The Standout Read online

  I realize why we’re at this location; he chose it because we’d be able to hear the music.

  You would think I’d be harder to impress. But the idea of Yuri, thinking about me, planning something to make me happy: it is the best gift I’ve had in a really long time. “Thanks,” I say, softly.

  Yuri places his phone down, so it’s balanced against a steel beam, then he holds out his hands to me, a let’s dance gesture. I let my arms and legs move in tandem to the trumpets, to Yuri’s dancing, to the rhythm of everything I never knew I needed.

  The no-touching rule has died. His warm, flat palm is against the small of my back and our stomachs press together. I put my arms around his shoulders and he places both of his hands against my hips. Yuri bends his knees and lifts me and I am propelled into nothingness, into infinity. We’re defying the laws of nature and gravity, merged together in this beautiful, precarious way. Never has anything felt so right.

  I’m not sure who leans towards whom first, maybe it’s just a mutual decision for our mouths to meet. But before I can process anything we are kissing, and it’s apples and honey and flying in a dream.

  Then we wake up.

  “You there! Stop where you are!” A voice broadcasts itself over the tinny trumpet music that’s still playing on Yuri’s phone. “This is the police and you are trespassing on private property. Come down, now!”

  Yuri’s face is a mask of horror and panic. His eyes turn into wide, dark, infinite circles and his jaw drops about a foot. He stares into me for a moment, as we are both paralyzed.

  He shakes his head and says, “I am sorry, Zelda. But I cannot get caught.”

  Then he flies away.

  Okay, he doesn’t actually fly, but he makes a comic-book villain exit, bounding off with super-human force before I can even register that he is abandoning me. I don’t know how he gets down but he doesn’t take the route we used to get up, which is the only route I know. It leads me directly to the policeman, who is waiting at the bottom like an angry parent, pleased with the prospect of punishment.

  Chapter 58

  My first phone call is to my mother, but there’s no answer.

  “Can I try another number?” I ask the clerk at the police station.

  She sips from a mug that reads “Life is short. Do stuff that matters.” “Make it quick,” she tells me.

  I call Julie.

  “Hello?” She sounds confused, probably by the unknown number that popped up on her cell.

  I speak in a relieved rush. “Julie, thank God you answered. Can you come get me? I’m in Brooklyn and I’ve been arrested.”

  There’s a pause. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m serious! Please?” I inhale the smell of stale coffee and sweat. “And bring some money so you can post bail, okay? It will probably be around $300.”

  “Come on, Zelda. I’m not in the mood for this. I don’t know why you even think it’s funny.”

  “I’m not joking. Please, Julie!” I lower my voice so I don’t sound so frantic. “I’m at station #65, in Brooklyn, on Mitchell Avenue.”

  I can hear her silent struggle over whether or not to believe me. Meanwhile the clerk uses her pudgy hand to motion that my time is up. “Julie,” I cry, one more time, “I’m totally serious. Don’t make me spend the night in a holding cell with prostitutes.”

  I’m forced to hang up and then I really am put in a holding cell with prostitutes, plus a few drug dealers and an old woman named Marlene, who I share a bench with. She tells me she’s been arrested for indecent exposure.

  Marlene looks sort of like my great-aunt Trisha, who lives in the mountains with her dogs and has grown plump from eating a lot of cherry pie. I’m trying not to picture how Trisha would indecently expose herself, and I’m also trying to stay clear of an argument between a woman named Coco and another lady, whose name I didn’t catch, but Coco is using some very colorful terms to describe her. Then, mercifully, I am released from the cell and led down a hall, where Julie is waiting for me, hands on her hips, looking like she might vomit.

  “You totally have to pay me the bail money back,” Julie says.

  I don’t answer. I’m too blinded by tears of relief to do anything but hug her, which is awkward, because she only sort of hugs me back.

  “Careful!” she cries. “Don’t make me injure my other ankle. That’s the last thing I need.”

