Hey people! Thanks for sticking with me through this crazy journey (it's far from over, man). If you are interested in filling out a Google form asking for input on what sort of scenes/character combinations you'd like to see, PM me for the link. It is also available under Natthefantastic 's announcements on Wattpad. As always, please bookmark and drop some comments about your thoughts and feelings!
My sister, unsurprisingly, picks a chain restaurant smack in the middle of Times Square.
It's warmly lit, contrasting the harsh electric signs that wait on the other side of the tiled windows. Dim red, blue, green, and yellow cylindrical lights dangle overhead, more sets of them falling down over the winding stairs where we came from. TVs sticking out from corners and mounted over the colorful, liquor-filled bar across the way play a Yankees away-game, and unfortunately, Maven's favorite team is ahead.
Our table for two looks out over a field of more polished tables and red-cushioned booths, each one filled with tourists. Natives don't exactly come to Times Square for food on Friday nights.
Yet I'm here anyway, staring down a table that threatens to overflow with food. We've pushed the stand-up pamphlets and table caddie to the side, right to the balcony rail that the table borders. The first floor contains a similar scene of loose laughter and the faint buzz of the baseball game.
Only for my sister would I go all-out like this. A mango lemonade—the second of the night, I should add—a half-eaten Caesar salad, a tray of appetizers and dips, and a plate bearing grilled chicken, shrimp, mashed potatoes, and broccoli rest before her. It's like she was fasting before she got to the Academy.
Not that my side is much different. I've been dancing since six this morning, and now my eyes bore into the appetizers and fries I've shared with Gee and my own cheeseburger of ridiculous proportions. We haven't hit dessert yet, though I'm already planning what I want, and I'm sure Gisa is too.
"Well. This is fun," Gisa says between two sips of lemonade that down her mouthful of potatoes.
I smile back at her. "It is."
Gisa, after Shade and Kilorn, is the third person to hear the lengthy tale of how I became a Principal dancer at the Calore Dance Academy. I have to take out the part about Cal and the "botched pickpocketing attempt," as Shade likes to call it, but the rest stays. After telling the story twice, it streamlines the third time, falling in between bites of decadent food.
My fall, my audition, the trip with my partner to a dance emporium, the first day of class all come spilling out. My turning contest with Evangeline and my promotion to Principal come later, along with my glimpses into the lives of Manhattan's elite.
I, in turn, hear about our family.
For the first time in a long time, our bank account is going up. Bree and Tramy are both working again. Last week, Gisa made a commission off a design for the hefty price of six-hundred dollars from some arty fool who lives in Tribeca. My envelopes keep coming. Dad got a new disability check last week. Mom relented when Bree, Tramy, and Gisa all cornered her and told her to stop taking extra shifts at the diner, and with more arguing, she agreed to buy a fancy stand-up mixer for herself. She's wanted one for a while.
Those things, the mundane things, are the ones that I find myself out-of-touch with.
Gisa's had her cast off for three weeks. Her wrist is still a little weak, but it's fine for sewing, and as soon as she got the clearance, she got right to work and made that six-hundred dollar dress. She comes down to Midtown after school most days, and just like how I used to at the studio, she spends entire weekends at the company. Her apprenticeship is right back on.
But really, it doesn't sound like much has changed in the Barrow household.
I was right about the gift bag. It held two teaming tins of cookies, my favorite sweatshirt from the studio, a stuffed cat that I had forgotten about until now, and a very long note from Mom. If three notebook pages, front and back, can be called a note.
She's so sorry. She should've tried harder to keep me in ballet. She had no idea. She just wanted me to be happy. She understands why I left.
It has these small details in it, little memories from taking me to class when I was little and helping me put on my pink tutu for my first recital. It has more recent things to it as well, like helping me with my buns and threatening to slap me across the face in that motherly way of hers when I squirmed.
She just wants to talk over the phone.
Mom's correctly assumed that I don't want to see or hear from Dad.
That's the one that hurt me more. Those few words that he said to me about forgetting my dreams when he hadn't seen what they looked like in five years hurt more.
