The Hit List

by Nikki Urang

  Luke doesn’t understand how badly I want those opportunities. And he doesn’t understand that part of the reason is because I don’t know how to not be a dancer. Dance has defined me for so long, if I left, I wouldn’t have anything. He doesn’t understand that my fear over what would happen to me if I quit, if I gave up right now, is the only thing that’s keeping me in the same room as him.

  His fingers tighten around my arm. He’s trapping me here. I don’t have a choice. I need to get away.

  I wrench my arm out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me. Don’t even talk to me. I want nothing to do with you unless I’m being forced to spend time with you in this studio.”

  He glares at my arm like it burned him when I pulled it away. “No one is forcing you to be here. If you want to succeed then suck it up and dance. That’s your only option if you’re going to stay.”

  It’s not my only option. There has to be some way around this. I can’t dance with him. We just proved that.

  Luke throws his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated with the situation and with me. “If you miss New York so much, why don’t you just go back?”

  I’m sick of fighting. I just want to forget. “Maybe I will.”

  I don’t understand. An hour ago, he had me pressed up against a wall, ready to kiss me, but now it’s like nothing happened between us. Well, that’s fine with me. I prefer not having my world turned upside down whenever he’s around.

  He doesn’t know how much his words hurt.

  L. A.is just another place for me to feel out of place. Another place to feel like I don’t belong. I back toward the door.

  Patrick was right. I don’t know why I even bother to try. Things aren’t ever going to go back to the way they were.

  Luke yells my name, but I run before he can catch me.

  Running keeps me safe. People can’t leave you if you can outrun them.

  THE HIT LIST UPDATE

  September 12

  Greetings from The Hit List. I’m just going to jump right in with the reason I’m posting before the week is up. Consider this a friendly reminder because I will only say it once. A lot of our girls are starting to work with partners for an upcoming show, which will require long hours and excessive touching. If you enter a relationship with any girl, I don’t care if she is on the list or not, you cannot collect points for her. If you want to cheat on your girl and go after other girls to collect points, that’s your prerogative. Frankly, I don’t give a shit either way.

  Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, here are the latest poll standings, just because I’m nice.

  Brielle Watkins 18%

  Rachel Barrons 16%

  Sadie Bryant 15%

  Courtney Turner 12%

  Noelle Sanstrohm 11%

  Rebecca Hemsworth 7%

  Jessie Freeman 6%

  Samantha Jameson 6%

  Ashlynn Jenkins 5%

  Kate Williams 4%

  As always, happy hitting!

  ~THE HIT MAN

  6

  How’s L. A.?

  If I tell Patrick the truth, I’ll look pathetic. But he probably wouldn’t care either way.

  I type out a response without thinking. If he knows I’m unhappy, maybe he’ll answer me back again.

  L. A. sucks. Wish I were home again. How’s NYBC?

  My phone vibrates as the call screen wipes out my message. I don’t want to fight with my mom today, but if I don’t answer I probably won’t talk to her for another month. When I called her earlier, I’d actually felt like chatting.

  Sometimes it’s nice to give her a taste of her own medicine and ignore her for a while. Except she doesn’t care. She’ll just hang up and forget all about it in less than five minutes.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Sadie, I’m in a meeting. What did you need?” She sounds rushed, like she doesn’t have time to deal with me.

  But that’s not new. That’s just her.

  This was such a mistake, but I can’t just hang up. “Nothing. I just thought I’d see how you were doing.”

  People talk faintly in the background. Apparently her meeting continues without her. “Can we talk later? I’m right in the middle of something.” Her voice continues, but she’s quieter, like she pulled the phone away from her ear. I can barely hear what she says to the person she’s talking to, but it freezes the blood in my veins.

  “No, I won’t accept that. I can’t even buy another apartment with that kind of money.” Something rustles against the speaker and she’s back with me. “Sadie, I have to go. Call me later, okay?”

  Anger surges through me. “You’re selling the loft?”

  She sighs into the phone. “I don’t need that much space. With you in L. A., it’s the only thing that makes sense. Don’t worry about your stuff. I’ll pack it up and put it in storage until you need it.”

  “I don’t care about my stuff. You can’t just move. What if I want to come home?” A very real option until now. I can’t go home if I don’t have a home to go back to.

  “We’ll talk about this later.” Her voice takes on a forceful tone, but I’m not a little girl anymore and it’s useless on me now.

  “Answer it.”

  We sit on the couch in my living room. I fumble with the phone, finally getting it on speaker and setting it on the coffee table so we can both hear.

  “Hello?” My hands shake. I slide them under my thighs to stop it, but it doesn’t really help.

  “Sadie? This is Eleanor from Jeté Magazine. I wanted to talk to you about doing an article with you and Patrick.”

  Out of all the things I expected, this was definitely not one of them. I grin, looking over at Patrick. “No freaking way.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Patrick picks up the phone frantically. “She means yes. That would be a yes.”

  “No, we’ll talk about it now. I grew up in that loft. You can’t just sell it.”

