Last Wishes, Page 3

“That’s got to be hard,” said Mikayla.

  Aria shrugged. “I figure, I go where I’m supposed to be.”

  Mikayla chuckled. “You really do believe in fate and destiny and all that.”

  Aria chewed her lip. “I think there’s a path. If that makes sense.”

  “Like the steps in a dance routine?” offered Mikayla.

  Aria nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes you have to improvise, but I guess I believe there’s a routine. A course things are supposed to take. So when it leads me to places, or to people, I assume I’m there for a reason.”

  Mikayla’s brow crinkled, but she didn’t say anything more.

  At the end of the block, they rounded the corner, and there it was.

  Coleridge School was a large brick building that looked like it had been there for a hundred years. The last school Aria had “attended,” Caroline’s school, had been very strict, with the girls in uniforms. Here, there was a mix of boys and girls, and no uniforms.

  But everyone here, Aria noticed as she and Mikayla climbed the front steps, wore very nice clothes. The girls had on soft-looking creamy sweaters and jeans that fit perfectly. Velvety short skirts over patterned tights and shiny, brand-new boots. Luxurious-looking puffy coats. Mikayla, too, wore a pretty sweater dress with boots, but Aria noticed that her boots were a little scuffed, as if they weren’t brand-new. Somehow, Aria could sense that this bothered Mikayla, even though Aria didn’t understand why. She saw Mikayla glance down worriedly at her boots, then straighten up and adjust her smile until it was the perfect, practiced one.

  “Mikayla!” someone called.

  Mikayla waved and headed toward the voice, Aria trailing like a shadow.

  Two girls were standing on the front steps, one with a tennis bag slung over her shoulder, the other holding a drawing pad to her chest.

  “Hey,” Mikayla said to the girls. She turned to Aria. “This is Beth,” she said, gesturing to the girl with the tennis bag. “And this is Katie.” She nodded toward the girl with the drawing pad. “This is Aria,” she explained to her friends.

  The girls, neither of whom had seemed to notice her yet — people rarely did, unless they needed her — smiled cheerfully. “Hey,” they said in unison. And then they started chatting with Mikayla about homework and boys and a dozen other topics, all started and dispatched with lightning speed. Mikayla listened and nodded, and Aria wondered why she was wearing the practiced smile, instead of a real one.

  And then the bell rang. Mikayla pointed Aria toward the main office. “If we’re not in the same classes, then come find me at lunch,” she said, before vanishing down the hall with Beth and Katie.

  Aria hoped getting into Coleridge wouldn’t be too hard. And it wasn’t. Not with a little bit of magic. The man at the front office found Aria’s name in the computer, with all the proper boxes already checked. Aria gave her best smile and was given a schedule in return.

  She hadn’t thought to arrange her schedule so that she shared classes with Mikayla. Still, she figured she might learn about the school and Mikayla’s world by just attending the classes with the other students.

  To her relief, Coleridge was pretty much like the two other schools Aria had been to. There was English, and history, and math. (Aria didn’t like math, and she supposed she could just skip it, but that felt somehow like cheating.)

  By lunchtime, Aria had learned a little bit about algebra, and about something called the Revolutionary War, and that a poem called “The Road Not Taken” was very beautiful. She’d also learned that all the Coleridge students seemed wealthy, but not all of them seemed snobby. But she wasn’t much closer to learning what was behind Mikayla’s smoke.

  The cafeteria was huge and noisy, and she saw Beth and Katie sitting at a table with a few other girls, but no Mikayla. She scanned the room and saw Mikayla standing at the end of the lunch line, tray in hand, her blue smoke twisting thickly around her. She looked distracted. Aria wondered what kind of help the girl needed, and she knew she wouldn’t find out by watching. So she grabbed a tray and headed over.

  “Cookie for your thoughts?” she said cheerfully.

  Mikayla blinked and looked up. For a moment Aria expected her to paste on that smile and say, “Nothing,” but instead she said, “I can’t remember the last time I went to a movie.”

  It wasn’t what Aria had expected her to say. And she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a movie either, because she’d never been to a movie.

