by JJ Knight
Not that he's close enough that I could see it.
I close my eyes. I'm not sure what's really getting me. We have practiced the parts of the drop closer to the ground a hundred times. It's just that to do the full extension of it, I have to be high. We had to pick a day where I did it all.
Today is the day.
And I'm feeling anxious.
“Let's take this one step at a time,” Bex says. She's climbing the mat tower now so she can get closer. “Don't think about anything, just do what I tell you.”
I open my eyes and watch her get closer. “Okay,” I say.
“The triple turns will slow your descent,” she says. “You just need to finish the wrap. Start with the left.”
My right foot is the one in the lock, so it's not hard to go ahead and sweep my left leg around the loose silk.
“Good,” Bex says. She's at the top of the mat now and reaches out for the black silk hanging next to my blue set. She pulls it toward her, then quickly climbs her way up to me. Now we're next to each other, as if we're having any common conversation.
“Release the foot lock.” She holds herself up on the silks and wraps her left leg so that we are in the same position.
This is harder to do. As soon as I release the foot lock, I have to suspend myself.
“Release it,” Bex says. Her voice is no-nonsense.
I let out a long rush of air and release the foot lock.
“There you go,” Bex says. “Now engage the right leg in the wrap.”
My arms continue to shake. I don't look down, though, not even to get another glimpse of Blitz. I wrap my leg and slide down into the splits.
“Now pull up the extra and wrap for the drop,” Bex says.
I'm better now, all business, as I catch the tails of the silk and pull them up. I twist and turn the way I've practiced, making additional rolls to accommodate the extra height, and adding loops to allow for brief free falls.
“You've got it,” Bex says. “Everything looks good.”
She releases her own foot lock and slides down until she is level with the mat, then swings over. She lands lightly on its surface, taking the black silks with her to keep them out of my way.
“Check, catcher,” she says.
“Check, catcher,” Blitz says.
“Check, flier,” she says.
“Check, flier.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
Bex doesn't hesitate. “On three, two, one, GO.”
I dive forward.
The key to aerial silk drops is in the preparation, the turns of the fabric around your body. Once you start the sequence, there isn't much to do other than let the pattern unfold and keep yourself centered and falling straight.
The air rushes by. My hair is tightly bound to avoid getting caught in the fabric on the way down. I feel an occasional lurch as one of the looser drops lets me fall for a second, then it catches again. I roll forward, the last silk tight around my waist, then I'm done with the silks and dropping.
Into Blitz's arms.
“Gotcha,” he says.
The gym erupts in claps and cheers. Blitz turns around, keeping me tight against him, then rolls me over his back and I cartwheel out of the move to stand beside him.
More whistles and cheers. Bex rushes down the stairsteps of mats to reach us.
“You did it!” she says. “You're about to be as technical as I can take you. You only need to add some form to make the wrap look dance-like as you put it together.”
Blitz bows theatrically. Jenica, who owns the studio, claps her hands together over her head. Once the applause dies out, everyone returns to their workouts.
That's one nice thing about Jenica's. Everyone is focused on their work. Nobody videos or does live feeds or tries to take pictures. They respect each other's practice time, even if a private image of me and Blitz would fetch a decent price in the tabloids and most everyone here could use the cash.
Blitz turns me in a circle. “That was the most amazing move that no one will ever see!” he says.
“There is bound to be an act somewhere that would love this,” Bex says. “The name Blitz Craven draws a crowd.”
Blitz picks up his towel and shakes his head. “That's okay. We are more than happy to step far away from the limelight.” He takes my hand. “We're looking for a house. Working on our ballet. Taking it easy.”
Bex nods. “I get that.” She glances at her watch. “And, on that note, time for me to pick up my little guy.”
“Thanks for getting us to this level,” Blitz says. “See you next week.”
“Sounds good. Schedule with Weeza!” Bex hurries toward the door, scooping up her bag from the cubbies on the way out.
“Ah, Weeza,” Blitz says. “I don't think she'll ever love us.”
“You can't win them all,” I say.
Weeza works here as the scheduling manager, and she despises Blitz and his commercial dance. The more successful his TV show got, the more she would speak up with her disdain.
We walk through the gym, admiring the ballerinas at the barre and the ballroom couples in the far corner.
“It's not Dreamcatcher, but I like it here now that we've found the right instructor,” Blitz comments as we slip on our shoes. We have to do our aerial work barefoot.
“There's definitely room for more than one studio for us,” I say. “But Dreamcatcher will always be special.” I learned ballet there, and it's where I met Blitz. I also teach a wheelchair ballerina class, which includes my four-year-old biological daughter Gabriella. She doesn't know I am her mother. No one knows except Blitz. Dancing there keeps her close.
It's why we're settling down in San Antonio instead of LA. Plus Blitz's parents live here.
My parents are in town as well, but even though almost six months have passed since I left home, they still won't talk to me. I've tried twice since the show ended to see them again. But unfortunately, they heard about some of the sexier clips, and my father said a “dirty whore” like me had no place in their family.
I don't know any way to fix that.
