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So that’s settled.
Good. Cleared things up in my mind. Maybe that’s what I needed—some tidying up after the mess left by the news that I have to rethink my future.
Telling myself to stop overthinking, I stomp to the coffee shop to wait for Fred.
***
Fred arrives ten minutes later, and he waves at me from the door. I wave back, then fiddle with my mug until he orders and comes to join me with his espresso.
“Looking pretty,” he says and grins the grin that has melted hearts all over campus. His blue eyes twinkle behind the lenses of his glasses. “You should do your hair up more often. It suits you.”
Vowing to permanently glue my hair up in a bun, I take a sip from my coffee to hide my blush. “Thank you.”
“How have you been? Training day and night, like always?”
My smile falls. “About that…” I put down my coffee as sadness swamps me. “I’m out, Fred.”
“What do you mean?” He’s still smiling, still uncomprehending.
“The director talked to me yesterday. Said the external committee decided I should stop. Stop going to dance school.”
“Oh, Madeline.” His big blue eyes fill with concern. He reaches over the table to take my hand. His firm fingers callused from playing the cello, and warm. “I’m so sorry. Did something happen leading to this? Didn’t see it coming.”
“Neither did I.” I sniffle. God, I hate this. “Remember a few months ago, when I fell during a rehearsal and sprained my ankle?”
“Yes. But that sort of thing happens all the time, right? You said so.”
“It does. But that was the ankle I broke two years ago. I missed the show because of it. I thought nothing of it, but it seems it’s been on the committee’s mind.”
“Maybe they’re afraid you could break it again. Bad publicity for the school.”
“Yeah. But they also said it’s a bad idea for me. In any case… they should have said something earlier.”
“Would you have taken that time back?”
I think about it. “No. I wouldn’t. I loved training and dancing.”
“There you go, then. Dancing is what you love.” He smiles, and I smile back. He lets go of my hand and reaches for his coffee. “You should talk to them some more. Maybe there’s a way around this.”
“They seemed set on their decision,” I tell him. “Not sure how I could convince them.”
“I’ll think about it. We’ll figure it out.”
I love that he said “we.” Is it bad I love it so much?
“How about you? How was your week?”
“Good. The usual, you know. Lots of classes and practice.” He pulls out his cell, checks something. Frowns. “Are you coming to the party this Saturday night?”
“Party?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you about it? A new shop opening, or something like that. A friend of Brandon’s knows the owners and told him to bring more people. There’ll be a punk rock band playing. Deathmoth. Heard of it?”
“It rings a bell.” I think.
“So are you coming?”
“Could be interesting,” I concede. “Though you know my taste in music.”