  “Beth and Katie were talking about this movie they saw over the weekend,” explained Mikayla. “They’re always going to movies. Plays. Concerts.”

  “So why can’t you go with them?” asked Aria, setting an apple on her tray.

  Mikayla sighed. “Dance,” she said automatically, as if that was the answer to every question. “And money,” she added, and as soon as she said it, she looked down at her tray and blushed furiously. Aria didn’t see why Mikayla should be embarrassed (Aria knew that most people couldn’t just magic money out of their pockets whenever they needed to). But Mikayla seemed upset. Aria thought of the boxes she’d glimpsed stacked inside Mikayla’s front door and wondered if that had anything to do with the smoke. Or was it the fact that she was so hard on herself? That even first place didn’t seem good enough?

  In Mikayla’s smoke, Aria could make out the edges of worry, and doubt, and stress, but it was all tangled, like a knot.

  Aria opened her mouth to change the subject, but Mikayla was already heading for the checkout. By the time she led Aria toward a table where Beth and Katie were already sitting, she had that practiced smile back on her face.

  As they were sitting down, Aria caught a glimpse of a familiar blond bun. Across the cafeteria was the tall, thin girl who’d won second place the night before.

  “That’s Sara,” offered Mikayla.

  “You two dance together, right?” asked Aria.

  “We both go to Filigree,” said Mikayla, as if the two statements were very different. “We usually walk there together after school.”

  “Speaking of,” said Beth, taking a bite of her lasagna, “how were Regionals last night?”

  “I did all right,” said Mikayla, but Aria spoke up.

  “I was there,” she said, “and Mikayla was amazing. She won first place!”

  Katie, who’d been doodling on her drawing pad, smiled. “She always does.” She sounded sincere, Aria realized, but there was something else in her words. A kind of sadness. Like she was proud of her friend, but also missed her, even though Mikayla was right there.

  “Not true,” said Mikayla. “Sara’s getting better. If I’m not careful, she’ll beat me.”

  Beth gave a dramatic gasp. “Because coming in second would be the end of the world!”

  Mikayla managed a thin smile, but Aria could tell it was hollow, could tell that underneath the mask, beneath the perfect posture, the thought of coming in second was a horrible thing.

  “Silver would clash with everything,” said Katie thoughtfully. “We all know Mikayla only wears gold.”

  Mikayla had just left Coleridge with Sara, feeling the usual dread in her stomach whenever she had to spend time with the girl. They were halfway down the busy street, Sara listening to music through her earbuds, when Mikayla heard the sound of rushing steps behind her. She turned to find a breathless Aria catching up.

  “Hey,” she said. “Can I walk with you guys to Filigree?”

  Mikayla’s eyes widened. First the competition and then the subway and then Coleridge and now this? How could this Aria girl be everywhere?

  Maybe we were supposed to cross paths. Aria’s voice echoed in her head. Mikayla didn’t believe in magic or things like fate, but even she had to admit this was getting weird.

  Sara scrunched up her nose and tugged one earbud out. “Since when are you part of Filigree?”

  “It’s my first day,” said Aria, apparently immune to Sara’s attitude. She fell into step beside them. �
��Actually, that’s why I was at Regionals last night.”

  “To scope out your competition?” asked Sara.

  Aria frowned. “No,” she said, earnestly. “Just to see you guys dance.”

  “Are you any good?” asked Sara.

  Aria looked at her like she didn’t understand the question.

  “Of course she’s good,” said Mikayla, coming to her defense. “She wouldn’t be coming to Filigree if she weren’t.”

  Aria swallowed.

  Sara shrugged, put her earbud back in, and cranked her music up. They were walking along Columbus Avenue. People were rushing past them, chattering into cell phones and holding coffees. They passed a hairdresser, a dry cleaners, restaurants with tables outside. Mikayla caught Aria looking around, so entranced by the city that Mikayla had to pull her out of the way of grumbling pedestrians. Twice.

  “So,” said Aria as they walked. “How long have you been dancing?”

