the firebird

by melissaeverdeen13

april and jackson have been dancing for studio blue since they both could walk. they began as unwilling parters, grew to become fast friends, then jackson moved cities and all of it was lost. they thought they'd never see each other again - that is, until the national dance convention. as teenagers, they're no longer partners. now, they're competitors.

okay YASSSS im so excited for this one. i know i dont have to say this but i want to - rest assured that even though japril are kids right now, they are gonna be of age very soon. lmao this is not gonna be a weird story about little kids falling in love, i just had to set the scene. I KNOW I DIDNT HAVE TO SAY THAT and you guys trust me (thank you) but i just wanted to let you knowwww that things are not gonna stay like they are right now in the story. WE MOVE

also, ffnet has decided not to send me emails anymore and idk why. so if youd like to leave a review (and i'd like to see that review!) pls head over to my ao3 (melissaeverdeen13). everything is a whole lot more accessible for me (and you) over there. ffnet has become such a clunky chore.

i chose the tag 'chose not to use archive warnings' cus i truly dont know whats coming with this one, i have a lot of ideas, but trust that i'll put TWs at the beginning of each chapter as they apply.

for this chapter: TW body checking (ED), TW mention of suicide

APRIL

My mom is standing behind me in the mirror, making me repeat our stupid affirmations, and all I can do is cry.

"I am beautiful, I am str- April, please," Mom says, brushing my hair back for a tight ballet bun. "What is going on with you?"

I swipe at my face with the backs of my hands, sniffling and sobbing too hard to stop any of it. "Stop!" I say, trying to hide my tears from her.

"She wants boobs," Scottie, my sister, says from where she sits on the chest at the foot of my bed.

"Shut up," I cry, watching my face turn red in the mirror.

"Well, that's what you said!" she replies.

"I did not," I say, trying to stand upright as Mom almost yanks me off my feet with how tight she's pulling my hair. I cross my arms over my chest. "I just don't want to wear this to class."

"You have to," Mom says. "Miss Nicole wants all of you girls looking uniform today. And it's adorable on you, anyway."

I look at my reflection and hate pretty much everything about it. I'm wearing a new dance outfit that I hate – black shorts and a sports bra top that has "Studio Blue" printed across the chest. On everyone else, I'm sure it looks amazing. On me, though, with my stupid flat chest, it looks horrible.

"I don't wanna go," I say, turning around after Mom ties my hair in place.

"She's the last one in our class who doesn't have boobs," Scottie says.

Scottie is 11 – one year younger than me – and she already has her period. I don't. I don't have anything. She's taller than me, wears a bigger size in just about everything, and she makes me look like a little kid. It's really annoying.

"Scottie, don't say that," Mom scolds lightly. Then, she looks at me. "April, honey, every girl develops differently. Think of it this way…you have the perfect dancer's body! And when you grow up, it'll still be perfect. Just in a different way."

"I look like a boy," I grumble.

"Oh, you do not," Mom says. "I looked just like you when I was a little girl, and that's exactly why I danced for as long as I did. Now, you two, get your bags. We're leaving in five."

…

When me, my mom, and Scottie walk through the front door of Studio Blue, my dance teacher is sitting behind the front desk. "Hi, Nicole," Mom says.

She doesn't have to tell me and Scottie to say hi. The last thing we'd ever do is ignore our teacher, because that's rude. So, we wave and say, "Hi, Miss Nicole."

"Hi, girls," she says.

We go to the dressing room where all of our friends are, everyone else who's on the Junior Elite team. Scottie barely made it, but she finally graduated out of the minis. She's really glad because she's a lot taller than everyone who dances on that team, and she started sticking out like a sore thumb. That's mostly why Miss Nicole let her in with us, even though she's not 12 yet.

Everyone greets us when we step inside, and we throw our bags in the same spots that we always do. I toss mine by my friend Amelia's stuff, and Scottie puts hers by Callie's. They're all getting ready to head into the studio; we just finished choreographing the solos for the competition that's coming up, and today we're working on a ballet group dance, which is why mine and Scottie's hair is done so tightly. Luckily, all the girls' hair is done like ours, so we won't have to hear Miss Nicole yell about it today.

While the rest of the girls are talking, tying the elastic on their ballet slippers, and filtering their way out of the dressing room, I stand in front of the mirror and try to be nonchalant as I check my reflection. I smooth my hair and take a deep breath, then stand up straight and run my hands over my chest and stomach.