I shake the thoughts away with another bite of my cheeseburger. The cheese melts nicely with everything else in my mouth. The restaurant's chatter continues on, along with the delicious amalgamation of dozens of scents. I glance towards the cake menu again, forgetting my status as a ballerina.
Gisa stares back at me from across the table, salt from a fry crusted on her lip. The lights accentuate her red hair, and her bright eyes are only more vivid. She likes it here in a touristy place like this, among the sounds and colors and flavors that our family could never afford.
While it's been over two months since I've last seen her, tonight, I find myself closer than I've ever been with my sister. We laugh about stupid, random things, making fun of Bree and Tramy for any reason we can think of and ranting over my ninth grade English teacher that Gisa has now.
Again: simple, mundane, and oddly foreign.
"I want to meet Maven," she says, grinning again as she recalls all of the things I've told her about my partner. Not that the rest of my family hasn't already done their research.
As though I didn't know it myself, Gisa has told me that Maven is seventeen, has curly black hair, and likes TikTok—she has, on multiple occasions, stocked his profile—among other things that she apparently knows about him.
"He'll love you," I tell her, forgetting the fact that it was my and Maven's relationships with our siblings that we first bonded over. "Maven's the b—"
"I want to meet Cal too." Gisa slides my phone back over to me. On it I have that picture of Maven, Cal, and me at the gala, the brothers in their sleek suits and me in my shimmering evening dress. One is on either side of me with their pearly-white smiles, gelled hair, and arms around my back. Cal holds the wine class that he confiscated from Maven, and the handkerchief he later gave me is tucked away into his pocket. The background of the photo is filled with jewels and the clothing of the rich. I can practically still hear the sounds.
The photo from The New York Times never made it into the paper, editors deeming it silly to cover the actual gala in light of the Scarlet Street Fighter attack, but a collection of photos and an article about the event were published on their site. Though my sister has seen plenty of pictures of the brothers online—apparently—I showed her a few more from the gala, and she's been swiping back and forth between them ever since.
Gee's eyes trail Cal's photo from across the table. "He's like, really, really hot."
I almost choke.
Oh my God.
I don't have much to say about Cal that doesn't involve how we met, but Gisa keeps circling back to him.
"What?" Seeing my cringe, she skewers a piece of shrimp. "Don't tell me you don't think he's hot."
"I'm not attracted to him," I tell her, and it's the truth. Regardless of what Cal looks like, I possess no interest in him. I don't like being around him in the first place. And anyway, if word got back to Cal through Gee's loud mouth that I thought he was hot, I'd be as screwed as the shrimp on Gisa's plate are. "You know about our lessons. He's not hot."
Gisa chuckles. I was reluctant to tell her about my lessons with Cal when so few people know about them, but the roaring laughter it elicited from her was worth it, I suppose. Gee knows as well as anybody how I loathe contemporary, and like Maven, she assumes his lessons are the reason I can't stand Cal.
"Well. Then who do you like?" she asks out of the blue, probably thinking about the other Academy guys. Gisa's scrolled through the Academy's headshots plenty of times online before, and I know from being around all of the male dancers that they could be worse-off for looks.
Yet I only think of Maven. A twinge of a smile comes up on my face before I can stop it.
Gee's eyes widen just as I put my burger to my mouth to conceal my treacherous lips.
"Spill," she demands, raising her pointer finger at me like she can coerce me into talking.
She has no reason to suspect Maven when I've only talked about how great of friends we are, never hinting that there might be something more to us. She seems to be more interested in Cal anyway.
I contort my brows into mock confusion. "You have dreams for me that I don't have for myself, Gee."
"No." Her finger stays raised, though in time it returns to her plate. She had to have been fasting, I swear. "You have a crush." She does this thing with her eyebrows where they jiggle back and forth. "Is somebody finally going to melt Mare Barrow's icy-cold heart?"
I give Gisa my dress from the gala, deciding that aside from me wanting it gone, high society wouldn't deem it appropriate for me to wear the same dress twice.
Along with its elegant box, Gisa has two shopping bags balanced atop it. After dinner, we went to some of Times Square's more reasonable shopping venues, and I splurged. While Gisa might be more than capable of making her own clothes, it doesn't mean she doesn't adore shopping. I even let her buy a pair of pumps that she convinced me were practical for her job, though we'll be keeping them here. Mom would freak out if she found out Gee now owned stilettos.