  Mikayla squinted, thinking back to herself as a chubby little girl, in tights and a tutu for the first time. “Since I was five,” she said. So it had been seven years. But sometimes it felt like forever.

  “Wow,” said Aria. “That’s a long time. How often do you do it?”

  “Six times a week.” Back when she first started, she used to dance only twice a week, with foundations in ballet, jazz, and modern. But now her focus was contemporary, and somewhere along the way two times a week became four and then four became six. The only reason it wasn’t seven was because Miss Annette took Sundays off. Now Mikayla felt like she was measuring dance not in times per week but in times per day.

  It made her tired just thinking about it.

  “You must really love it,” said Aria as they stopped at a crosswalk. Sara stood beside them, lost in her music and cracking her gum.

  “It’s my life,” replied Mikayla, feeling a strange heaviness when she said it. She forced herself to smile.

  “So,” said Aria. “What do you do when you’re not dancing?”

  Mikayla opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out. She thought of Alex, and of Katie and Beth, and felt a pang of sadness. But she was spared from having to answer when they crossed the street and came to a stop in front of a small brick building. The sign on the front read FILIGREE DANCE COMPANY in bold, curving letters. “We’re here,” she said, dodging the question.

  Aria looked suddenly very nervous. Mikayla brought a hand to rest on her shoulder. “You’ll do fine,” she said, trying to assure her. Sara had already vanished inside, and she started up the steps. When Aria didn’t follow, Mikayla looked back. “You coming?”

  Aria straightened, and nodded. “You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Mikayla went inside, surrounded by the familiar sight of mirrored walls and wooden floors, the familiar sound of music and Miss Annette’s voice critiquing someone in a studio. But when she heard the sound of Aria at the front desk, she hesitated in the hall and listened.

  “Can I help you?” Pam, the woman at the desk, asked.

  “Hi, I’m Aria Blue. I’m here to join Filigree.” Mikayla frowned. So Aria hadn’t actually been accepted yet.

  “I’m afraid we have a waiting list,” said Pam. “You can’t simply walk in.”

  “Oh,” said Aria. “Sorry; I should be in the computer.”

  The click of keys on the keyboard, and then, “Sorry, you’re not in here.”

  “Oh,” said Aria again, sounding confused. “Can you check again? Aria Blue?”

  “Sorry,” said the woman after more typing. “No luck.”

  “Apparently not,” said Aria. Mikayla chewed her lip.

  “Filigree is a very competitive dance school,” Pam said. “We can’t exactly take on everyone. Admission is at Miss Annette’s sole discretion. If you want to join, you’ll need to audition.”

  “Great,” said Aria, her voice brightening, “when can I do that?”

  Pam started typing away again. “Hmm,” she said. “Looks like the next opening is in just over three weeks.”

  “But I need to start now,” insisted Aria. Mikayla didn’t understand the urgency. Mikayla didn’t understand what Aria was doing here at all, for that matter. It was starting to seem less like Aria had wandered into her life, and more like she’d marched.

  “I’m sorry,” said the woman, “Miss Annette is a very busy woman.”

  “Well,” said Aria after a minute, “since I came all this way, could I at least join in today? I won’t cause any trouble.”

  There was a long pause. “How much experience do you have?”

  “I’m a very fast learner,” she said.

  The woman sighed. “Well, go get changed. You can stand in the back of the group lesson, and if Miss Annette has a few minutes, maybe she can fit you in….”

  Just then, Mikayla heard Miss Annette’s voice boom out from one of the studios.

  “What was that, Eliza?” she was shouting. “Was that supposed to be a ballonné? I can’t even tell.”

  Mikayla heard Eliza’s quiet apology, and she knew she better move quickly. Her own class was about to start. She hurried to get changed, nearly bumping into a beaming Aria outside the dressing room.

  What are you doing here? Mikayla wanted to say. Why are you here now?

  Instead she just said, “Do you have your dance clothes?”