Before I can stand there any longer, my sister comes up from behind me and grabs my elbow. "You look pretty," she says, pulling me away from the mirror. "Let's go. We're almost late."

Scottie takes my hand and I let her. We walk into the studio, where all of our friends are talking all at once. "Oh, my god, April. Come here," Izzie says. "Did you hear what's gonna happen today?" I shake my head no. "Miss Nicole is bringing in a boy."

I scrunch up my eyebrows and say, "A boy?"

"OMG, you heard?" Amelia says. "And, Scottie, it's not my brother. So, don't even ask."

"Damn it," Scottie says, trying out her latest curse word. I refuse to say them with her. Last week, Mom caught her saying "douchebag" and she got in trouble. She told me that, as long as she changes the words up, Mom technically can't be mad because, after all, she's not saying the words that Mom told her not to say. She's finding new ones.

"I hope it's Alex," Izzie says. "He is so cute."

"It's gonna be Owen," Amelia says, crossing her arms and popping her skinny hip to one side. She's wearing the same outfit that I am – the sports bra and shorts – and they look good on her. A lot better than they do on me. I haven't even looked at myself in the mirrors that line the studio yet, and I'm trying not to. I hope that, tomorrow, we can go back to wearing our regular dance clothes and not the branded stuff that Miss Nicole is trying out.

"Who do you hope it is, April?" Izzie asks.

"I don't know," I say, shrugging and pulling at the waistband of my shorts.

"My sister doesn't care about boys," Scottie says.

"I just found out about it, like, two seconds ago," I say, getting defensive. Mom always says how cute it is that Scottie likes boys already and I don't. But it's not true. I like boys. I just don't like talking about how I like boys. It's weird.

"Mom says that she's a late bloomer," Scottie says.

I roll my eyes and shove her hard. "Stop," I grumble, crossing my arms as my eyes get hot with tears.

Before my sister can actually make me cry, Miss Nicole comes in and everyone's moms do, too. We're doing our dance pyramid, which means that everyone gets to be in the room (or has to be in the room, depending on how you look at it).

Dance pyramid is when Miss Nicole tapes our pictures to the front mirror and stacks them in order of how well we did at the last competition. Last week, we were in Detroit at Hype Dance Competition, and we won second overall in our age group. I had a solo and won first place, Cristina got second, and Izzie won fourth.

"Let's get started," Miss Nicole says. "Moms, girls, pay attention."

She talks about how she's proud of us for getting first overall but, as usual, there are things we could have done better. I stand with my hands behind my back and try to listen, but I find myself staring at my reflection instead. I look at myself and then Callie, who's standing next to me, and compare us. I try not to, but I can't help it.

I only snap back to Miss Nicole when she says, "At the bottom of the pyramid, we have Amelia and Addison. Not because you two performed badly, but because you didn't make the cut for a solo or a duet. Next week." She reveals the next two photos and they belong to Callie and Scottie. "Callie and Scottie, your duet got third when I know you could have done better." She starts the next tier and uncovers Izzie. "Izzie," she says, "I've been harping on your sickled feet for weeks. When you learn to listen, you can move up the pyramid."

Izzie nods and says, "Yes, Miss Nicole."

"After Izzie we've got Cristina," she says. "You got second. Your scores were a little lower than they've been so far this season, though, so keep working."

Cristina says that she will, then Miss Nicole reveals the photo at the very top of the pyramid – mine.

"At the top of the pyramid is April," she says, smiling really big. "You led the group dance and took home first place with your solo. Great job, sweetie."

Everyone in the room claps, and I blush super red and smile at the same time. I don't like it when my teammates clap for me – it feels weird – but it's not like I can tell them to stop. Mom says I should appreciate everything Miss Nicole does for me, because she's giving me what I need to become a professional dancer one day.

After the dance pyramid is over, Miss Nicole isn't finished talking. Usually, the moms would leave the room and all of us would start working on choreography, but Miss Nicole claps her hands and gets our attention before we can scatter.

"One more thing," she says. "As of today, thanks to our group dance this weekend at Starbound, we're going to start working on partner work."

Something toils in my stomach, something uncomfortable and nervous. This is what the girls were talking about.

"See! I told you!" Izzie hisses.

