Chaos Choreography (InCryptid, #5)(100)

Anders blanched. He was a tapper before anything else. The pace Marisol and I had been setting since the start of rehearsal was starting to wear on him.

Sadly, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. “No, no, no, you’ll break the poor boy,” said Marisol. “We’re going to take twenty. Get some fluids in you, maybe eat a thing, and then get back here. It’s time to start working.” She beamed before heading for the door at the back of the room. The two cameramen who’d been filming our rehearsal turned off their cameras. Twenty minutes for us meant twenty minutes for them. More importantly, it meant they had time to sneak a cigarette out behind the theater.

(Adrian hated smoking, and regularly reminded his dancers that cigarettes were tools of the devil—not that we needed much reminding, since our careers depended on having clear lungs and the ability to keep moving for hours without running out of air. This didn’t stop most of the crew from smoking, which made sense once I stopped to consider the fact that they had to work for Adrian all the time. I probably would have started smoking also, or at least drinking heavily, if that had been my lot in life.)

Anders waited until we were alone before giving me a sidelong look and saying, “Something’s up with you, and I want to know what it is.”

I blinked as guilelessly as I could manage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last time we were on this show, you were first in and last out any time there was a chance we were going to party. This time, I’ve barely seen you in the courtyard at all. The dancers from like, all the other seasons think you’re unfriendly and uppity. They think you think you’re too good for us, which is weird, because you didn’t used to be that way, and I know you haven’t been working.” Anders glared at me. “Everyone who knew you in New York says you vanished off the scene months ago. So what’s going on? What’s the deal with you?”

“There is no deal, Anders, honestly,” I said. “I just . . . I’ve been reevaluating my priorities since the show. I probably wouldn’t have come back at all, except that I missed everybody, and I knew I wouldn’t be taking a slot away from anyone else. I’m an All-Star. I earned this. So I came back to do it, but it’s made me realize that this isn’t what I want anymore. I’ve changed.”

“So what, you’re trying to screw me over? Some of us still want this, Val. Some of us would kill for this, and you’re willing to throw it away.” His glare intensified, and I realized what this was really about. I hadn’t danced well enough the week before. We were probably going to be in the bottom six, and we might be eliminated—and here I’d just admitted that dance was no longer my life.

“My grandmother was sick,” I said, as levelly as I could. “I’m sorry I didn’t dance as well as you wanted me to, but as long as I’m here, I’m here to win. I did not intentionally hurt your chances. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You were dancing for crap yesterday, too,” he said.

“My grandmother was still sick yesterday,” I replied. “I got the call that she was out of the woods last night, and I got my head back in the game. I don’t know what you want from me, Anders. I apologized. I’m doing better. We’re going to tango so well that we’ll set the stage on fire, and there’s no way the judges will send us home after that. Have a little faith in me, why don’t you. I got you to the finale last time.”

Anders’ eyes widened. My stomach sank. That had been the exact wrong thing for me to say.

“Is that what you think?” he asked, voice suddenly low and tight. “You carried me? Because I didn’t earn my place on the show by myself.”

“Anders, I didn’t—”

“No, you did. You’ve always been good about saying what you meant, even when you probably shouldn’t have. This was one of those ‘probably shouldn’t have’ times, in case you were wondering.” He shook his head. “I really thought we were friends.”

“Anders, I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the rehearsal room, leaving me alone with the mirrored walls. My reflection looked back at me—my reflection, and not, because I didn’t have red hair, and I didn’t wear clothing that exposed me so completely to the elements. I was alone with Valerie.

I didn’t want to be.

She was everything my sister had ever accused me of being: the sort of person who’d keep dancing above a vault filled with dead bodies. It didn’t matter that I was doing it so we wouldn’t be thrown out of the theater; I would have wanted to do it anyway. I might have allowed Dominic and Alice to drag me away . . . but I might not have. This was my second chance at the dance career I’d believed I was leaving behind, and the temptation had been huge from the beginning. The temptation was still huge, if I was being honest with myself. I wanted this.

And at the same time, I didn’t. My wig had never slipped during my original season, not once. I’d kept it pinned so tightly that it might as well have been epoxy-bonded to my scalp. This time, it had slipped so often that it was a miracle no one had seen. I’d allowed my personal feelings to get in the way of my dancing. I’d brought Dominic to Los Angeles in the first place. Sure he was my husband, and I loved him, but I could have left him behind. Before we’d known about the snake cult, it would even have made sense. The Be-Well was cheap. It still cost money. I’d brought him with me anyway. Why?