  The letter feels heavy in my hands. I’m going to vomit. The cold tile on the wall of the bathroom does little to calm my nerves. I slide my finger under the edge of the envelope.

  We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Los Angeles Conservatory for the Arts.

  “Where will I go when I come back to New York? That’s my home.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this. We’ll talk later.” She hangs up before I can say anything else.

  I’m so glad I’m a part of a family where my opinion doesn’t mean shit.

  My email pings. Miss Catherine never has anything nice to say when she sends emails. I don’t know why I expected her to.

  I need to see you in my office tomorrow morning before class. Leaving rehearsal early will not be tolerated.

  I don’t want the reminder of how much I’m screwing up at The Conservatory. Another email replaces it as soon as I drag it to the trash. I can’t escape The Hit List. Another damn update. I hope the rest of girls involved aren’t as dumb as The Hit Man thinks we are.

  The comments underneath the post are similar to the other posts. Guys cheering him on and telling him to “tap that ass.” Girls wondering what makes them so different from the girls chosen as the top ten. I’d gladly give them my spot. Other girls criticize him for promoting sex as a chess game in which girls are just pawns.

  I don’t know why I’m even still subscribed to the damn blog. It obviously won’t be talking about anything useful anymore.

  Today sucks. If I could get away with sleeping for the rest of the semester, I would do it in a heartbeat.

  My phone beeps with more incoming email. The drafted text to Patrick pops back up on the screen. I delete it and throw my phone across the room. I don’t need that temptation again.

  Someone bumps into the door. It’s either Brielle or someone not paying attention to where they’re going. A key turns in the tumbler and Brielle pushes through the door, balancing her dance bag, her book bag, and an iced coffee as she tries to get into the room.

&
nbsp; “Hey, where were you? You were gone when I went to check the studio.” She sets her coffee on the end table and looks over at me.

  I turn to look at the ceiling again. I don’t even know what to feel anymore. I don’t really care about anything right now.

  “You okay?” She tosses her dance bag onto her bed. Unzipping it, she takes out a water bottle and her iPod and tosses them onto her pillow.

  I don’t look at her when I answer. “Fine.” My voice sounds hollow.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “You don’t look fine.”

  “I am.”

  I’m fine with partnering Luke. I’m fine with Patrick texting me. I’m fine with my mom selling the loft. I’m fine with being a sex object on some list. And I’m fine with knowing I’m screwing up every possible chance of making it to Fall Showcase or London.

  I’m just fine.

  “Fine.” She shoves a sweatshirt in her dresser more forcefully than she needs to and it rattles her makeup on top.

  I glance over at her. Her face scrunches up and her eyebrows pull together. I chew on my lip as I war with myself. If I tell her, it just opens me up to hurt. But I already hurt so much.

  “People suck.”

  She sits down on the bed next to me. “Dang. What happened?” Her smile falls into a look of concern.

  I shake my head and run my hand along the wall, feeling the imperfections in the paint. “A lot of things. My mom is selling our loft. Patrick texted me. It’s all just dumb.”

  She looks over at me and shrugs, a sad smile on her face. “People suck.”

  I smile back, feeling the understanding between us more in those two words than in any other comforting words she could offer.

  “Hey, did you hear about those two theater kids that got expelled today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Apparently they were fighting in the hallway.” She flops onto her own bed and stares up at the ceiling.

  There couldn’t have been more than one fight today. “I’m pretty sure I saw that on my way to rehearsal. They were trying to sleep with the same girl. Then one got mad at the other and they were throwing punches.”

  She turns to look at me. “Holy shit. That’s insane.”

  “No kidding.” I lean back against the wall. The Hit List needs to just disappear.

  “I’ve heard some crazy shit about that game.” Her eyes widen.

  “Like what?” I roll onto my side and prop my head onto my elbow.

  “Like the things some of those boys have done. I heard one of them slept with like five girls in one night. I have no idea who it was though.”

  I crinkle my nose. “That’s gross.”

  How can people do that? It doesn’t take any kind of connection to have sex, but it should. Are they that desperate for status that they’re willing to do whatever it takes for the points?

  She shrugs. “I think it’s kind of fun to be at the top of the list.”

  “Why?” I can’t even imagine why that would ever be a good thing.

  “Think about it. You have tons of guys trying to be with you. You’d basically be able to get them to do whatever you want. You have power.” She rolls onto her stomach.

  “No, thanks. I don’t want that kind of power.”

  No one should want that kind of power. It’s sick. And it’s not any better than the boys playing the game.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out who’s behind it. There are so many options. For instance, Luke.”

  I sigh and roll onto my stomach. “What makes you think it’s Luke?”

  She narrows her eyes. “Have you met Luke?”

  Has she? The real Luke, not the one that flirts with every girl he comes into contact with. The one who tries to get to know me outside of that stupid article. The one who does his best to take care of me after I almost passed out in rehearsal.

  “I don’t think it’s Luke.”