"Izzie, quiet," Miss Nicole says. "As I was saying, we're focusing on partner work for Starbound, which means that one of you will be paired with a boy from our studio to dance the lead in the group dance this week." She plants her hands on her hips and says, "I'll be auditioning you to see who's the best fit."

At first, there's a hum of excitement around the studio, but then Amelia's mom clears her throat and says, "Who are you kidding by auditioning them, Nicole? You're just wasting everyone's time. We all know who you'll give the role to."

My mom steps out from the line and turns to face Amelia's mom. "If you're talking about my daughter, you can keep your words to yourself," she says. "She works just as hard as everyone else on this team, if not harder-"

"A little egotistical to assume I'm talking about April, but yes," Amelia's mom says. "The other girls deserve a chance."

"Everyone is getting a chance!" Miss Nicole says, clapping her hands again to snap those two out of it. "We're auditioning. So, girls, line up."

I feel tears coming on yet again as I stand in the middle of my teammates, trying to become invisible – even though that's something I'll never be here. If I start crying, though, I'll only make things worse, so I keep my face straight and hover close to Scottie until it's my turn to go.

I take my turn and do the combo that Miss Nicole taught us last week. It comes easily and I think I did well, but I'm not sure if that's a good thing. I don't even know if I want the role. I've never danced with a boy before and I don't know what that would be like. I've only danced with girls, my friends and my sister, in our group dances, duos, and trios. Never a boy.

"Alright, I've made my decision," Miss Nicole says after everyone has taken their turn and she's scribbled a few things in her notepad. "After careful consideration, I'm giving the role to April. Congratulations, honey."

I flash a weak and watery smile, then wring my hands at my waist. I'm excited because I get to be the lead of the group dance and that's always a good thing, but I really, really, don't want to dance with a boy.

"Are you girls ready to meet him?" Miss Nicole asks, but she doesn't wait for an answer. My stomach is full of bats, not butterflies, and I might throw up. "Alright, Jackson, come on in."

I pivot and watch as the boy Miss Nicole called "Jackson" walks into the studio. He has light brown skin, curly black hair, and the most interesting eyes. He's wearing black leggings and a skintight white shirt tucked into them, along with boys' ballet shoes. He walks like a dancer, but he smiles like the boys at my school do – all loose, with teeth that are a little too big for his face.

Miss Nicole waves him over and places both hands on his shoulders, then stays in that position to walk him over to me. "This little lady is your partner," she says. "Her name is April. She's 12, just like you, and she will give you a run for your money. There'll be no resting on your laurels with her."

He smiles and looks up at Miss Nicole, over his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, he just smiles. At least he seems as lost for words as I am.

"Say hi, April," Miss Nicole says. Her grin is too wide; it's taking up a lot more of her face than it usually does.

I twine my fingers together behind my back and twist them until they crack. "Hi," I say quietly.

"Hi," Jackson says back. His big-toothed smile shrinks and he shows me one with just his lips, but he doesn't look into my eyes. I think that's a good thing, because I can't look into his, either.

I hear a bang from upstairs in the observation room and snap my attention up there, finding that it was my mom who knocked on the window. Be nice! she mouths, and I turn back around, mortified.

"April and Jackson, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G," one of my teammates starts singing. I don't even know who it is, because I'm staring at the floor and wishing that I could just sink into it.

"First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!" That voice is Izzie's, and she's giggling all the way through her dumb little song.

"Alright, enough," Miss Nicole says. "Enough kidding around. Let's get to work."

Miss Nicole teaches the rest of the girls the first half of their choreography first. Since Jackson and I have different combinations, she tells us to sit against the wall, get to know each other better, and stretch until it's our turn.

We do a lot of stretching, but I'm not asking him any questions and he's not asking me any, either. We're not talking at all. I don't know about him, but I have no clue what to say. By the time it's time to learn our choreo, we've gone almost 45 minutes without saying a word.

Miss Nicole calls us over and explains the premise of the dance. "Swan Princess" is about a girl who gets turned into a swan, which means I'll get to wear white for this dance and maybe some feathers, too.

"In the end, the prince wakes her up like they do in the movies," Miss Nicole says, "with a kiss."

I stare at her, unblinking. I wonder if that means what I think it means.

"So I get to kiss her?" Jackson asks.

"That's right," Miss Nicole says.

"Ooooh, he wants to kiss April!" Callie crows from where the rest of the girls are sitting against the front mirror.

