and then pushes me forward, making me spin with my hand in his before he pulls me close again. His legs move against mine, forcing my body to perform a dance I’ve never seen before but somehow instinctually seem to know.
It’s him, that’s what it is. It’s impossible to resist Cal’s movements. In this moment, his body owns mine.
As the somber notes of the song drum past, Callum dips me back and then pulls me up, putting his hands on my hips and lifting me into the air. I’m not exactly a little ballet bird, but he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. We spin around together, my hands on his shoulders, our eyes locked. There’s barely any light in here, just the glow from his phone, but it’s enough to see the emotions playing out in his gaze.
There are so many, it’s like a kaleidoscope of colors—robin’s egg blue, azure, cerulean, sapphire.
My feet hit the floor and we’re moving again; his hands are all over me, fondling, caressing, guiding. He even slides his fingers along my bare inner thigh, burning me with the strength of his touch, and then stretches my leg up and out. I end up wrapping it around his waist, and we fall into the mirror.
My back hits the glass and our faces get close, too close, lips hovering. We exchange breath, but there’s not a lot of oxygen left in this room; it’s all been sucked out, replaced with passion and heat and desire.
We’re pressed so tightly together that I can feel Cal getting hard against me, but he doesn’t act on it. Instead, as the song picks up, he steps back and pulls me with him, spinning me in a wide circle and then stepping close again. He turns me around and then lifts me up by the waist, swinging me into his arms as the last notes trail off.
The next song starts up—it’s The Diary by Hollywood Undead. It’s much more upbeat in sound, but the words are about people like us, running the streets, feeling desolate and empty. I have to swallow twice to clear the lump from my throat.
Cal is still staring at me, his gaze dark, his body quivering with exertion. Sweat beads on his forehead, sticking his blond hair to his skin. For the briefest of seconds, I feel myself living a different life. Here I am in a ballet studio, in the arms of the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen, my heart beating out of my chest. It’s like I’m looking at an alternate reality, one where the pain of the past no longer exists.
My fingers trace along the side of Cal’s jaw, and I feel us being pulled together, our lips desperate to meet, to complete this fantasy we’re both living.
And then the lights snap back on, blinding us. The song switches to Losing My Mind by Falling in Reverse, and Cal sets me back down carefully, like I might break. He puts some distance between us, blinking and shaking his head like he’s waking up from a daze.
I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t bother to open my mouth, waiting there as Callum yanks some sweatpants from his bag and chucks them at me. I slip into them and put my jacket and boots back on, tucking my leather pants and the shiny pink slippers into my backpack.
“Come dance with me again sometime,” he says, and then he leads me to the door. I'm almost expecting him to kiss me when we part ways at the doorjamb, but he doesn't, and I don't know why I thought he would in the first place.
Or if I even wanted him to.
For two weeks, we've been waiting for news of Principal Vaughn to hit the school, but starting Monday morning, Ms. Keating made an announcement that the principal was out sick and would be returning as soon as he was well.
By Friday, we get a whole new story.
“He's missing?” I repeat as we sit together in the cafeteria, surveying Billie, Kali, and their collection of assholes on the far end. The tension in this school is coming to a head, but I don't know when or where. It's just a feeling, this itchiness that travels across my skin and makes me nauseous.
“Apparently,” Hael says, his mood dark and somber as fuck. He's still obsessing over Brittany. Fair enough. I'm also obsessing over Brittany. For whatever reason, I really, really don't want the baby to be