  “Of course,” Aria replied, even though she only had a bookbag, not an extra dance tote like Mikayla did. But in the minute it took Mikayla to turn around and quickly change into her leotard, she looked back and saw that Aria was in a leotard herself. Mikayla didn’t even know where Aria’s school outfit had gone. It was as if the leotard had magically appeared. Weird.

  Aria smiled, blue eyes bright. “I’m ready,” she said. She turned to go, her red hair waving behind her.

  “Wait,” called Mikayla, pulling a hair tie from her wrist. She wrangled Aria’s hair up into a ponytail, and then a bun, so it wouldn’t get in the way.

  “There,” Mikayla said. “Now you’re ready.”

  Aria didn’t know what had happened with the Filigree computer — she’d always been able to magic herself onto school rosters. She’d done it just that morning!

  The only time her magic didn’t work was when it wasn’t supposed to (though she never knew what was allowed and what wasn’t until she tried). So if she couldn’t magic herself into Filigree, there must be a reason.

  Or maybe her powers were just being ornery.

  It didn’t matter, she decided as she entered the classroom Mikayla had pointed her toward. Because she was here now. Standing in the back of a group lesson that was filled with eight- and nine-year-old girls.

  Aria was a head taller than all of them, so she stood out like a tree in the middle of a garden.

  Mikayla had gone into another studio, where Miss Annette taught the more advanced class.

  In this one, a man named Clyde instructed the girls in Aria’s group to do things like chassé and pirouette.

  Aria had no idea what those words meant, but she’d told the truth to the woman at the front desk — she was a fast learner — and soon enough she was doing a half-decent job of keeping up.

  “Jeté,” instructed Clyde, and again, everyone but Aria seemed to know what that was. They lined up against the wall, and a small girl with a tight braid went first. She took a few fluid steps and then leaped high into the air. Aria watched in awe as the girl landed soundlessly on the wooden floor. She did three more flawless jumps, making her way to the opposite wall.

  Aria felt suddenly very out of her element.

  For a second she wondered if she should make herself invisible and duck into Mikayla’s studio. But a good guardian angel didn’t just watch. They became involved. They intervened. At least, that’s what Aria told herself as the number of girls on her side of the room dwindled. She was secretly relieved that the other girls’ jumps weren’t all as impressive as the first girl’s, but they were still good.

  So
on it was just Aria against the wall, waiting.

  Aria took a breath, and forced herself to go.

  She took a step and then sped up. The wind whistled past her ears as she leaped into a jump. She stumbled as she landed, feeling clumsy.

  “Try again,” Clyde said, not unkindly.

  Aria did. Step, step, step, leap, split, land.

  She’d done it! It had actually felt nice, the sensation of being airborne for a moment. Aria couldn’t fly, but this came close.

  Aria smiled at the small victory. The fluorescent lights of the studio brightened.

  When Clyde told them they could take a break, Aria turned to leave her studio to visit Mikayla’s. But then the studio door opened and in marched an imperious-looking woman. Aria guessed she was Miss Annette.

  “Clyde, I had a —” Miss Annette began, then paused when she saw Aria.

  “What’s this?” Miss Annette asked, scowling down at her.

  Aria bristled — she was a who, not a what — but she managed to say, “I’m Aria.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “California,” said Aria.

  “And what are you doing here in my school?”

  “I’m new. The woman at the desk said I could stay and that you might have time …” she trailed off under the woman’s scrutiny.

  Miss Annette gave her a long, head-to-toe look. “What kind of dancer are you?”

  Aria wasn’t sure how to answer that question. A new one, obviously. But she had heard Mikayla use the word contemporary, so that’s what she said.

  “Well,” Miss Annette said. “Show me.” The eyes in the room began to turn back toward Aria. “Let me see you do a pas de chat.”

  Aria stared. She had no idea what that was. “Um.”

  Miss Annette put her hands on her hips. “Fine. A plié.”

  Mikayla had slipped into the room. Aria could see her standing behind the instructor. At the word plié, Mikayla brought her hands up in front of her, like she was holding a basket, and dipped down, her legs bowing. Aria did her best to mimic this. Miss Annette made an exasperated sound.

  “A grand jeté.”