"Quiet," Miss Nicole says. "Just a peck. Nothing serious. April, wipe that look off your face."

I try to do what she says and make a normal face, but I don't know if it works. I want to say something, to tell her that I can't do it, but Miss Nicole starts teaching us combinations before I get the chance.

The steps aren't too hard. There's a glissade, jeté, jeté, assemblé, assemblé, a tombe pas de bourrée, a sissonne front, back, and side. There are a few repeats of different combinations that I've already learned this year and that Jackson has, too, then it's time for us to meet in the middle and end the dance.

Miss Nicole starts to position Jackson in the final hold. He has one arm around the small of my back and the other raised in the air in a flourish, but I twirl out of his arms and say, "I have to go to the bathroom," before he can do anything else.

"Not yet," Miss Nicole says, "you can hold it for a few more minutes, I'm sure."

My hands start to sweat as she explains the positioning of my body, and I find the right places for my arms and legs to be. One of my arms is around the back of Jackson's shoulders and the other is fanned out in the same way his arm is, just on the opposite side.

"Then, end it with the kiss," Miss Nicole says.

I look at Jackson and he looks back at me. We lock eyes and stay there for what feels like a thousand years, and I don't think either of us are even breathing. He looks at my lips, I glance at his, then he leans in really quickly and presses his mouth to mine.

The millisecond after it happens, I tear myself out of his arms and run out of the studio and into the dressing room, totally freaking out. I'm not crying, but I feel all shaky and my breath is coming shallowly and not normal at all. My heart might just jump out of my chest, it's beating so hard.

I sit against the far wall with my legs pulled up against my chest and hide my face with my forehead pressed against my kneecaps. I blink rapidly in my little hiding place and grip my legs as tightly as I can, trying to calm down, but I don't get much time to do it on my own – Scottie comes in just a few minutes later.

"Jackson started crying, you jerkwad," she says. I don't pull my head out from where I'm hiding, but I can tell that she sits down in front of me. "Not joking, either. He turned away from all of us, but I saw him wiping his eyes."

"I don't care," I murmur.

"What are you being so weird about?" she asks. Then, she sits up on her knees and cranks my arms apart, forcing me to look up and out while she talks to me. "He is literally so cute and he likes you! Why are you being a freak?"

"I'm not," I say, rocking.

"You've never run that fast in your whole life," she says, crossing her arms and lifting her eyebrows. "You made him feel all bad."

"Well, sorry," I mumble.

"All the rest of the girls are so jealous because you get to kiss him! Why don't you just have fun and enjoy it, or whatever? Everything is not as serious as you think it is. It's just a kiss and he's just a boy. It doesn't matter."

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. Scottie has had a billion crushes this year alone, and I've only had one. Ever. And I think it just happened today. So, I don't know what to do.

All of this is weird and scary.

"Either way, you don't really have a choice. Miss Nicole is gonna kill you if you don't come back in with me."

I wipe my nose and stand up, then take my sister's outstretched hand. We walk back into the studio, our fingers still linked, and she stays close even though she should be against the mirror with the other girls.

"April," Miss Nicole says, looking at me above her glasses with the pencil poised at her clipboard. "Get your act together. You're stiffer than I've ever seen you. Please, just try to loosen up."

…

After class is over, Miss Nicole calls mine and Jackson's names before I can escape to the dressing room again. She waves us over and we stand in front of her, waiting for her to speak without acknowledging the other.

"What did you two think about today's rehearsal?" she asks, looking at her notes.

I clasp my hands together and shift my weight from foot to foot. I keep my eyes on the floor because I'm too scared to look at her, and I'm definitely not brave enough to look at Jackson.

"Hmm?" she says.

"Bad?" I answer, because I don't want her to think that I'm ignoring her question, and I'm pretty sure that's what she wants me to say.

"It wasn't horrible, but it could have been much better," she says. "I chose you two because you're the strongest dancers from both of your teams. You should be magic together but, instead, you fell flat. Can you tell me why?"

I chew the inside of my cheek and shrug. This time, Jackson answers. "We didn't try hard enough?"

Miss Nicole makes a breathy laughing sound. "I believe you tried," she says. "That's not the problem. I can always count on you two for that. The problem is that you don't know each other. I need that to change. So, I'm sending you out on a date."

I snap my head up from where I'd had my eyes on the floor and, right away, my palms start to sweat. I've never been on a date before. I don't even know if I'm allowed to go on a date.

