But I know that’s exactly why she did it. She knew I could not say no.
Not to them. And maybe she doesn’t know this, but not to her either.
So when the clock strikes six, I get into my car and drive down to the studio. Where Chloe is
already waiting. Where they are all waiting.
I park the car and grip the steering wheel as my gaze darts to the door.
Chloe comes bounding out a moment later, a huge smile on her face.
I wipe my hands down my sweater and hope that she’s coming to tell me it’s cancelled. That she
doesn’t need me after all.
She makes a gesture for me to get out instead.
I move on autopilot, trying to play it cool. But she reads my face well, this girl.
My dainty ballerina.
She takes my hand in hers for the briefest of moments in the lot and brings it to her lips, offering up
a gentle kiss.
“It’s going to be great,” she tells me. “You’ll see.”
I walk silently beside her. Into the building. And into my own personal hell.
And there they are.
The faces from that day. All staring back at me.
Glimpses of blood and dust and smoke flash through my vision. The sound of tortured screams and
sobbing. I close my eyes and Chloe touches my arm, bringing me back to reality.
She introduces me so that I don’t have to speak. Though I am all too aware I need no introduction. I
don’t see how they could ever forget me after what happened at my show.
“Keller.”
The voice of a woman breaks through the haze. I turn my attention to her and recognize her
immediately. Her name is Amanda. And she lost both of her lower legs in the explosion.
“That’s what Chloe said you’d prefer to be called now, is that okay?”
I look to Chloe in appreciation and nod.
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “That’s fine. How are you?”
It’s a stupid question. But the only one I can think to ask.
She smiles at me anyway, putting me at ease.
“I’m great,” she answers.