  She lies on her stomach and kicks her legs back and forth. She kicks faster as light dances in her eyes. “Okay. How about Nathan? Have you met him yet? He’s a dick, too.”

  “No.”

  One of her legs hits the wall. Someone in the room next door knocks back and she glares at the wall behind her. “No he isn’t behind it, or no you haven’t met him?”

  I bury my face in my pillow. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  “I guess it could be him. I still think it’s Luke though.”

  I hold up my hand. My head feels like it’s going to explode. “Please stop.” It’s bad enough that I can’t seem to escape the topic of The Hit List outside of my room, but I shouldn’t have to deal with it here.

  “Fine. How was rehearsal?”

  I roll my eyes, not really excited that out of everything, she chose to talk about this instead. “Terrible. I almost passed out.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”

  “I think I forgot to breathe.” It doesn’t help that I’ve been worried about everything since I got to

  L. A.

  “How exactly did you forget to breathe? That’s like an automatic response. You shouldn’t have to think about it.” She stares at me like she’s expecting something more believable.

  But I don’t have a better answer. “I’m not really sure, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  She slides off the bed and walks to her computer. “You’re stressed. You shouldn’t be this stressed.”

  I couldn’t agree more. “I’m fine. I’m just adjusting.”

  “I know it’s hard to dance with someone new and this might sound insensitive, but you kind of have to get over it.”

  I glare at her. Just because we had a moment of sharing doesn’t mean she knows anything about me. “You’re right. That sounds extremely insensitive.”

  She sighs. “That’s not how I meant it. If you’re having problems, we need to find someone else you can dance with. Then you can practice and be okay when you’re in class.”

  She makes it sound so easy. Because I have so much extra time in my ten-hour days filled with dancing and other classes. Those few spare minutes at night when I half-ass my homework don’t really matter. I’m sure I could spare some of those.

  “I don’t have time to dance with someone else. And I don’t need to dance with someone else.”

  Luke’s my partner, and like it or not, I need to get over my shit and just dance with him. No matter how hard it might be for me.

  She shrugs. “Fine. No one’s going to say anything about it. Not everyone gets along with their partner, but we all need to rehearse.”

  It’s tempting, but there isn’t anyone else I’d want to partner with. Being with Luke isn’t the issue. It’s having a partner at all. I just don’t want to do it.

  “Adam would probably be willing to help you out, if you want. You just have to ask.” She swivels back and forth in her chair.

  It’s not a bad idea. I’d already requested Adam as my partner anyway. She could have come up with something worse.

  “It’s just a thought. You don’t have to. I’d prefer not to have to break in a new roommate when you end up leaving because you can’t figure this partner stuff out, but whatevs.” A look of indifference crosses her face, but I can see the little worry lines creasing her forehead as she stares out the window.

  It won’t hurt me to try. Hopefully.

  As much as it annoys me to admit that I might have to depend on someone else again, my need to do well in L. A. overpowers it. The longer I struggle with Luke, the faster London slips through my fingers. The sooner I’ll be forced to deal with what I’ll do when I don’t have dance anymore. I pull the door open and stare out into the hallway.

  “See you later.” The corner of her mouth tips up briefly.

  I don’t acknowledge her. If I stop now, I might not ask Adam at all. He’s my one chance to get this right. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t want to help me.

  Adam’s room is down a different hall than ours. He opens the door as soon as I knoc
k. “Hey.”

  I glance into his room, trying to gauge whether I’m keeping him from doing something. “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah.” He looks back into his room at his roommate. “But let’s go out. James is trying to study.”

  “Hey, James.” I lean into the doorway and wave at him while Adam grabs his cell phone off his desk.

  He waves back at me and jumps off the bed. “Hey, Sadie. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner sometime?” He looks down at his feet when he’s finished talking, obviously nervous.

  Adam coughs beside us as he tries to muffle his laughter. I elbow him in the ribs and his laughter turns to real coughing.

  “That’s really sweet of you, James, but I’m so busy I don’t really have time to date. I’m sorry.” It’s not really a lie anymore, but I feel kind of bad saying no. James is probably the sweetest guy that’s asked me out in a long time. And the offer seems genuine coming from him. There’s no way someone as nice as him is involved with the people behind The Hit List.

  James’s face drops. “Oh, that’s okay, just thought I’d ask.”

  “I have the studio reserved tonight. Let’s go there.” Adam pushes me out into the hallway.

  I stumble over my feet and glare at him.

  He closes the door behind us. “You know, James isn’t playing that game. So if you did actually want to go out with him, it’s not like he’d try to use you for points.”

  “How do you know?” It’s hard to give anyone the benefit of the doubt when it comes to The Hit List. James genuinely seems like a nice guy and if Adam thinks he’s not involved, I feel a little safer. But not safe enough for a date.

  Adam shrugs. “I’ve known him for a while now. He’s not the type.”

  I follow Adam through the now familiar halls. They’re dark and empty, with only every third light illuminated. I’m glad Adam is with me and I don’t have to walk through here by myself. It’s creepy.