But little does she know that I’m willing to spoil her rotten with everything I have. Even if it’s not much. Even if it takes me longer to get there than she’s used to.
The ringing of one of our phones pulls us out of our conversation. I feel the vibration of her phone from her purse that’s resting on my shoulder. She reaches to take it out and holds it up to her ear.
“Hey, Mom,” she answers.
I don’t hear much of what her mom is saying due to the sound of honking and foot traffic.
I’m just glad it’s not her dad.
As much as I love touching Denise, the fear of Coach popping out of nowhere has me keeping my hands to myself while we’re on campus.
Well, for the most part. I’m only human.
Denise nods her head to whatever her mom is saying, her other arm still wrapped around my shoulders to keep herself steady. “Yeah, I’m going this Thursday at noon.” She places ahasty kiss on my shoulder and continues her conversation. “No, Brian already texted me the address.”
I hit the button for the crosswalk as Denise and her mom say their “I love yous” and “goodnights.”
She puts her phone back in her purse and rests her chin on my shoulder. She sighs, her grip on me tightening.
“Everything okay?” I ask, crossing the street in long strides, trying not to bump into anyone.
Denise nods but remains quiet and that doesn’t settle right in my chest. Once we make it safely to the other side of the street, I gently set her down, turning to face her.
“Hey.” I rest my hand on the side of her neck, her eyes meeting mine. “Talk to me.”
She shakes her head and lets out a huff. “My mom was just making sure that I’m going to my first interview with Kimberly this week.”
Denise told me a few weeks ago about Brian getting her a job interview for a teaching position at a dance studio in Ellingbrooke. She told me there were quite a few applicants and that the interview process is kind of rigorous.
Interviews with multiple interviewers, group discussion, and even an audition.
She’s been at the studio on campus most nights and I’ve even caught her huddling over her phone, watching videos on teaching methods.
Anytime we talked about it, she seemed like she knew she’d get it. She was confident enough for the position to be hers simply just because she thought it should. But now as I look at her, eyes slightly glossy, I’m seeing a theme here.
“You nervous?”
She scoffs. “No.”
I arch an eyebrow, arms crossed. Her shoulders drop for a split second and when I don’t back down, she rolls her eyes.
“Maybe—”
I give her another look that silently says, “try again.”
She lets out a deep sigh, reaching to grab her purse from my shoulder and I let her simply because I know she’s just trying to do something with her hands. “I don’t know, just a little,” she finally confesses. “I mean, there’s other people interviewing for the position and I haven’t properly danced in months and what if I’m not good anymore? What if I don’t know anything worth teaching or they see right through me and decide that I won’t be able to keep up?”
The words hit me like a slap in the face. Making my skin hot and raw. The slight defeat in her voice as if the decision has already been made and dancing has been ripped away from her, yet again.
I pull her toward a closed record store so that we’re no longer standing in the way of passersby. I help her step over a puddle from the rain earlier today before leaning my shoulder against the wall, facing her.
“I know I don’t know much of anything about ballet,” I begin, “but I do know that whenever I watch you dance, I’m mesmerized.”
She can’t help but roll her eyes and yet step closer to me at the same time. I take her hand in mine.
“And not because you’re you but because you’re an amazing dancer. An amazing person.” My voice drops so that she knows these words are only meant for her.
“They want to whip those kids into shape? You’re their girl. You got this job in the bag, sweetheart. And if they decide to be idiots and give it to someone else, then we’ll figure it out together.”