I glance over at Jackson sneakily, trying to see how he's reacting, but I can't quite tell. He probably hates this; I don't think I'm the type of girl he probably wants to date. Maybe he already has a girlfriend. Maybe he has five. By the looks of him, he probably has girls lining up at his locker.

"Before you start your backtalk, don't worry. Your mothers will be there. I've already arranged it with them. Get your stuff, you're going to Jeni's Ice Cream."

…

Miss Nicole wasn't all the way right when she said that mine and Jackson's moms would be at the ice cream place with us. They drop us off, forcing Scottie to stay back, but they don't come inside with us. I really wish they had, because then I probably wouldn't be suffering through this awkward silence with Jackson at the small, round table where we're sitting.

I don't know what to say. Scottie would, if she were here, because she's an extrovert. All I can do is swirl around my ice cream with the little wooden spoon that came with it, and try to avoid his eyes. When we accidentally make eye contact, my stomach gets full of bats again and the feeling is a lot to handle, so it's better to just avoid it.

For a while, I think we're going to make it through this whole thing without saying a single word. But, then, after I'm about halfway done with my ice cream, Jackson speaks up.

"What flavor did you get?" he asks.

His voice almost scares me. I wasn't expecting it. "Oh," I say, "mint chocolate chip."

"That one's awesome," he says. "I got triple chocolate. You like chocolate?"

I nod and say, "Yeah."

"Cool," he says. "Sometimes, I hear people say that mint chocolate chip tastes like toothpaste. But then I'm like…if you think mint chip tastes like toothpaste, you basically just admitted that you never brush your teeth. Nasty!"

At first, a small smile sneaks onto my face. After a minute, though, it grows bigger and bigger, out of my control, and a laugh bursts out of my mouth a second later. Then, me and Jackson are both cracking up, even though his joke wasn't that funny, leaning forward over our cups of ice cream.

Once we catch our breath, Jackson is still smiling. "What school do you go to?" he asks.

"Skinner North," I say. "What about you?"

"Ooh," he says, "so you're, like, smart."

I shrug. "Me and my sister have gone there since kindergarten, so I don't know if it counts," I say.

"It counts," he says, grinning. "I go to Lane Tech."

"So, you're actually the smart one!" I say, pointing my spoon at him.

"I never said I wasn't," he says, making a silly expression. "I'm just kidding. I'm not really that smart. My mom is just always breathing down my neck to study, Jackson! You need to study!"

He puts on a funny voice, doing the impression of his mom, and I laugh again. "My mom is crazy, too," I say.

"Oh, yeah?" he replies. "Like how?"

"Like…" I say, taking a bite of ice cream. "Like she has to be the one to brush my hair and put it up for dance. She won't let me do it myself. And, while she's doing it, we have to say these stupid affirmations in the mirror like, "I am strong, I am beautiful, I am worth it," all that stuff."

"Holy crap," he says. "I mean…I don't wanna dog your mom, but…"

"It's so annoying," I say.

"One day, you should do your own hair and see what she does," he says.

"Yeah, I should," I reply. "She would freak out. What's crazy is that she lets my sister do her hair, and she's younger than I am. I don't get it!"

"Scottie, right?" he says.

"Yeah," I say, "how'd you know?"

"You guys are the only redheads at Studio Blue," he says, "and you're always together. Pretty obvious."

"Oh, yeah," I say, giggling again.

"Are you twins?" he asks.

"No, she's younger than me," I say.

"Oh, duh, you just said that," he says, pretending to knock his fist against his forehead. "Sorry. I got distracted 'cause you have, uh, some chocolate on your face."

Embarrassed, I wipe my mouth hastily with the back of my hand.

"Nope, still there," he says. I try again. "Closer…" he says, "here. I'll get it."

He reaches forward and smudges my face with the soft pad of his pointer finger. The little touch lasts only for a second, but he's so gentle and careful when he does it that it makes all my bat-butterflies come back and start flapping like crazy. And I mean crazy.

I have no clue if this is what a crush feels like. But, if it is, it's no wonder Scottie is so crazy about the boys in her class. My head feels like it's floating away from my body, and I'm not sure if I want it to come back.

Suddenly, like all of a sudden right then, I'm thinking so many thoughts about Jackson. Like, everything about him. How black his hair is. How unique the color of his eyes is. How his teeth, even though they're kind of big, are really cute. How he's actually really cute as a whole, in general, everything about him is cute.

