Dream Chaser

by Angie Stanton

  The music ended, leaving me in the closing pose. Adrenalin pumped through me. I’d forgotten what a high I got from dance and how the energy and emotion fulfilled me. My eyes watered and threatened to embarrass me. Cheer was regimented and precise, not an artistic release. My body buzzed with the passion I’d locked away.

  “I see you haven’t forgotten after all, but, of course, one never forgets their true calling, no matter how far away they run,” Miss Ginny said and then addressed Tyson. “She’s rusty, but that’s to be expected. Give her some time, and she’ll be back in perfect form.”

  I swiped my wet eyes.

  Tyson watched with his arms crossed and head tilted to the side in thought. A smirk lit the corner of his mouth. He nodded to himself and then leaned over and spoke with Miss Ginny.

  As I worked to recover my breath, I looked anywhere but at the two holding a private pow wow to decide my fate. Before I danced, I wanted this so bad so I could escape cheer for once and for all. But dancing full out stirred my memories. Dance is such a joyful place. When I dance, nothing else matters. It’s as if I existed in a perfect world of free flowing grace and joy. Now I wanted to be a part of this show more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I didn’t care how small the part. And if I didn’t get in, I’d talk to my Mom about taking classes again. I was coming home.

  Tyson and Miss Ginny looked up. “Willow, that was very nice,” he said.

  I sighed in relief and walked to the steps at the side of the stage.

  “Hold up, please. I’d like to see you try some new choreography.”

  “All right.” I looked to Miss Ginny.

  Tyson turned toward the back of the dim auditorium. “Eli, are you back there?”

  “I’m here.” A low voice answered from the darkened seats.

  My gut clenched at the sound of the familiar voice from my past.

  Eli Cooper.

  The reason I quit dancing.

  “Come on up and teach Willow the first combinations of the dream sequence,” Tyson said.

  I shielded my eyes from the bright stage lights and watched a shadow appear from the darkness. His lanky form grew larger, like a mirage in the desert. As he ambled down the aisle past Tyson and Miss Ginny, the light caught his blond hair. He needed a haircut. It still curled up at the sides. He leapt on stage like a jungle cat and walked toward me. He averted his gaze and stopped a few feet away.

  I bit at my lip. Why hadn’t I thought about Eli? Of course he was in the show; he would have the lead. This would be his nirvana, working with a Broadway director. The hope of reaching his dreams. Eli had talked about working on Broadway so many times over the years. That was before I walked away from Eli and dance on a warm fall night.

  I peeked at him.

  He glanced back from behind a swipe of hair.

  My old friend.

  Chapter 7

  We hadn’t been this close in nearly three years. Not since I dove head first into the life of competitive cheerleading and never looked back. And I never looked back so that I wouldn’t have to face Eli Cooper.

  Eli went to East High School, lived in upscale Maple Bluff, played soccer, studied dance, and probably performed in every show that ever came along. After I bailed out of dance, I picked up new friends, all cheerleaders, and never went to our old haunts again. Partly out of respect for Eli and partly out of embarrassment.

  “Hey,” he said and looked away.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  The awkwardness between us stood as thick as the Berlin Wall. Except I didn’t see it coming down anytime soon.

  Eli looked down at me by several inches. We used to see eye to eye. I didn’t expect we’d see eye to eye on much anymore.

  “So you’re going to do the show.” A statement, not a question. His eyes finally settled on my face.

  “Maybe. If I’m good enough.” I shifted from one leg to the other.

  He stared for a couple of seconds. “Don’t be stupid.” He looked away again.

  Apparently I hadn’t avoided him long enough. He obviously wasn’t ready to make nice. Not sure what to do or say, with my arms wrapped around myself I gazed at the curtains, the stage floor, the piano. Anything I could look at except him.

  “I don’t see any dancing!” Tyson called from the auditorium seats where he chatted with Miss Ginny. “Five minutes, then I want to see what you can do.”

  “Got it,” Eli said in a resigned voice.

