The sun shining through the window is warm. I lean toward it and close my eyes. Soon, I’m walking into a courtroom and it’s Wes’s trial, not Mr. Dawson’s. It’s one of those dreams where I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t pull myself out of it. Sadie’s not there though, and there’s no judge and no lawyers. It’s just him and me at the front, standing like we would for a wedding, only we’re not holding hands.
Wes stares into my eyes, so intensely I can feel myself shrinking in front of him. Even in my dreams, he has power over me. He opens his mouth and says two words.
“Not guilty.”
I crumble then, shrinking into a ball at his feet.
My eyes fly open, and I blink to make them focus in the light. A tall, middle-aged man with glasses is being led into one of the rooms by a guy even larger and taller than him.
Mr. Dawson.
I don’t know how, but I know it’s him. The way he walks, the look in his eyes. It’s familiar somehow. Like Wes. I look up and down the hall, but there’s no sign of anyone else.
I hesitate outside the door before pushing it open. Everyone looks up at me. Laura is on one side with two adults I don’t recognize. I don’t know if they’re lawyers, or her new family. Mr. Dawson quickly turns back around. He doesn’t know I’m the one who put him here.
Laura watches me, but I can’t read her face. She fidgets with her ponytail and looks away when the lady beside her whispers in her ear. Mrs. Dawson is nowhere to be seen.
The only person who doesn’t look is Jay. He’s sitting behind Laura in a suit and tie, facing straight ahead. I almost don’t recognize him.
His hair is cut short and the grey uniform is gone. Laura turns and whispers something to him, but his face doesn’t change. Jay’s case worker from Richmond House is sitting next to him.
I will him to look at me and give me some kind of sign. I spin the pink and green bracelet around my wrist, like I can somehow communicate to him with it.
The judge walks in, and I stand with everyone else. I don’t belong here, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I stare at Mr. Dawson’s head until it starts to look younger and turns into Wes. If blood could boil, mine would be burning me from the inside out.
Why?
The question won’t stop repeating in my head. Why did Mr. Dawson have to take away Laura’s innocence? Why did Wes have to take away dance, and Julie, and trust? What did they gain from taking so much?
The questions are too big and too terrifying. But they run through my head until I think it might explode. I need to get out of here. My hands slide under my thighs to stop themselves from shaking, and my ankles cross over each other. I just need to hear the word. I need to hear someone say it.
Finally, it comes. “Guilty.”
He mumbles it, and I want to shake him. I want him to own it. To say it loud and clear so the whole world can hear. Instead, I slide out of my seat and out the door.
I wait by the window for them to come out. Laura is first – she’s alone. She spots me, and I hold my breath until she walks over and sits down beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Laura shrugs. “Jay’s still mad.”
“I know.” I stare at the door, but he doesn’t come out. “Are you mad?” I ask.
“No,” Laura says.
“Are you happy?” I hold my breath again.
Laura glances up at a woman, waiting patiently down the hall. “I have a good family this time.”
“What about school? I tried to find you there.”
“My new family lives in Oakwood so I go to school there.”
“Oh,” I say, smoothing out a crease in my pants. “You must miss your friends.”
“Yeah. But I still see them on the weekends. I’d miss them more if we were, you know…gone.”
“Does Jay get out of Richmond House soon?”
“In two weeks,” she says. “He’ll be in a group home for a month until he turns eighteen. If he finishes high school, they’ll help him find a job.”
The door opens, and a lady waves Laura over.
“I have to go,” she says, standing. But she stops halfway and walks back. “Kelsey?” she says, her voice small. “Thank you.”
I open my mouth, but she’s already turned back around. The lady puts her arm around Laura, and my heart lifts just a little as I watch them disappear around the corner.
Jay never comes out. I wait, but he either found a back door, or decided to spend the night.
I push into the closest bathroom and wait for the door to close behind me. It’s empty. Quiet. I rest my palms on the counter and stare in the mirror. I should be relieved. Mr. Dawson will be charged. Maybe even put in jail. Laura is safe. She might even be happy, eventually. But the face that stares back at me isn’t happy. I splash some water on it and let it trail down like tears. There aren’t any paper towels – just hand dryers, so I wait until it’s mostly dry and pat the rest with my sleeve.
When I open the door again, my heart stops.
Jay. He’s coming out the men’s room across from me. I hold my breath, but then he sees me and my choice is made.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He stares at me, and I try to read it. His eyes are cold. Emotionless. Worse than sad.
“Why?” he asks.
A trail of water I missed runs down my neck, but I don’t move to stop it. “It would have been worse,” I say. “You would have been on the run. With nothing. You could have gotten caught and charged. You could have been living on the streets.”
“You think I never thought about those things?” he says, his voice raising.
Any hopes I had of his forgiveness wash away and almost take me with them. I let the bathroom door close behind me and lean against the frame for support.
“Do you know what it was like to show up at that campsite in the morning and find it empty?”