The doors to the Academy's elevator glide open, and Gisa stares once more at the lobby. I have to nudge her forward before the doors shut again.
"Well, Mare," my sister begins by way of goodbye. "I'm glad you moved out. You snore, and you take up half of my bedroom. Life's easier without you."
It's just an absent piece of talk as she takes in the gild of the Academy. She saw my apartment and the halls before we went out, but the shock doesn't seem to have worn off. I managed to hide away my designer heels and diamond necklace before Gisa could go poking around in my closet, but there was nothing I could do about the rest of my apartment or the entirety of the Academy. Never has she seen so much marble or luxury in one place, always a spectator on the outside before, just like I was.
We get halfway across the lobby, our steps reluctant for different reasons. It's a Friday night, and Gisa's not ready to retreat to East Harlem. I wouldn't have been surprised if she had asked to sleep here for the night, but Gee held her tongue, knowing Mom wants a full report the instant she gets home. I, meanwhile, am due to call Mom the moment I bid my sister goodbye.
I fully expect Dad to be silently listening in on speakerphone. I can handle reconciling with Mom, saying hello to Bree and Tramy, but I don't know what I'll say to Dad if he decides to say his piece.
I rise to Gisa's bate, scoffing. "Please. You miss me," I say with a touch of arrogance. "And I don't snore. I make . . . a sound. You probably can't sleep now that it's gone." I point an accusing finger like Gisa did to me at the restaurant. "And you have plenty of issues too."
Taken aback that I could find anything unsavory about living with her, Gee raises an innocent eyebrow. "First of all, you do snore. It's like . . ." Gee makes this overexaggerated nasally sound to prove her point. "Second, you miss me too. And what I ever done to you?" she asks. If her arms weren't full, she'd cross them. But her judgy pretty face is enough to get her point across.
She does a little turn around herself, taking one last look at the Academy for the night.
I begin what could become a long list of complaints. "Endless bubbly pop music, endless boy band posters, endless complaining about your boss, endless gossip over things I have no idea—"
Gisa raises a hand to stop me, and a sharp inhale accompanies it. She's a little ahead of me, so I see her eyes go wide in joyful surprise and her mouth spread into the biggest smile.
"What?" I turn towards the stairs that lead towards some of the studios and Mister Calore's office.
"Maven and Cal."
Naturally, the Calore brothers just so happen to be halfway down the red steps. Maven's changed into jeans and a pullover, and Cal, who runs his hand through his hair in a last-ditch effort to make it presentable, has on his usual ensemble. Like in our gala photo, the brothers wear matching smiles, and aside from the obvious differences, they look like twins with their hands stuffed into their pockets.
It's late for them to be here, but Cal probably had a contemporary class, and Maven has probably been hanging around in their dad's office, waiting for Cal to go home. It's been six days since the gala, but the brothers are still under penthouse arrest for security reasons.
Maven looks at my sister, making a face. "I agree, Gisa Barrow. Living with Mare must be incredibly hard."
This is the moment where my two worlds collide right before my eyes.
I pinch my lips into a smile, finding it funny that Maven thinks insulting me is as good as any way to meet my sister for the first time.
Elara already told him that my little seamstress sister was here today, working on my dresses. He texted me earlier while Gee was trying on clothes, several exclamation points included. Cal's probably heard as well.
Gisa's already tugging me forward by the wrist, and Maven and Cal hop down the last of the steps to meet us at the landing.
Maven looks excited to meet the sister that I've talked so much about over the weeks. Cal looks intrigued, a soft smile on his lips. It hits me hard that while he knows full-well that Gisa and her broken wrist were why I met him in the first place, Maven doesn't. Of all of the things my partner knows about me, I've never managed to tell him about my sister's accident.
I don't like that Cal knows about it and his brother doesn't.
Nonetheless, I tuck my hands behind my back as Gee lets go of my hand, sets her box and bags down on the ground, and turns her head towards me expectantly.