  Geez, I wanted to walk away right now. Remember, Willow, you need this to get Jilly off your back!

  He turned to me, his chin set and eyes steely. “Let’s go.” We moved stage left, and he walked me through the steps. “ One, two, touch, turn, step, step, leap.” It didn’t take long until I felt the rhythm of the moves. They were tricky, but Eli was an excellent teacher as we marked through the steps again and again. But he was careful not to get too close, or god forbid, accidentally brush against me. Working alongside him felt surreal as we tried to ignore our awkward separation.

  “You guys ready?” Tyson asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I answered.

  Eli walked away to give me center stage.

  “Eli, stay there and do it with her,” Tyson said.

  He sighed, nodded and took his place a couple feet to my right. The music came on and in unison we performed the thirty-second sequence Eli taught me moments before. The loud pounding energy of the music made the moves easier, more fluid and meaningful.

  “Not bad,” Tyson said. “You’re a quick study. I know you just learned this, but let’s have you do it a couple more times so you can really get into it. I need to see your heart and soul, not just the steps.”

  Each time we moved through the steps, Eli and I became more in sync. Yet each time we moved through the steps, it became more obvious how out of sync our lives truly were. He ignored me as if he were dancing alone, but still kept his moves perfectly in time with mine.

  His cold shoulder made it easy for me to focus on the routine. I completed each turn with fluid grace, hit each step with precision timing and pushed my physical and emotional limit to the edge.

  Tyson Scott studied us closely, his arms crossed, with one hand rubbing the dark stubble on his chin. We waited, heaving from the exertion of the full-out dance, for his next direction.

  “Miss Ginny tells me the two of you danced together competitively.”

  I nodded and glanced sideways at Eli for a split second. We danced together for years. Our numbers were some of my best memories.

  “Did you do any lifts?”

  “Yeah, some,” Eli answered, his body angled away from me.

  “I’d like to see a few.”

  “We haven’t danced together for years. I don’t know if I remember,” I said. God, did he really expect us to touch each other? Hadn’t Miss Ginny told him we weren’t exactly friends anymore?

  “Of course you remember,” Miss Ginny interjected.

  I looked to Eli for support. He didn’t even want to look at me, so surely getting close enough to do a lift was out of the question.

  “I remember. I can do them,” Eli said in icy challenge. “But obviously she doesn’t, so I’ll pass.”

  So this was how it was going to be. Fine.

  “I just want to see what you can do together. Nothing fancy. I realize I’m throwing Willow into the fire here, but the show is heavy in partner work with a lot of lifts and tricks.”

  Eli crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. “Seriously, if she screws this up, I’m toast!”

  Good, he didn’t want to do it either. For once we were on the same side.

  “Eli, do you have a problem executing a lift with Willow?” Tyson asked. “Is there something I need to know?”

  “Nope. Hey, it’s your show, man.”

  “Great. So show me what you can do. I’d like to see a lift into first arabesque.”

  Eli stepped closer. “Let’s get this over with.” His cold dark eyes bore into me.


  “Whoa! Could you slow down a sec?” I said under my breath, stalling. “Are you sure you can even lift me anymore?”

  I really needed a second to figure out if I had the guts to do this. It was a lift. A toe dipped back into the water I feared most: midair. He could drop me. I could get hurt.

  Was I willing to do this? Or maybe the question was could I? I couldn’t make myself do a toss that day in practice. I might freeze up again. A shiver ran through my body and I shuddered.

  How could I get out of this.

  He cocked his head to the side and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. I can lift you. The question is can you jump high enough? Oh. That’s right! You’re a cheerleader. Of course, you can jump really high.”

  “I’m not a cheerleader anymore,” I snapped back in a loud whisper.

  “That’s right. You quit. What happened? Your partner get a little too close for comfort?” This time, when I really wanted him to look away, he kept his eyes glued to mine.

  I wanted to slug him, but Tyson watched, intrigued by our exchange. Miss Ginny looked ready to blow. Everyone was waiting for me. Irritation stiffened my spine, and I made my decision.

