Last Wishes, Page 4

At that, Aria smiled. She knew how to do that one: the jump! She took a few steps back, then managed her best running leap. She was quite proud of herself, but Miss Annette only clicked her tongue.

  “Do you at least have a routine you can show me?”

  “Right here?” asked Aria. “Right now?”

  “You are standing in a dance studio, and yes, now.”

  Aria swallowed. She wasn’t self-conscious — she was a terrible singer and had still belted out tunes to help Gabby Torres — but this was different. Aria didn’t usually care about looking silly or stupid, but here, she knew that if she wasn’t good enough, they’d kick her out, and if that happened, it would be a lot harder to help Mikayla. She looked down at her shadow, but she knew it couldn’t help her, not with this.

  “Well?” pressed Miss Annette.

  Aria nodded. “All right.”

  “Do you have music?” Miss Annette asked, pointing to the iPod speakers at the front of the room.

  “Oh,” said Aria. “No. Any song will do.”

  Miss Annette looked skeptical, but crossed to the iPod. A dozen dancers had now appeared in the studio to watch her, but it was Mikayla’s gaze Aria could feel as she closed her eyes and took a breath. The music started. It was a pop song, one of the ones she’d sung with Gabby back in her room. Weeks ago. Lifetimes ago. Aria listened to it for a few moments, bouncing on her toes, finding the beat.

  And then, as smoothly as she could, she started moving her arms and legs. There was something about the music, something cheerful, and as she danced, she thought of the gardens in Brooklyn. She thought of trampolines, of sleepovers and swimming pools. She thought of cupcakes and fall leaves and singing with Gabby. She thought of things that made her happy. Things that made her feel alive. Real. Human. She let that feeling move her, literally.

  And then, all of a sudden, the music stopped. Aria blinked, and looked up to see Miss Annette watching her, eyes narrowed in thought.

  Aria didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t sure what came next.

  The room was painfully quiet, and Aria glanced at Mikayla, hoping to find an encouraging smile. But to her surprise, the other girl didn’t look happy at all. If anything, she looked sad and lost. Aria didn’t understand.

  What had she done to make her upset?

  Mikayla stood against the wall with the other girls and watched Aria dance.

  It had taken Aria a few moments to find the beat, to sink into the music. But then she was gliding across the floor. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but there was something to the movement, a kind of reckless abandon Mikayla envied. And missed.

  Because back when Mikayla first started dancing, back before she cared about nailing every step, before she’d been afraid of making a mistake (before she’d even known what the mistakes were), she had moved like that, like Aria. The music would start, and she would just fall into it. Disappear.

  She’d stop being Mikayla Stevens and become a melody, a rhythm, a beat. She’d stop thinking about the steps. She’d lose herself, and when that happened, she could be anyone, anything, for the length of the dance. It was the best feeling in the whole wide world.

  Or at least, it used to be.

  These days, the doubt and the fear and the pressure followed Mikayla wherever she went, and whenever she danced. Once in a while, when the music was perfect and nothing ached, the voices in her would quiet, and she’d start to lose herself again, just for a second. She’d forget how much it mattered, to her and to Miss Annette and to her parents. But those moments never lasted.

  Now, Aria … Aria had danced like it didn’t matter.

  Like she didn’t care if someone was watching.

  Didn’t care if she was messing up, or if she was good enough.

  She just … danced.

  “You’re a beginner,” Miss Annette said at last. It wasn’t a question.

  “I am.” Aria nodded. “But,” she added, “everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “Your form is a mess,” added Miss Annette. “Your lines are far from straight and your hands need work, and it was, on the whole, a fairly rudimentary routine.”

  Aria kept her head up, but her smile flickered, and her gaze drifted not to the floor, but to the wall where Mikayla was standing.

  “But,” continued Miss Annette. “You have some natural talent. You dance with your heart. It’s not enough, of course, but it’s a start. I can teach you to dance with the rest.”

  “So I can stay?” asked Aria softly.

  Miss Annette crossed her arms. “For now.”

  At that, Aria smiled like she’d just won Nationals.

  As Mikayla returned to her Advanced studio and went through her arabesques and pirouettes, her tumbles and turns, she couldn’t stop thinking of Aria’s smile. Or the look on her face when she was dancing, lost in the music.

  The girls at Filigree always looked focused, or tired, stressed or aching or worried or determined.

  But Aria just looked happy.

  The sun was going down by the time dance class ended. Mikayla and Sara and Aria all pulled on their jackets and descended the steps to the street. Sara peeled away — she lived on the Upper West Side and could walk home — and Mikayla and Aria made their way to the subway together.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” said Aria as they walked.

  “Just thinking,” said Mikayla. “And tired.”

  Aria yawned. “I know,” she said. “I can’t believe you do this six days a week.”

  Mikayla shrugged. She tried not to focus on that, because it was a slippery slope from tired to whiny, and Miss Annette had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to complaints. Of course Mikayla was tired — exhausted in a bone-deep way — but she’d gotten over it, or at least gotten used to it. It was just another sacrifice.

  Success requires sacrifice. One of Miss Annette’s many sayings.

  When the train came and they got on, Mikayla snagged two seats. Aria slumped down beside her. “How do you do it all?” she asked, sounding genuinely amazed.