Of course she wants things to be all formal. I sigh, beginning to gesture between the brothers and my sister. "Maven and Cal. This is my sister, Gisa. She's been dying to meet you guys." I gesture the other way. "Gisa. This is my ballet partner and friend, Maven." I point nonchalantly at Cal. "And that's Cal."
Cal, used to my antics, doesn't appear phased that I don't give him a title.
Gisa extends her hand out to Maven and then to Cal. She beams again, already falling in love with them. "I've been wanting to meet you guys for a really, really long time."
"So do you guys like dancing with Mare?"
Maven and Cal, apparently in no rush to go anywhere, have all the time in the world to chat with me and my sister.
They've already heard an extensive story about Gee's early career as an apprentice for a rising fashion company just a few blocks south of the Academy. It's a story, that I realize after hearing it all at once, at any rate will end up just as crazy and glamorous as my own. It also makes me wonder if Mom and Dad did something especially right when raising us. That, at least, alleviates some of the guilt that twinges in my stomach every time I glance at her wrist.
She's also explained what she's doing at the Academy, minus the part about her not having seen me in two months.
Now, we move onto a new topic that's sure to become a roast.
Maven just smiles. "Oh, yeah. Let's just say that I partnered up. And Mare and I are something that Cal and Evangeline will never be: friends."
I can't help but return the smile. It seems silly to ever think that I wouldn't get along with Maven, and now, I've come to care about him so much.
Meanwhile, Cal and Gisa are realizing just how close Maven and I are. My partner knows these little details about my sister, my family, and my life that he'll throw into the conversation ever-so casually. Gisa was flattered when he mentioned how I had told him about my sister's apprenticeship on Thirty-Eighth Street and how the Barrow sisters seem to be infinitely more talented than their brothers, Bree and Tramy, whose main joys in life are watching the Mets and eating mass amounts of cereal. It's like he's playing a trivia game and getting all of the right answers.
Cal, who's probably still confused why Maven and I are friends, narrows his eyes. Gisa shifts toward him. "What about you, Cal? Do you like dancing with Mare? She told me all about your lessons today. I don't think she likes dancing with you." Her knowing smile suggests she already knows the answer.
A low chuckle leaves Cal. "Dancing with Mare isn't really the problem, Gisa. It's when we're not dancing and Mare has the chance to open her mouth. That's the problem."
A laugh that mirrors Cal's exits my throat. "Oh, that's not true. You have me under control now."
My gaze spits venom, poisonous venom directed right towards Cal.
As usual, he returns my glare with a smile.
Cal's found a weakness in me to exploit. My arms still ache from the pushups he made me do after a contemporary class that I prefer not to remember. I racked up a grand total of fifty over the course of two hours, most of which came from me royally messing up Cal's choreography. Cal decided that I earned another twenty for my comment at the gala. So, seventy pushups in total, and yes, I had to take a break and divide the pushups in half. Another lesson's coming this weekend, and I push all thoughts of that coming disaster to the depths of my mind.
"You really should be nicer to Cal," Gee says, shaking her head. "Mom's not going to be happy with you when she finds out how you treat him." She puts a hand on her hip, now that her bags are on the floor. Her smile teases me. "You might be turning eighteen soon and you might be financially independent, but . . . Mom's Mom. She'll find a way to punish you."
Mom's never been the mean, strict type, but Gisa does have a point. Mom's going to take one look at Cal, his pretty face, and his charming smile, and the next thing I know, she'll be begging to bake him her cookies and comparing him to the perfect son she never had.
Cal, by the look on his face, becomes fascinated with my mother.
I turn to my sister. "I think it's time for you to go home, Gee."
"Get home safe," I tell my sister a few minutes later, plucking a hundred-dollar bill out of my pastel-purple wallet. I hand it to her, even as Gee raises her brows at the sight of it along with my debit card, spare bills, and countless receipts from various outings and places.
It's the first time tonight I forget to angle my wallet away from her. I quickly stuff it away into my purse, aware that Maven and Cal are still here, watching us say our goodbyes from a few feet away.