I shake my head and stare at the drop of water on the floor.
“I thought something happened. I thought you got caught, or worse. I thought you were hurt – both of you.” Jay runs a hand through his hair like he forgot he cut it. I wish he hadn’t. “I raced to the Dawsons’, you know. After I left the campsite. I had to see if she was there. If she was okay. I knocked on the door, and I saw her there. She was sitting at the table, but they didn’t let me talk to her. They dragged me back to Richmond House like a criminal.”
The drop on the floor is gone now. Evaporated. I wish I could do that too. “I’m sorry,” I say again, as if it matters. “Did they…did Laura say anything about the plan?”
Jay shakes his head. “No one knew about it.”
“Isn’t it better this way?” I say, my voice small. “Laura’s with a new family, and you’ll be getting out soon, right? You can graduate high school and get a job.”
Jay laughs, but he’s not smiling. His eyes are narrowed, pointed straight at me. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”
“You can’t run from everything,” I say, even though I know I should stop. Leave, even.
“What? Like you’ve been doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know someone used to hurt you.”
I grip the door frame, unable to move.
“Your scars,” he says, pointing to my arm before I can ask. “You always tried to cover them up when we talked about Laura. You jump whenever I touch you. I’ve seen Laura do the same.”
“They’re scars from dancing,” I say, automatically. I pull on my sleeves even though they’re already covered. My parents always believed me. But maybe that’s part of being a parent. You want to believe in the best for your child because if you knew the truth, it might tear you apart.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says.
I bite my lip and taste blood. It nearly makes me sick. I don’t want him to know that side of me. The Tulsa side. The weak side who let someone walk all over her and get away with it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I s
tare at the floor, tracing the tiles with my foot.
“Who is it?” he asks, softly. “Your dad? A relative?”
I whip my head up. “My dad would never hurt me.”
“A boyfriend then. An ex.”
I stare at the tiles until they blend together. Until I’m too dizzy to stand. I sink to the ground, my back against the wall and bury my head in my arms.
“You were too afraid to report your own abuser, so you chose to report Laura’s instead. You used her situation to reconcile your own.”
I shrink into myself on the floor. “That’s not true.” But maybe it is. Maybe I wasn’t looking out for Laura after all. Maybe I was looking out for myself.
“You could’ve just said no to begin with. I would have figured out another way to do it. Now she’s stuck in another home, and we’ll be separated until she’s eighteen.”
“You could still get custody,” I say, hopeful.
“Not with my record.”
“But if you left with Laura, Mr. Dawson would have just hurt some other kid.”
“You could have reported him later. After we were gone.”
“I wouldn’t have seen you again.” It slips out of my mouth before it’s too late. It sounds petty. Selfish. But it’s true.
“And now I might not see Laura again.”
I stare at my feet. We both know it’s true. Not for a while anyway. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper. But I know it’s too late. And I know he’s right. I wasn’t only trying to do the right thing. I was thinking about myself. Us.
Jay stares at me a good, long while. I don’t meet his eyes, but I feel it all the same. His gaze makes the hair on my arms stand on edge, just like it always does.
“I can’t forgive you,” he says, finally. “Maybe someday. Not now.”
I nod, but my face is in my knees to hide my tears so I don’t think he notices.
When I finally lift my head, it feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. Jay is gone, leaving the hallway vast and empty. I blink a few times, my eyelashes heavy and wet, each time hoping when I open them, he’ll be here again. But he doesn’t come back.
I let my head fall again, and I cry.
****
When I look up again, the hallway’s empty.
It’s cold out, but I walk home slowly. My legs don’t want to move. They want to collapse on the sidewalk. I force them forward anyway and let the fresh air seep into my lungs. The streets are busy by Sherbrook standards, but nobody pays me a second glance.
I stop at a set of lights, but I can’t make myself walk again when the light changes. Instead, I stare at the light post in front of me. I don’t read any of the flyers on it, but I already know one of them by heart. The dance flyer I saw when I first moved here.
It doesn’t feel like a conscious choice, but I find the studio about a block away. It’s much smaller than my studio in Tulsa. From the outside, it’s just an old house with new, big windows put in. I push open the wooden door, and music floats through the entryway. Several different songs come from different rooms and fill me up. I approach the girl at the desk slowly, waiting for my mind to change. Waiting to run out of there as fast as I can. But when the girl smiles at me, I stay where I am.
“Do you have any lyrical classes here?”
“We do,” she says. “How long have you been dancing?”
“I haven’t,” I say. “I mean, not for a long time. I used to.”
The girl nods and keeps smiling. “Maybe an intermediate class then?” She clicks through something on her computer. “We have one starting next week you could join. The first class is on us. If you don’t like it, it’s free. Or you can move to another level if you need to.”
“Okay,” I say. I crane my neck toward an open room as the girl starts typing. It’s a ballet class. Probably eight to ten-year-olds. The age I was when I started – when I met Julie. I watch them each take their turn at the bar.