  What the heck! A lift was nothing like a toss in cheerleading. I would never be airborne or free falling. Eli’s hands would always be on me. Of course that was another problem, but one worry at a time...

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Tyson called.

  “Yes, sir. I’m ready if he is,” I said through clenched teeth to Eli.

  I moved into first arabesque, standing on my right foot with my left leg lifted high, foot pointed, and arms extended in first position. Eli stepped behind me, placed one hand under my thigh and the other on my waist. He lifted me straight up with ease, his arms extended over his head.

  His effortless strength surprised me, but his confident hold brought back memories of years together when we would rehearse together for hours on end. Eli had always made me feel safe when we danced. We were inseparable best friends. While still the lean dancer of our youth, Eli now possessed strong muscles hidden well beneath his T-shirt. After holding the position for a couple of beats, he returned me back to the floor with gentle grace.

  “Good. Now an overhead lift,” Tyson prompted.

  This one would be harder. I’d be over his head, with my back arched, facing the ceiling. I glanced at Eli. He cocked his head in annoyance. Eli stepped behind me his hands on my hips. I could feel his breath on the little hairs of my neck. His familiar scent reminded me of days long past.

  A light squeeze of his hands on my hips told me he was ready. I took a breath, pliéd, and leaped. He lifted me straight up and over his head, his body braced beneath me. With my arms extended and toes pointed, I held my body taut. He balanced me with ease.

  Tyson nodded approval. “Very nice.”

  We’d hit to post perfect, and I readied myself for Eli to release his arms and swing me down. But he didn’t.

  I held my body taut and waited for his transition, which continued not to come. What the heck was he trying to prove? In cheer, my positions were always upright, which was much easier for the lifter and the liftee. Holding this position was much harder than it looked, but I refused to break it before he did.

  Eli’s arms gave the slightest of twitches, and I knew he was getting tired. His damned ego had stepped into the middle of my tryout.

  “You can let me down anytime,” I seethed.

  “What, you tired?” He shot back. Eli lowered me to the floor with care.

  I sneered.

  Tyson chuckled. “Ah, not only do we have history, apparently we have chemistry too.”

  “What. Ever.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked away. Eli turned and faced the opposite direction.

  As I glanced to the side of the stage, I was horrified to discover half the cast. Curiosity shone in some of their eyes, while others glared at me with blatant hostility.

  Oh crap!

  How long had they been there? My eyes darted away to avoid making eye contact. Would they welcome me if I made the show? I’d be the new kid, an outsider.

  Tyson faced away from the stage, talking with Miss Ginny and Ms. Fuller, who had just arrived. I tried to ignore the whispers spilling over from the crowded backstage.

  “Willow, please move center stage. I’d like to hear you sing.”

  My head snapped up. Sing? I looked to Eli, I don’t know why. I guess an old reflex. He whistled like a missile soaring through the air and then hitting the ground. He watched its imaginary progress and made an explosion sound.

  Tyson stepped to the edge of the stage. “Eli, you can take a seat. Thank you.”

  Eli smirked and left me.

  Alone.

  Tyson Scott wanted to hear me sing. It hadn’t even occurred to me, which was so stupid. Of course I’d have to sing. This was a musical!

  Now don’t get me wrong. I love to sing, but in that “sing into a hair brush in the privacy of your own room” kind of way.

  My previous annoyance with Eli evaporated and panic replaced it.

  “Right now? You want me to sing right now?” I swallowed.

  I glanced from Tyson to Ms. Fuller and then at the growing group of cast members off stage. I swallowed again, my throat closing up.

  “Yes, that’s the general idea of an audition. Everyone else already has already been through this process.”

  Ms. Fuller nodded like a bobble head doll.

  “In fact,” he said, “why don’t we get everyone hiding backstage to come out and take a seat. You can show us all what you’ve got.”

