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“No!” I clear my throat. “No, I’ll be okay. Thanks, Alexis.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll be nearby. Call if you need anything.”
I hear her retreating footsteps before the music for the next dance act begins. Angrily, I yank off my mask and toss it onto the edge of the sink before turning the cold tap on full blast. The water feels amazing as I splash it over my face. But even as I dry myself off with a paper towel, I still feel horrible.
There’s a choice to be made.
If he asks about me, I can pretend like I didn’t see him and avoid him, or I can go out there and meet him face to face, sexy dancer outfit and all. That wouldn’t be so bad. I mean, he’s already pieced together where I work, so the idea of him seeing me up close in my outfit wouldn’t exactly be a shocker. Hell, he’s seen me naked, for crying out loud.
The mature thing to do is to wait until my shift is over before I go to greet him. That way, we can talk as long as we want without me having to hurry back to work. Or should I go right now?
No, that would be so desperate (which I kinda am).
He will wait for me until my shift is over. Right?
Ignoring my queasy stomach, I wash my face one more time. Once I’m done, I ball up the paper towel and chuck it into the trash can. It bounces off the tampon dispenser and falls onto the floor. I take half a step toward it to pick it up when I stop dead in my tracks.
My eyes focus on the dispenser. Somewhere in the back of my mind, something clicks. When was the last time I had my period? It can’t have been that long ago. But even as I do the math in my head, it doesn’t make sense. I definitely remember having it a few weeks before Mrs. Loughty cornered me for that blind date. Mostly because I’d been hoping to use it as an excuse not to go.
That can’t be right.
No. No, that can’t be right at all, because that would mean I’m late. Very late.
Okay, don’t panic.
Don’t jump to conclusions. Don’t paint the devil on the wall.
I begin to run through all the reasons why I could be late. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and on occasion, my period is known to be irregular. Yeah, that has to be it. It couldn’t possibly be anything else. I don’t have the mental capacity to think of it as anything else.
I throw open the bathroom door and practically run into Marlene as I head toward the dressing room.
“Lizzie, I just heard what happened. Is everything okay?” She appears concerned, and it makes my anxiety wane to know that she isn’t angry at me for bolting off the stage.
“I’m so sorry, Marlene,” I apologize, nonetheless. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m dancing, and then I just had the sudden urge to throw up. I figured it was best if I didn’t do it on stage.”
“Yeah, that would not have been ideal,” she grimaces a bit.
“I guess I caught a stomach bug or something. I feel better now. I can finish my shift.”
“No way.” Marlene shakes her head. “Liz, I appreciate your commitment, but you need to go home and rest. You look pale.”
“But I feel okay. I can keep going. Maybe even start my dance over?”
“Nope. Not going to happen. Besides, the competition is over. And I can’t have a sick dancer out there on stage or the floor. God, this is all my fault.”
I stare at her in bewilderment. “How do you figure?”
“I’ve been relying on you too much to fill in and work overtime,” she remarks, sounding and looking guilty. “I knew I was asking too much. It’s a wonder you hadn’t gotten sick already.”
“Marlene, it’s really not your fault. If I couldn’t handle the extra work, I wouldn’t have offered.”
“You’re very sweet, Lizzie, and deeply passionate. But seriously, go home. Don’t worry, you’ll get paid for the rest of the night. I’m not going to make you miss out on the hours. You’ve been great covering for others, it’s the least I can do.”
While I’m disappointed at being sent home, I’m madder at myself for losing the competition. “Who won?”
“Bella did. Now get changed and go home. Do you need a ride? I can get one of the bouncers to drive you.”
“Thanks,” I say, “but I’ll be fine.”