“What’s your name?” the girl asks.
“Kelsey Masterson,” I say, watching her type. “What’s yours?”
“Lydia,” she says, stopping to hold out her hand.
“You dance?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I can see it in the way she sits. The way she moves behind the desk.
“I do. I just started lyrical a few months ago. I’ve always done ballet, but it’s a bit too much for me now with school and everything. That, and my toes were giving out.”
“I did ballet too,” I say. “When I was younger.” I look back at the girls in the studio, trying to remember who I was back then.
Lydia finishes typing and hands me a printout. “I’ll see you next Tuesday.”
“You’re working again?”
“No, I’m in your class.”
****
I don’t tell my parents about the class. I’m afraid of how disappointed they’ll be if I change my mind. If I can’t handle the first class. I figure if it goes well enough, I’ll call them to get their credit card information for the next classes or see if I can send the payment in later.
I spend a lot of time in my room the next week when I’m not in school. But instead of just listening to music, I move some of my furniture out of the way. At first, I just close my eyes and feel the music, letting my body move only a little. But soon, my body remembers the movements like I never stopped dancing.
Before my parents come home from work, I move to the big open space in the basement. I dance every day until I hear the door slam in the driveway. Soon, it’s as if I never stopped.
On the day of my first class, I tell my parents I’m meeting Melody. In reality, I still haven’t talked to her. Or Taylor. I don’t know what to tell them. And there’s so much I can’t tell them, I’m afraid of how I’ll act around them.
Victoria apologized again and tried to sit with me in art class a few times. But I was too distracted to pay attention to her stories, so she gave up last week and sat on the other side of the room. Taylor’s stopped trying to talk to me as often in the halls because every time he does, I say I’m in a hurry. I’m afraid of when he’ll stop altogether.
When I walk into the dance studio, Lydia is already warming up.
“Hey,” she says, waving me over. Her smile makes my shoulders relax just a little. I warm up beside her, watching her move out of the corner of my eye. She’s much more graceful than I feel. I can tell she’s never stopped dancing.
“Where do you go to school?” I ask. “I’ve never seen you at Sherbrook High.”
“I go to Valleywood Academy. Private school. Not my choice.”
I nod, raising my leg above my head. The muscles burn, but it still feels good. Like a release. “Your parents?”
“Yeah. My dad’s a dentist and my mom works for town council. They told me it was a privilege most kids don’t get. It’s not so bad – I kind of like it now. Took a few years though.”
Lydia sits on the floor and stretches her body forward, her blonde ponytail spilling over her head. I sit down and follow her movements.
“My family just moved here in September,” I say. “I’m still getting used to things too.”
“Must be hard to move in the middle of high school.
“I guess. I kind of needed a change though.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Lydia stretches out her left foot, toes pointed, grabbing her ankle with her opposite hand. “Cute bracelet,” she says, bending her neck toward me. “It’s a friendship bracelet, right?”
I stare at the pink and green threads and nod. “Old friend,” I say.
Soon other students start filing in and by the time the class starts, the room is full. When the instructor turns on the music and asks us to dance how the music makes us feel, I forget where I am. I’m sure of myself, in a way I haven’t been in years. I feel light and untouchable. I feel real.
When the music stops and we all slowly stop moving, Lydia turns to me. “Did you miss it?”
It’s all I can do to try to wipe the gr
in off my face.
I call Julie from the bench outside the studio. I’m not sure why, or what I’m going to say, but we end up talking for ten whole minutes. We don’t talk about Wes or Sadie. I tell her I’m dancing again, even if it was only one class. She tells me about her new boyfriend, and I wonder if I’ll ever meet him. When we hang up, we’re not best friends again, but we’re something.
And that’s enough.
I don’t walk by the old lot on my way home. I don’t want to see it again until it’s finished. Or I can’t see it. I’m not sure which one. I’m afraid of how I’ll feel. That maybe I’ll ruin whatever I finally have going for me.
****
I’m practicing in the basement one night when I spot my parents from the corner of my eye on the stairs, watching, and almost crash into the wall.
“What are you doing home?” I ask, breathless.
“We came home early. It’s date night,” my dad says.
“Since when do you guys do date night?”
My mom shrugs. “Since when did you start dancing again?”
I shrug back. “I might need you to write me a check. For a class.”
She tries to hold back a smile, but fails miserably. “Listen, we wanted to talk to you about something.”
The music’s still playing the background. Classical. It’s a song from before. One I danced to before I ever met Wes. I should turn it down, but I can’t. I like how it makes me feel. Safe.
“We looked into foster care,” my mom says.
I whip around to face her, my safe place disappearing. “What do you mean?”
“We still think we can’t commit to being full-time foster parents,” she says. “Not yet anyway. But they have a foster relief program. Where you can volunteer to take a child once a week. Gives the regular foster parents a break.”
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