I wonder if he thinks I'm cute. He probably doesn't. But it's exciting to wonder if he does.

All of those thoughts pass through my brain in the blink of an eye, so fast that barely a moment has passed by the time he cleans the crumb off my cheek. "There," he says. "All good."

"Thanks," I say, letting out a breathy sigh. Now that these crush-y thoughts have started, they won't stop. I'm noticing even more things about Jackson, like how his ears stick out a little, how he has freckles across the bridge of his nose, and how his voice is low already, not pitchy like the boys at my school.

"I don't have any siblings," he says, yanking me out of my weird, goopy headspace to talk about Scottie again. "I used to beg my mom for a brother. But I never got one."

"You can have Scottie," I say, giggling. "She'd be a good brother."

"For sure!" he says, laughing. "I think that means we'd have to get married, or something."

My stomach jumps and a major blush works its way onto my face. "I think Miss Nicole would probably like that," I say, trying to keep my voice light. I have no idea if it works.

"I think it was her plan all along," he says, and the smile on his face is probably the best smile I've ever seen in my whole life.

…

The dance is so much better the next day that Miss Nicole stands up and claps for us. She doesn't make us kiss, she says we don't have to until Starbound Competition – and, as I stand backstage here right now, that's the reason why I'm so nervous.

It's not even time for the group dance yet. Instead, I'm waiting for the girl who's dancing now to finish so I can do my solo, called "Imagination." I'm using old choreography that I've won with before, and it's a lyrical number – so, it comes as second nature. My nerves for the group number are filtering into places where they don't belong.

I shake out my hands and take a few deep breaths as the girl before me heads off the stage. "Now, in our Junior Solo Division, welcome April Kepner to the stage with "Imagination"!"

Gracefully, I glide towards the middle of the stage and rest with my head bowed until the music starts. Once it does, I dance the entire piece without missing a beat. I know, once I land my final pose, that Miss Nicole will be happy, and I might just win my category.

The audience is still applauding when I disappear behind the curtain, and I have the remnants of a smile left on my face when Scottie stops me in my tracks with both hands wrapped around my wrists. She's dressed in the costume for our group dance, which I need to go quickly change into to make it back here in time.

"Oh, my god," she whispers, looking over her shoulder.

"Was it okay?" I ask, my heart still pumping hard from all the work I just did.

"Yeah, as always," she says, "but that's not the point. The point is that Jackson was staring at you. Like staring! You should've seen the look on his face. He is so in love with you, it's actually crazy!"

Instantly, my mood dampens. That's not what I wanted to hear, because it definitely doesn't do anything to help my nerves. "Shut up, Scottie," I say, breezing past her. I leave the backstage area and hurry down the hall that leads towards the dressing room we're using.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks, running to catch up. "Do you like him, too? Oh my gosh, you do."

"No, I don't," I say, pulling a curtain around myself after reaching our dressing room. Scottie only bursts through it, though, standing there while I strip my solo costume and hurriedly pull on the one for the group dance – a white bodysuit with sparkling rhinestones on the chest and a feathery skirt. "Mom, my headpiece," I say.

"Yes, you do," Scottie says, following me out from behind the curtain after I'm dressed. Mom is right there, waiting with my headpiece and the thread she'll use to sew it into my hair. "I can tell that you do."

"He's my friend," I say. "I don't even like boys like that."

"Liar," Scottie says. "Maybe you didn't before, but you do now. He's all you talked about this whole entire week. Right, Mom?"

With the needle between her teeth, Mom looks between me and my sister. "Scottie, enough," she mumbles. "April doesn't have to like boys the same way you do. One day she'll catch up. She has plenty of time. Leave her alone."

"Yeah, leave me alone," I say, wincing as Mom arranges my hair the way she wants it.

As I'm sitting in front of my mom, getting the hair pulled out of my head, Jackson walks into the room wearing all black. My eyes catch on him and stay there, then my heart starts pumping just as wildly as it had been after I finished my solo.

He waves at me and I wave back, flashing him a shy smile as I do. He gives me one back, his cute, big teeth white and shiny, then waits by the door for me.

"Oh, but you don't like him," Scottie murmurs, right into my ear.

"I don't," I say, my eyes wide and my tone insistent. I can't stop looking at Jackson, though, and I smile when he makes a funny face at me. "I don't."

