  Wearing a pair of glasses, she diligently works without acknowledging me. After a closer inspection, I notice she’s wearing headphones.

  “Lyra!” I say a little louder and wave my hands above my head, finally catching her attention.

  She smiles and her hand goes to the headphones to remove them. “Hey, Samantha. Did I wake you up?”

  I shake my head.

  “What are you doing here?” The thought that I’m dreaming crosses my mind.

  “Samuel told Zach you fell asleep after practice, and our friend didn’t want to wake you up. We volunteered to do a sleepover here,” she answers. “We brought some sleeping bags and our school stuff.”

  All of it, because of a small catnap?

  “We could go home and sleep in our own beds.”

  She shakes her head. “Archie, Joy, and Samuel went out to get some food in case you woke up and for breakfast tomorrow.”

  “But I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” I confess.

  She smiles. “You aren’t. Joy proposed the idea and got really excited when Oliver agreed.” Her straight posture relaxes into the chair, and she tilts her head toward one of her shoulders and then to the other. “Plus, the contractor needs to prepare a few items for the party, and they planned on working on them tonight. Believe me, we’ll sleep better if we spend the night here.”

  Why would we need contractors? Isn’t it a small party?

  “Oh! I want to show you something,” she says. “Come and sit here.” She points to a chair next to her.

  I sit and fix my gaze on the monitor, my mouth falling open when I see the most beautiful ballet picture on the screen.

  This one surpasses the one of Michaella LeBlanc and Topher Lancaster that Miranda has at her house.

  The setting in itself is fantastic, nature covers the scene with the lovely colors that come with autumn. Yellow, green, red, and orange leaves decorate the scenery, making the picture come alive with bright colors.

  Gaps between the leaves allow the sun to filter in. Its rays converge in a spot on a branch right beneath the end of a long piece of white cloth. The beams passing through it makes the cloth look like an extension of the sunlight.

  The fabric seems to have a life of its own, going upward, downward, twisting at certain points. The wind is its ally in creating such an amazing effect. The cloth attaches to the waist of a ballerina who stands en pointe, performing an arabesque, her arms stretched to the perfect angle, her hands softening the pose.

  It seems as if the ballerina draws the light into herself. Her long white dress also plays with the wind. A beautiful crown sits on top of her dark hair, the golden points shining as if it’s rays of sunlight.

  “Wow!” I gasp, studying the picture. “It’s amazing.”

  “And it’s you, Samantha.” Lyra points at the ballerina’s face.

  Things start to come together: the beautiful white dress I used during the photoshoot; the halo Barb put in my hair.

  Lyra zooms in on the photo, and my eyes widen, recognizing myself. In the picture, my gaze focuses upward, toward another tree branch, and a beautiful, angelic smile softens my lips.

  “You look like a woodland nymph,” she says proudly. “I’m still deciding if you’re a light or a wind one since you could be either.”

  It takes several moments for my brain to process the fact I’m the model in such an amazing picture, while trying to place the exact moment when she took it.

  “Wasn’t I wearing wings?” I ask.

  “Not when I took this one,” she laughs. “Do you remember Samuel asking you to take them off before you got down from the branch? He kept mumbling something about not wanting your neck to get broken, ignoring Abigail’s assurance that you were entirely safe. You laughed at their bickering, and I asked you to make one last pose before coming down, and voilà, this is the final result.” She points at the picture.

  I do remember that moment. Abigail came up to get my wings and tripped while she climbed down. Luckily, she wore a harness, which prevented her from hitting the ground. Samuel furiously chastised my sister about Lyra’s crazy idea, while Abigail told him she’d personally just proven how safe the setup was.

  “The ones with the wings weren’t good?” My stomach clenches as I wonder about the result of the shoot. After all, I wore the wings in most of the shots.

  “No, actually some turned out even better, but Maria specifically asked for this one for the presentation.” She smiles. “I did Photoshop some of the leaves and added more foliage in this specific area”—she points at the lower half—“and removed the harness, but the light was perfect, your pose and face extraordinary.”

  Still, I can’t believe it’s me.

  “Here, let me show you the ones I like the most.” She brings up a file marked as Photo Finish.

  My eyebrows shoot up at the term. Isn’t that what they use in cl
ose horse races to determine the winner? “Photo finish?”

  Lyra laughs and shakes her head. “David said I reminded him of the character Photo Finish from MLP. He created this file for my personal use and to avoid mixing my shots with his.” She scrolls through the files, and her eyes gleam when she finds the right one, opening the file folder. “Here!”

  She moves to one side, allowing me a better view of the images in the slide show.

  The first ones take me by surprise. I didn’t notice Lyra photographing Samuel and me during our warmup. We both stretch using the same pose as if it were choreographed. The following ones are of me on the tree branch in different poses, from relaxed ones, like sitting on the branch or adjusting my shoes, to more complex ones where I feared breaking my neck as I jumped, made the pose in the air, and landed on my feet. However, the latter pictures don’t show my fear; instead, it appears as if I enjoyed flying.

  In the next set, Samuel and I appear to be battling each other, with me, the angel, jumping high, my back arched and my arms poised to attack him as soon as I land, while he, the demon, waits on the ground, ready to catch me or to attack me.

  Samuel warned me about the photoshoot being a production, but the result turned out fantastic. The wind, the piece of cloth, the smoke, and the dress itself transformed a simple picture into a masterpiece.

  Just like dancing, Lyra manages to tell a story with one simple picture, from the battle scene to the romantic photos, where Samuel lifts me, bringing my face close to his.

  Lyra even went a step further and did several closeups of our faces, such as when Samuel and I shared a playful smile, or when we took a break and compared the size of our hands.

  “You have small fingers,” he said. I still remember the exact moment.

  The next one makes me gasp. Samuel’s arms are wrapped around my waist, his eyes focused on my face as I look at him.

  “I’ve captured a beautiful angel,” he declared at that moment.

  I keep quiet when we reach the ones she took during the rain. In one of them, Samuel stares at the sky as if asking God, What have I done? while holding my lifeless body, a sword buried in my heart.