  “Sorry.” I balance her and myself so we’re steady. “Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”

  We go to a diner with shiny plastic booths, a 50s style jukebox, and an unapologetic pride in its predictability. I stare at my water glass as beads of condensation dribble down, forming a soggy mess that eats away at the paper placemat beneath. Julie just has coffee and I have a slice of cherry pie; thinking about Aunt Trisha made me crave it. I’m wolfing it all down: the bright red cherries, the buttery crust, and the vanilla ice cream that’s saturating and turning it all pink. I’m not even concerned that Robin might have to let out the seams of tomorrow’s dress. I also don’t care that Julie is watching me, almost as if she’s the anthropologist and I’m the rare, exotic survivor from the stress-eating tribe.

  “I should never have gotten involved with Yuri,” Julie says, unprompted. She waits for me to respond.

  My brain stammers for a second as I swallow down some pie. “You blame him for your ankle?” I ask.

  Julie bites her lip in contemplation. “Yeah, but it’s not just that. There’s something weird about him, Zelda. I wish I’d stayed away.”

  “What do you mean? How is he weird?” I reach for a joke, some quip to lighten the mood and detract from my panic. “Does he have three nipples, or something?”

  Julie doesn’t even crack a smile. “I can’t explain it, so just trust me, okay? There’s something weird about Yuri.”

  “All right.”

  She takes a sip of coffee, I wipe my mouth with my napkin, and tension hovers above us. “Aren’t you even going to ask me what happened?” I ask. “It’s not every day that I get arrested for trespassing.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  I summon all my courage to tell her the story, feeling safer in a public place than I would somewhere private. Sure, she’ll get mad, furious even, but the lashing will be controlled. Nonetheless, my words feel heavy and sluggish as they exit my mouth and my body temperature rises from the strain. “. . .and,” I struggle, “then he kissed me. It was the first time, I swear, and we were interrupted by the police. Then he ran. And, well, that’s it.”

  I expect her to be blinded by rage, so I’m caught off guard when her eyes stay wide, barely blinking and deadly calm.

  "He's gone too far," says Julie.

  For the first time I notice a wide scratch starting at her left temple and extending all the way down to her chin. It’s covered by makeup and I can imagine Julie’s nails drawn; perhaps she wounded herself. Now her eyes dance and her dark pupils seem unnaturally large, like she's in shock, like she’s soulless.

  “What happened to your face, Julie?”

  She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even register the question. “I’m not going to let him hurt you again.”

  The gravity of her voice makes the hairs on my neck stand up. “It’s okay, Julie. He hasn’t really hurt me that much.”

  She pounds a fist on the table, causing a mini-earthquake, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers and rattling the silverware.

  “Everything that’s wrong with your life is his fault. And it’s time to stand up, Zelda. Stop being such a pushover.”

  I feel my nostrils flare. "I’m not! I just don’t think we need to make some big statement against Yuri.”

  "I’m not saying we should kill him.” Julie’s shoulders slacken with strength. “We’ll just rough him up. Problem solved and nobody is a murderer."

  Out of me escapes a distorted little laugh. She has to be joking. This is her twisted payback for me kissing Yuri.

  Julie’s mouth turns down. "Somethi
ng funny?"

  “I know you’re only kidding.” I engage her in a stare-off, like when we were ten. Back then she never blinked first and now she’s stoic, plastic, like an ancient Dutch painting where the subject seems dead.

  A waitress sets down a thermal carafe of coffee at the table next to us. Her behind bumps into the back of my chair and I’m propelled forward, enough to make me look away for a split second. Julie’s probably glowing with victory but my phone lights up with a text from Yuri. I am very, very sorry, Zelda. Are you okay? When can I see you? My chest feels hollow and like it might explode.

  Somehow Julie knows. "Say that you’ll meet him,” she demands. “I’ll come, and when he’s distracted, I’ll whack him in the knees with a crowbar."

  I study her face and she studies mine, and we’re simply two best friends making a major decision. For a moment we could be contemplating where to go after prom or do we want to go to the same college? If only life were that simple. . .