  Tyson smiled in a way he probably thought would put me at ease, but there is no relaxing when you’re about to be forced into the vocal equivalent of standing on stage naked. I could cheer in front of a stadium of fans and dance in front of a packed audience, but when it comes to singing alone, I get stage fright.

  Now, Eli’s voice is another story. He’s good enough to cut CDs. He’s taken voice lessons for years.

  The kids from backstage came into the light like munchkins in the Wizard of Oz and found seats. Ms. Fuller stepped forward and handed me sheet music. “Why don’t you sing this. We worked on it in choir today.” She gave me a “you can do this” nod. Another copy of the music sat open on the piano. How convenient.

  I accepted the music, but felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by a really big cat. Make that several really big cats. Tyson Scott looked on without a care in the world. Eli relaxed in the front row, his legs stretched before him, waiting for me to fail.

  As I gripped the music, my hands began to shake. My throat now dry as a sandy beach on a hot day.

  “Ready?” Ms. Fuller chirped from her perch on the piano bench.

  Never! When would anyone ever be ready to sing alone in front of this mega important Broadway guy, let alone all these strangers in the cast who looked ready to lynch me for intruding on their private party.

  “I guess,” I squeaked, realizing my deodorant no longer worked.

  The rest of the cast watched my slow torture from their cushioned seats. I recognized a lot of them from my former dance life. Some watched with supportive smiles, but some didn’t seem happy to see me. Definitely not the positive reception I’d hoped for. Was this show really worth it, even if it let me escape cheer once and for all?

  Ms. Fuller began the intro. Tyson’s eyes settled on me; he smiled. I took a deep shaky breath and stared at the music.

  I missed the entrance.

  “Let’s try that again,” Ms. Fuller said with patience. I heard a few kids snicker from the safety of their seats. Ms. Fuller’s head snapped around to drill them with her evil eye. I appreciated the gesture of support.

  “Sorry,” I said. What did they expect? I never claimed to be a singer. I just wanted a small part in the chorus.

  “You know what?” Tyson walked to the piano, “I think we should start with some simple scales. I know we’ve put you on the spot here today. You didn’t audition the first r
ound of cattle calls, so today must be pretty nerve wracking.”

  “Yeah,” I said, relieved he seemed to understand.

  “By the way, why didn’t you audition the first time around?” he asked.

  “Oh, I was already on the cheerleading squad.”

  “Ah, that’s right,” he nodded. “Now, let’s have Ms. Fuller run you through some warm-up scales.”

  My nerves flared again, but not as bad as before. Ms. Fuller played the chord and gave me the beat with a nod of her head. I opened my mouth and sang low, moving up the scale and back down with each note. Each set started a note higher, and I sang my way up the scale and down. Each scale sounded stronger, and I felt better even though my legs shook. Then my voice broke on a high note. I cringed and stopped.

  “Let’s hear that song now,” Tyson said.

  I opened the music again, my nerves only a tiny bit calmer.

  Ms. Fuller played the intro again. This time I came in on time, but I sounded breathy and quiet. When I got to the high note, my voice cracked, and one of the kids snorted.

  Eli was right, crash and burn. My hopes were going up in flames. The director wandered the carpeted area in front of the stage as he listened; his face a blank mask, making it impossible to read his thoughts. When I finished, he walked to the piano and spoke privately to Ms. Fuller.

  Unsure what to do, I closed the music and held it behind my back. I shifted from leg to leg and tried to pretend they weren’t talking about me, or that Eli and the others weren’t still staring.

  “Thank you, Willow,” Tyson said.

  I swallowed, embarrassed and ready to go home and hide in my room with Twinkie. With the music limp in my hand, I waited to be excused.

  Tyson turned to the peanut gallery. “Okay, you’ve been idle long enough. Let’s get Chloe and McKenna on stage with Willow.”

  Chloe and McKenna’s heads snapped up. They were as surprised by the request as I was. They took the steps on stage and looked at Tyson.

  “I’d like to see the three of you do the dream number. Just the first segment,” he said to Chloe and McKenna. “Willow, that’s the sequence Eli taught you earlier.”