…

As we wait for the announcer to call us out onto the stage, Jackson and I lead the line of dancers as we stand hand-in-hand. I've never held hands with a boy before, but Miss Nicole wants us to enter the stage like this, so I don't have a choice.

My palm is sweaty. Jackson's is, too. I don't want to embarrass him, so I keep my hand where it is instead of wiping it on my tights.

"...for this?" he says.

I blink hard and say, "What?"

He giggles and asks, "You okay?"

"I just didn't hear you," I say. I can't stop noticing the way our fingers are laced together. His grip isn't loose but it isn't tight, either. I wonder, as I consider whether or not I have the right pressure on his palm, if he's ever held hands with other girls.

"Oh, I just asked if you're ready for this," he says.

"I'm nervous," I say, speaking almost before he can get the words out.

"My mom always says to picture everyone in the audience in their underwear," he says. "But I think that's weird."

"Maybe we should picture them with chocolate all over their face, like me at the ice cream place," I say.

A huge smile bursts onto Jackson's face and I feel warm because of it, warm all over. "Yeah," he says, "yeah. That's good."

"Up next, please welcome to the stage, "Swan Princess" danced by The Nicole Hermann Dance Company Junior Elite Team!"

With our hands still locked, Jackson and I strut onto the stage first and find our position as the rest of the girls get in place behind us. I look into the audience and see a bunch of faces I recognize, a handful of judges that I'm scared of, and Miss Nicole sitting in the third row. I'm terrified for a minute – but only a minute, because it doesn't take long to remember to picture them with chocolate all over their faces.

I suppress a giggle when the image comes to mind and try to keep a straight face – this isn't a dance that calls for bright, theater smiles. It's serious, so I keep a serious expression. But when I meet Jackson's eyes for a fleeting second before the music starts, I see that he's trying not to grin just as much as I am.

When the first note plays, we flow with the music. We hit every beat without any missteps, and everything lines up perfectly. I feel lighter than air, remembering the choreography without any trouble, and I feel like my best, strongest, most beautiful self when we make it to the final pose – the one with the kiss.

Jackson holds me, one arm wrapped around my lower back and the other poised high in the air, and I mirror his position. For a beat, he looks deep into my eyes and I'm not acting in the slightest when the pink blush floods my face. My heart skips a beat, I'm sure it really does, when he leans in and presses his lips to mine as the final flourish sounds through the auditorium.

As the audience erupts into wild applause, we float off the stage. Once we're out of view, Jackson wraps me up in a big hug, so big that he lifts my feet off the ground and spins me around. "That was awesome!" he shout-whispers. "That was so awesome!"

All I can do is nod while wearing a big, goofy grin. I'm looking right into his eyes, our noses are only centimeters apart with how he's still hugging me, and I could kiss him again right now if I was brave enough. I'm not, but I wish I was. I really, really wish that I was.

…

My solo wins first and so does the group dance. Miss Nicole, along with the rest of us, is really happy. She's so happy that she tells Jackson and me that we'll be permanent partners, at least for the rest of the season, so our team can make the most out of how well we work together.

On the way out of the venue, everyone is happy and smiling. We're in our dance jackets and sweatpants, headed to our cars, when Jackson and his mom come up to me, Scottie, and Mom.

"Congratulations, Miss April," Jackson's mom says. "And you, too, Scottie. You two danced beautifully today."

We thank her and so does Mom, and Mom returns the compliment by saying she's never seen a young man dance like Jackson does. I agree with her, but I'm more concentrated on hiding my blush than nodding or anything like that.

They talk for a few minutes and then Jackson's mom says, "I wanted to invite April over to our house tonight for a little celebratory sleepover. Jackson thought they could-"

It's subtle, but I notice Jackson nudge his mom with his arm.

"I thought they could order pizza, eat junk food, and watch movies. Just to let off some steam after working so hard these past few weeks. Are you open to that?" she asks Mom.

"Sure," Mom says, "we'd just have to stop home and pack a bag for her."

"Mom," Scottie says, whining. "April can't sleep over with a boy!"

"Scottie, hush," Mom says.

"I know, around this age, that things can get dicey," Jackson's mom says. "I assure you, Jackson isn't interested in girls yet. Not in any way other than friendship. He hasn't gone through the change."