Gisa shakes her surprise off and focuses back on me. She hardly needs a hundred bucks for a taxi ride home, but it's a Friday night and traffic's heavy, and I don't want her to end up in a bind. "I know," she says, our eyes communicating words that East Harlem girls know.
It's not safe to walk outside at night by yourself.
Still, with her bags in one arm again, Gisa extends her other hand, palm up. "Mom wants a kiss goodnight."
I push past my embarrassment of doing what Gisa wants me to do and kiss my own palm before offering Gee a low high-five. It's an old thing between the Barrow siblings, one Shade invented years ago for when one of us wouldn't be home for the night, gone at a friend's, or in my case, going somewhere dance-related. Whoever couldn't give Mom and Dad a goodnight kiss would simply kiss their own palm and give a sibling a high-five at school, and the sibling could pass on the kiss.
It's been a while. We've all grown up to some extent, and a whole lot of things have changed.
"And one for Bree and one for Tramy."
I kiss my own palm two more times before giving Gee two high-fives.
Gee opens her mouth again but closes it just as fast as she realizes that I might not be in the mood to give Dad a kiss.
"Well thanks for taking me out, Mare," Gee says, still riding off the high of a very big slice of chocolate cake. "You're my favorite sister."
My smile back at her isn't sarcastic the way hers is. "You only have one sister."
Gisa thinks for a minute. "Favorite sibling, then. Though the bar's not very high for that."
We spend too much time bullying Bree and Tramy.
Gisa turns back towards Maven and Cal. "Bye Maven and Cal. I'm sorry you guys have to dance with my sister."
"And we're sorry you had to live with her for fourteen years," Maven returns, grinning. His eyes flicker to me. "I'm not surprised you snore, Mare."
"It's my way of airing my grievances with the world while I'm unconscious," I justify, raising my hands. "And it's not snoring. I make a sound."
Maven blinks. "A sound that sounds like snoring."
Gisa giggles before turning on her heel, knowing that Mom's been expecting her home for a while. She waves again, and I return the wave, already having given her a hug in which she lifted me off my feet and I slapped her on the back for it.
"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you outside?" The request sounds ridiculous, considering Forty-Second is plenty busy with both taxis and people, all of a couple of strides from the Academy's front door.
"Don't be a nag, Mare," Gisa calls over her shoulder, fiercely independent as always. "I can hail a taxi by myself."
Sighing, I plant my feet in place, intent on watching through the glass windows to make sure she gets in a car.
But at the last minute, Gee turns around herself, just a few paces from where her back will meet the revolving doors. "And Mare?"
"Yes?" I ask.
"I'm going to find out who your secret boyfriend is. And then our brothers are coming after him."
Gee disappears through the doors, bags and smile and all, skipping off towards the street. She waves down a taxi in an instant.
It's safe to say that the topic of my secret crush that Gisa decided was actually my secret boyfriend recurred throughout the night. I didn't break under my sister, having crafted my stage face long ago, but Gisa's never going to let that little smile that popped up onto my face go. Despite my repeated denials as I asked my sister who the hell would want to date me again and again, Gisa is now sold on the idea that I'm in a secret relationship.
With a boy.
Before Maven might pretend to play dumb and start asking questions, I begin my walk to the elevator, glancing at the brothers.
"My sister has dreams for me that I don't have for myself. Not that it's any of your business, but I don't have a secret boyfriend. Goodnight, Maven and Cal."
The brothers, not about to poke me on that topic, respond at the same time. "Goodnight, Mare."
A half-hour later, all changed and ready for bed, I flop down on my bed with my phone in hand.
I've already been putting it off. First, I thought I'd call Mom while Gisa rifled through the clothing racks of the first department store. But deeming it too loud to talk to somebody on the phone, I waited for the next store, which was indeed quieter. But I pretended to get wrapped up in looking at shoes with my sister.
So now I'm here, wishing Gisa was at my side as I dial a familiar phone number.
I leave it on speaker, staring at the nail polish on my toes that I got done for the gala.
It rings once, twice.
The person on the other end picks up in no time.
It could be Bree, Tramy, or Dad just as easily as it could be Mom.
"Mare?"
Mom's hopeful, weary voice filters into my apartment.
"Hi, Mom," I say quietly at last.