  Julie fractures the tension with a frenzied laugh, loud enough to startle the coffee drinkers nearby. “Of course I’m not serious, Zelda. You didn’t really think I was?”

  Airways that I didn’t know were closed, open up. “No. . .But you’re not coming with me to meet Yuri. I’m not even going to text him back.”

  Julie flinches like I just ran my nails down that scratch on her cheek, like I caused tiny spheres of blood to resurface. Long ago she established that “no” was a word I was not allowed to say and I never rebelled, not until now.

  “You’ll regret this,” she tells me.

  And then, there’s nothing more to say.

  ****

  In her version she is always the white swan. That doesn’t mean I’m the black swan. No. I’m just a feathered member of the corps de ballet.

  Swan Lake is a tragedy. There’s this prince who is bored at his own birthday party, so he ditches and goes hunting. He’s about to shoot a swan when she transforms into a beautiful woman, right before his eyes. They fall in love faster than you can say “Put down your crossbow.”

  The swan lady is Odette, and an evil sorcerer has cast a spell on her, so she’s a swan by day and a human by night. Until, that is, someone falls in love with her and breaks the spell.

  Problem solved, right? Wrong.

  The next night there’s another party. The prince invited Odette, but she’s running late because she has to wait until nightfall to become human again. The evil sorcerer shows up with this Odette-look-alike named Odile, who is wearing a black tutu instead of white. The prince is easily duped, dances and falls in love with Odile. Meanwhile, Odette finally arrives at the party, but when she sees her prince dancing with Odile, her heart breaks. Once the prince realizes his mistake, his heart breaks too.

  Of course, they both die, because people always die after their hearts are broken. I’m sure the same rule applies to swans because they notoriously mate for life.

  I am meant to play Odette, she tells me. It’s my role.

  I don’t question her sense of entitlement.

  Chapter 59

  “Robin, tell us about your look.”

  We’re standing on the runway. Robin’s outfit has either gotten one of the highest or the lowest scores, but she doesn’t know which. I wish I could reach out, grab and steady her shaking hands, but my job is to stand here like a mindless mannequin. Robin’s job is to explain her design, and she does so in a trembling voice.

  “Well, Robin,” Hilaire breaks into a cover girl smile, “I loved your look. You are on the top.”

  I feel like Robin’s win is my own. I’m not taking credit for the success, but I still feel proud, so much so that I forget, for a moment, about all my problems. I am bone tired, and once we’re done filming, all I want is home and a hot bath.

  But it’s not to be.

  The moment I open the apartment door I encounter Mom, standing in the entryway like she’s been there for hours, letting time inch away until I get home.

  “Holy Crap!” I yell. “You startled me, Mom!”

  But if I was scared a moment ago, now I’m really freaked out. In the fading evening light Mom looks so pale that her freckles, which usually come out only after a day at the beach, are this colony of pink smudges up and down her cheeks and chin. Her forehead has double, no triple, the amount of creases, and her eyelids and mouth look so heavy that they might just fall off her face.

  “I got a call today, Zelda.” She is speaking from somewhere deep and hidden, like maybe her kidneys. “A lawyer from one of those places that advertise on television wants to know if you need representation.”

  My head starts to pound. “Mom, I can explain. Let’s go into the living room and sit, okay?” I tap her shoulder and I swear that cold blood is running through her veins. “Mom, are you okay? Are you still not feeling well?”

  “Your father finally returned my call.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “He wants a divorce so he can marry Janice.”

  I let her statement settle over me and now I feel cold too. Dad is never coming home.

  “Oh, Mom. I don’t even know what to say.”

  She points down. There is a suitcase at her feet. “You’re his problem now.”

  “What?”

  “I gave up everything: my career, my dreams, my identity, to have you and marry him. And he’s never taken responsibility. It’s always been me. But I am done.” She picks up my suitcase, extends it toward me, and my hand just automatically reaches out to take it.

  But when she opens the door I stay rooted, paralyzed in my spot. “Dad’s in London. I can’t go live with him.”