We've just collected our things when we spot Weeza blocking the door. She's in her usual outfit of slashed tights and plain black leotard, her short blond hair in little spiky pigtails all over her head.
“Weeza!” Blitz says. “Let me guess. You finally figured out that you can't live without me.”
Weeza's expression is more self-satisfied than usual. She leans against the door frame and crosses her arms. “You're not going to be laughing when you check your phones,” she says.
Blitz's smile doesn't falter. “I KNEW you were a secret fan,” he says. “You've been following me all along.”
“As if,” she says. “Besides, it's not even about you this time.” She angles her head at me. “It's about her.”
Weeza's otherworldly green eyes, probably colored contacts, pierce mine. My heart hammers inside my chest. The press and social media mentions since the final episode of Dance Blitz a month ago have been more positive than not. Everyone felt our relationship was genuine and was glad for how the show ended.
Besides, the machine has already kicked in to promote the new bachelor for the show, Mack Williams. Within a few months, Blitz and I will be distant has-beens. Our only appearance will be on the final episode of the next season.
I don't know what anyone would say that would make Weeza come seek us out. But my heart is still a little accelerated from the intense aerial drop. So I'm probably a little edgier than usual as I tell her, “I'm used to it.”
She shrugs. “It's none of my business. But if my ex's new girlfriend decided to fork over a story about my secret baby to the Internet, I'd be pretty dang mad.”
My head whips around to Blitz. His eyebrows have hit his hairline.
“Show me,” he demands.
Weeza turns her phone to him.
He takes it from her, swiping rapidly with his finger.
I can't look, imagining the worst, pictures of Gabr
iella next to mine. Her adopted mother's anger.
Never getting to see her again.
Blitz passes the phone back.
I manage to get out a few words. “How bad?”
He takes my arm. “They don't know who she is. Only that she exists.” He nods at Weeza. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“My pleasure,” she says with an attempt at sarcasm, but it doesn't have its usual bite.
My legs threaten to wobble out from under me as we head outside to my little white Volkswagen convertible. I finally got my driving permit, something my family hadn't allowed, and I have been working through my driving hours so I can take the test.
But I’m not up for that extra stress today. I pass the keys to Blitz and he gets behind the wheel.
When we're sealed up in the car, no one to overhear us, I ask him, “So what happened?”
Blitz starts the engine. “It wasn't Denham. It was some girl he was dating. They broke up and she decided to talk to the tabloids. She said you had his baby when you were teenagers. That you put the baby up for adoption and he never got to see her.”
“Nothing else?”
“That's probably all she knew.”
“Denham didn't talk?” My pulse flutters madly, as if my heart itself is trying to run away.
“Apparently he's back in jail.”
I stare out the window. I had hoped somehow that he'd get his life back together after we bailed him out that last time.
But he told this woman our secret. And she'd seen an opportunity.
“Why does anyone believe her?” I ask.
“Because I bailed him out of jail and the attorney’s agreement mentioned a kid. She has the paperwork.”
“That handwritten thing he made in jail?”
“They have shots of it with the date. Everyone knows I was there that day.”
Crap.
We drive along the bright streets, green and vivid for late spring. When my heart calms a bit, I pull out my phone. As long as they don't know who Gabriella is, it's still okay. They can say what they want about me or Denham.
I don't know what Blitz read or how much he saw, but I only have to look at a few headlines to see that he's wrong about how much has gotten out.
Yes, the girlfriend told everyone about the baby. And the adoption. But she also told one very telling detail. One that will sink us.
The secret baby is now in a wheelchair.
Chapter 2
“We have to talk to Danika,” I tell Blitz. “Now.”
Blitz turns abruptly, heading toward Dreamcatcher rather than the place we've rented while we look for a house. “What's up?”
“One of the sites says she's in a wheelchair.”
He slams his hand on the steering wheel. “I didn't catch that part.”
“You were skimming.” I feel like throwing up. It's Wednesday, and I just saw Gabriella yesterday for our wheelchair ballerina class. Tomorrow is our private lesson with her. I wonder if the other instructors are figuring things out. We've long suspected Danika, the owner of Dreamcatcher Dance Academy and a personal friend, has figured out that Gabriella might be mine.
“Can you see if she's there?” Blitz asks.
I nod and send a quick text to Danika that I'm headed her way.
I get a response almost immediately.
I guess you've seen the news. Come on over.
I tell her when we'll arrive and tuck the phone under my leg. I don't want to read any more gossip sites. I don't want to know what they are saying.
But the buzzes continue. I look, assuming it's Danika. But it's not.
It's my friend Mindy. She hasn't written me in almost four months, since her parents took away her phone. She's only sixteen, another homeschooled girl from my church. She's finally found a way to reach me.
I read the message greedily.
Livia, it's Mindy. This isn't my phone. I figured out how to text you from the church laptop. I got to watch your show at my grandma's house. She goes to bed early! You looked beautiful. But I saw the news today. How can they tell those lies about you?
I write her back.
Not lies. I did have a baby. The father is in jail. It was a long time ago and I never told anyone.
How old were you?