"Mom," Jackson says, his eyes wide and buggy.

"April's in the same boat," Mom says. "Scottie, on the other hand, well she's my-"

"Mom, stop!" I say, my eyes bugging out just as much as Jackson's.

Both of the moms laugh and make arrangements for Mom to take me over to Jackson's house in a couple hours. As we get in the car, I think over what she said, about how I don't like boys, and what Jackson's mom said, about how he doesn't like girls, and wonder how well they actually know their kids.

…

When we pull up to Jackson's house, the first thing I notice is how huge it is. I get out of the van with my dance bag slung over one shoulder, full of my sleepover stuff instead of dance stuff for once, and can't believe I'm about to have a sleepover with a boy.

Mom walks me to the door and tells me to be polite, clean up after myself, and have fun. I tell her that I'll do all of those things just as Jackson's mom opens the door.

"Welcome!" she says, gesturing for us to step inside. "I'm so glad you made it, April. Jackson is so excited to play."

"Mom, it's not playing," he says, coming around the corner. This is the first time I've seen him in anything but his leotard and skintight pants, and I like the way he looks in jeans and a t-shirt. The t-shirt has a character on it that I don't know, but it looks cool.

"Oh, right," his mom says. "Jackson is excited to hang out. Excuse me."

My mom laughs and talks with Jackson's mom for a minute, then says something about Scottie being in the car so she has to go. "April, honey," she says, petting my hair. "Not too much pizza tonight, right? And maybe no pop this time?" I nod, glancing at Jackson and his mom, embarrassed that they're hearing this. "And, remember, sherbet is always yummier than ice cream!"

I nod again, give her a hug, and she tells me she'll be over at 10am to pick me up tomorrow morning. Then, she's gone.

I'm quiet as I look at Jackson and his mom. Then, he says, with my favorite smile of his, "Wanna see my record collection?"

…

Jackson's room is the coolest room I've ever seen. It has round windows instead of square ones, his bed is raised above the floor so his desk can fit underneath, and he has a huge record collection. I didn't even know what a record was until he showed me, now I think they're super cool and I want a collection of my own.

He picks one out and shows me the cover. It says Fleetwood Mac. "This was my dad's favorite band," he says, then places the record on the turntable. "They're pretty cool."

I like the sound of their music. As I sit across from Jackson on his carpeted floor, my legs criss-crossed in front of me, I try to focus on the lyrics, but my brain is way too busy with other stuff. Like how I'm alone with the prettiest boy I've ever seen, in his room, listening to his record collection. Like, when did my life become a movie?

After we listen to a song all the way through, Jackson says, "My dad's not around anymore. That's why I always listen to his record first."

That statement knocks me off my foundation and makes my palms go all clammy, but not in a good way like they'd been earlier today. In a scared, freaked-out way.

"Where is he?" I ask.

Jackson shrugs and shakes his head. "Don't know," he says. "He left me and my mom when I was five. I don't really remember him that well. I just look at some pictures of him sometimes, since that's all I really have."

"Oh," I say, keeping my eyes cemented on the little white fibers of the carpet. "Do you miss him?"

"Hell yeah," he says, and I smirk because he swore. "I don't think my mom does, though."

"Why?"

He shrugs again and says, "She never talks about him."

I rock a little, back and forth, and take deep breaths. "Maybe it hurts her to talk about him," I say quietly.

"I don't know," he says, just as quietly, "maybe."

We don't say anything for a few minutes, we just let the record keep playing. It comes to a song I recognize, one I've heard on the radio, when Jackson speaks up again.

"What's your dad like?" he asks.

My mouth goes dry. That's the question I really hoped he wouldn't ask. But, now that he did, there's no way to get around it. There's no way to make the truth any easier to say, or any less true.

"My dad's dead," I say, trying to keep my voice even. It comes out sounding emotionless, like saying this makes me feel nothing at all. "He killed himself last year. I got home early and heard music playing really loud in the living room. I went to look-"

"We don't have to talk about it," Jackson says, with troubled-looking eyes. Obviously, he didn't expect this. I didn't, either.

"I want to," I say adamantly. "I went into the living room because the music was really loud, and I found him. It was me who found him like that." I can't look at Jackson's eyes; I can't even look at his face. I don't even know why I'm telling him this, or why I'm saying it out loud, but I am. It's out now, and all I can do is stare at his stupid carpet when I say, "It was me who found him."