  “I guess you should have thought of that earlier.”

  “Mom! Please! I’m sorry, okay? Can’t we talk about this?”

  For a moment she’s statue-like, and I wonder if she’s even heard me. I’m about to repeat the question, when she speaks in a soft voice. “I could have been great, you know. But I blew it. I made all the wrong choices after I met you father. So forgive me if I can’t just sit by and watch you make all the wrong choices too. Think of this as tough love, Zelda.”

  “No, Mom! Please! I really am sorry.”

  “Oh, Zelda.” She scolds me and I’m just a toddler who spilt her milk, but this mess is not so easy to wipe up. “You’re only sorry that I’m kicking you out. But you’ll be fine; you’re eighteen and you have a job.”

  “I don’t get paid for another two weeks!”

  “Well if Julie’s the good friend you insist she is, she’ll let you stay with her again.” She leans in, keeping her voice low and secretive. “Otherwise, you’ll learn to be on your own, and then maybe you’ll stop taking me for granted.”

  Mom is so calm that she could be reading off a grocery list. Meanwhile, panic rises in my stomach like sushi gone wrong.

  “But you don’t understand! Please, can’t I just explain?”

  Her lips stay pressed shut and her eyes hold no sympathy. She gives my arm a tug and I’m out in the hallway. “Good luck, Sweetie,” she says, right before she closes the door, slowly and methodically, and I hear the deadbolt click into place.

  Chapter 60

  I head to the place that is as familiar as home. Rehearsal is just getting out at Ballet Institute East when I arrive at the doors. The company dancers give me a strange look for going inside, but I just say, “I’m meeting Yuri. He wanted to rehearse the new piece he’s choreographing.”

  This is a total lie. But Yuri is always choreographing something new and since he’ the current golden-boy at BIE, I get away with it. Whatever Yuri wants, Yuri gets.

  I go upstairs, to one of the smaller dance studios. I flick on the lights, stretch and dance around, because that’s what I’d do if I was actually waiting to rehearse with Yuri. When I glimpse at my reflection in the wall of mirrors, I remember that I’m in my street clothes.

  I crouch down and unzip the industrial sized zipper of the canvas bag that Mom packed for me. There’s a slim toiletries bag with a travel toothbrush and
toothpaste, face scrub, and a mini deodorant. There are also a couple pairs of underwear, some jeans, my Ballet Institute East sweatshirt, pajama pants, and three pairs of tights, three leotards, and my pointe shoes.

  And on the very top, like it was an afterthought, is my favorite Rubik’s Cube, its stickers peeling at the corners. One hand reaches for it and the other hand pulls my phone from my backpack. I try to solve the puzzle while I call Dad.

  He actually answers, but when I tell him that Mom kicked me out, he just groans. “That is so like your mother,” he mumbles, like I’m not supposed to hear.

  “Dad, she’s taking her anger at you out on me. Why can’t you come home and patch things up?”

  “Because it’s always something with her. She’s not happy unless she’s miserable.”

  Harsh words pool on my tongue. That must be why she’s stayed with you for so long, or you’re incapable of making anyone happy. But silence is my only answer and he senses the pressure change. “Look, Zelda, I need you to handle things this time. I can’t get away.”

  “You’re never coming back, are you Dad?”

  His breath hums through the phone. “I’ll always be here for you, Sweetie.”

  I should just ask him for his credit card number, but my lungs labor in my chest as if I stepped into sub-zero temperatures. I want to reach through the phone and kick him where it hurts, because life is unfair and he can have a trophy wife while mom just gets a nervous breakdown. “Dad, the only thing worse than a cheat, is a liar.”

  It takes a moment for my statement to register, but it does. “Excuse me,” he coughs. “Where do you get off—”

  “Goodbye, Dad.”

  After I hang up, the silence of the empty dance studio is deafening in its creepiness. I go downstairs to make sure the outside door is locked, and then I trudge back up, all the while feeling like someone might jump out at me.

  I’d almost welcome the company.