I hate this. I hate having to spill to anyone. And I hate that I never told her before.
Fifteen.
Yowsa, Liv! Where is she?
I glance over at Blitz. He's focused on the road, looking intense and angry.
Mindy is asking pretty private questions. And she has only rarely ever called me Liv.
What if this isn’t really Mindy I am talking to? The number is unfamiliar. She said it was from a laptop. What if someone is pretending to be her?
“Do you remember my best friend's name?” I ask Blitz.
He frowns. “You were pretty tight with your assistant on the show, Jessie,” he says.
“No, from before I left home.”
His mouth pulls down again. “The one who got grounded from talking to you?”
“That one.”
He bites his lip. “Mandy? Melanie?”
“Mindy,” I say.
“Yes, Mindy. What about her?”
“She's writing me, or she says she is, from an unfamiliar number. She's asking questions about the baby, and now I'm worried it's not really her.”
“Ask her something only she would know.”
I nod. I ignore her question about Gabriella and text her again.
How is my brother Anthony doing?
After a moment, she replies.
Autocorrect? You mean Andy. He seems a little sad. I think he misses you.
Okay, so she knows my brother's name.
Did you have to put away the church decorations alone?
No, Irma helped. I think she misses you too.
Okay, it's her.
But she's dropped the question about the location of my daughter, and even if she is my friend, I don't know if I should answer it in writing. Instead, I ask her something else.
Can you meet at the park today?
Not sure. I can try.
I'll be there from 2 to 3 for the next three days.
I know this was a common “recess” time back when we were both homeschooling.
I will try. Gotta go before Irma gets back.
Thanks for finding a way to write me. I miss you.
Miss you too.
“It was her,” I tell Blitz. “I'm going to try and meet her sometime over the next few days.”
“Did she get her phone back?” he asks. He exits the highway. We're almost to Dreamcatcher.
“No, she wrote from the church laptop.”
“When are you supposed to see her?”
“I told her I'd hang out at the park for an hour for the next few days.”
“I'll pick up another phone. You can slip it to her and get back in contact.”
I reach out and squeeze his arm. Blitz got a phone for me when we first knew each other. I had no other way to stay in touch with him. “That's a good idea. Thank you.”
“I'll get Ted on it,” he says. When we reach a red light, he sends a quick text.
“I'm glad you brought him on full-time as a bodyguard,” I say.
“I'll miss Duke, but he is loving LA too much to leave,” Blitz says. “Sounds like he and Mack are hitting it off.”
In addition to taking over the show, Mack is renting out Blitz's old condo, which is full of reality show cameras. We are more than glad to be away from all that.
“Did Mindy see the news?” Blitz asks. “Is that why she wrote you?”
I nod. This is apparently too big for anyone to ignore, even homeschooled teenagers.
We approach the front of Dreamcatcher Dance Academy. My soul always feels calmer looking at the tall circular entrance. Bad things don't happen to me here. It's my special place. I have to believe this will be okay.
“Isn't that Gwen's SUV?” Blitz asks.
&n
bsp; I scan the parking lot. “It looks like it.” Now my pulse ratchets up again. This isn't a day for Gabriella to be here to dance. But Danika didn’t mention Gabriella’s adopted mother Gwen being at the academy.
“Did you miss anything else in the links?” Blitz asks. “Are you sure they didn’t find her already?”
“There were a thousand links,” I say. “I just read the top ones.”
“The celebrity sites will look for her,” Blitz says.
And we both know the presence of Gwen at the academy doesn't bode well for keeping her hidden any longer.
All my secrets are about to be laid bare.
Chapter 3
Suze looks up from the front desk as Blitz and I enter the building.
“Gwen and Danika are in the office,” she says. “Gwen's pretty upset.”
“Has she been here long?” I ask.
“Less than five minutes,” she says.
I glance over at Blitz. He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Let's face this together,” he says.
Tears prick my eyes. Gwen has figured it out. It makes sense that she would. She looks at my daughter every day and sees me twice a week. Once she knew I had a baby, she would recognize the resemblance. It's obvious to anyone who knows.
We cross the foyer and head through the doors to the side with the recital hall and Danika's office. My feet feel heavy. I just thought that a twenty-foot drop on an aerial silk was the scariest thing I would do today.
I am terrified.
Danika's door is closed, which is very rare. Her office is already isolated on the opposite side of the building from the dance classes. I knock on the solid wood surface.
No one calls out, but after a moment, Danika opens the door. She nods at me. “Hello, Livia,” she says. She swings it wide. “Gwen is here.”
My daughter's adopted mother has her head in her hands, her elbows braced on the edge of Danika's desk. She doesn't look at me as we all enter.
Blitz stands back in the corner. I take the chair next to Gwen. Danika settles back in her seat on the opposite side of the desk.
Danika speaks first. “Gwen wants to know if Gabriella is your daughter,” she says. “She's the right age, and the resemblance is definitely there.”
I glance over at Blitz. He nods. Gwen hasn't changed her position. All I can see is her curly dark brown hair and the curve of her back in a gray sweater.