  Mikayla shrugged again. She didn’t just do it for herself. She did it for her parents, who had sacrificed so much for so long to make it possible. The Drexton audition loomed in the back of her mind. She was so close. If she could just get in, she’d finally be able to make it up to them.

  Aria stretched, obviously sore after the long lesson. The subway train sped through several stops. It was an express.

  Mikayla hesitated, then said, “Why did you decide to come to Filigree today?”

  Aria’s forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I know you hadn’t been accepted yet. Which means you just … decided to come.”

  Aria tugged her red hair out of its bun and shrugged. “Maybe I was inspired by you. Maybe I just felt drawn to it. Like fate.”

  Mikayla sighed. “It’s not fate if you make paths cross, Aria.”

  Aria gave a half-smile. “Even though I nudged our paths a little,” she said, “I still think we were supposed to meet.”

  And it was weird; Mikayla couldn’t explain why, but she felt the same way. “I’m glad we did,” she said. “It was pretty bold of you to just dance like that, in front of everyone.”

  “Oh man,” said Aria with a chuckle. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” said Mikayla. “I mean, okay, technically there were issues, but that’s just because you’re new.”

  Aria sighed. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

  “I could help you learn.” It wasn’t an entirely selfless offer. Some small part of Mikayla hoped that maybe by being near Aria, she could rediscover the way dance used to feel, even though all afternoon it had been a reminder of something she’d lost.

  Aria laughed and sat forward. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you.”

  Mikayla frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Aria’s eyes widened, as if she’d surprised herself. “Nothing,” she said, blushing. “Sorry, my brain must be tired. A
nd thanks. That would be great.”

  The subway train shuddered to a stop, and the doors dinged open. People pushed on and off, and then the doors closed. Mikayla was glad they’d gotten seats.

  “I’ll do what I can to help,” she told Aria. “My form’s not perfect.”

  “You’re way too hard on yourself,” said Aria. “You’re an incredible dancer. And perfect is kind of a silly word.”

  “How so?” Mikayla bristled a little.

  “Well,” said Aria. “There’s no such thing as perfect. It doesn’t exist.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Where?” challenged Aria. “If perfect means without flaws, then there’s no such thing as a perfect tree, or a perfect apple, or a perfect sky.”

  “What about a perfect score?” asked Mikayla. “That exists.”

  “Even if you got a perfect score,” said Aria with a devious smile, “I bet you’d find mistakes.”

  Mikayla found herself blushing. She didn’t know how Aria knew that, but she was right.

  “Perfect is this thing in your head,” continued Aria. “If you think, I’ll be happy when I’m perfect, then you’ll never be happy! I just don’t think perfect is a good thing to shoot for.”

  “Well,” said Mikayla. “You still have to try.”

  “Why?” asked Aria, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Because,” said Mikayla with exasperation, “even if there’s no such thing as perfect, there is such a thing as best. And in the world of dance, being the best is what matters. It’s all that matters.”

  The smile slid from Aria’s face, and Mikayla felt bad for saying those words so harshly. But it was true. Aria could let go, dance like she didn’t care, but for Mikayla, it wasn’t about having fun, not anymore.

  It was about winning.

  A silence fell between them as the train rattled toward Brooklyn.

  “This is my stop,” Mikayla said when the train screeched to a halt in her station. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” She wondered where Aria lived, but she wouldn’t have time to stop and ask if she wanted to make it off the train.

  “Sure thing,” said Aria, summoning a smile. Mikayla got off, but when she looked back, just before the train pulled away, she was surprised to see the smile slide from Aria’s face, replaced by worry.

  Mikayla pulled her jacket tight around her and hurried home. When she reached the front steps, she hesitated, dragged down by the thought of her father hunched at the kitchen table, the boxes looming in the corners, the gold trophies lining the basement walls. A lump filled her throat.

  She brought her forehead to the front door.

  Here’s what will happen, she told herself. Next week, I’m going to nail my audition at Drexton. I’m going to get the scholarship, and Mom and Dad won’t have to pay for dance or Coleridge anymore, and Dad will get a new job, and we won’t lose our house, and everything will be perfect. Because I will be perfect.

  And then she took a deep breath, readjusted her smile, and went in.

  Aria didn’t get off the train.

  She’d thought about following Mikayla, but instead she hung back and watched the girl go, tendrils of blue trailing in her wake.

  Aria needed to think, and something about the motion of the train, as it made its winding path, was soothing. A map on the wall showed the whole city — it looked so small and so large at the same time — and all the train lines crisscrossing over the top of it, labeled things like A and B and 1 and 2 and 3. They were all different colors, too.

  Aria ran a thumb absently over the bare ring on her charm bracelet, trying to sort through the mystery of Mikayla Stevens. Back in California, Caroline’s problem had been fairly obvious, and, at least in retrospect, Gabby’s had been clear, too. But Aria was having trouble understanding Mikayla.

  As the train clattered along, Aria thought about all the things Mikayla had said — about money, the need to be the best, the way her life revolved around dance — and all the things she hadn’t. She thought of the boxes at Mikayla’s house, but also the weary sadness that wove through her voice when she spoke of dancing.

  Aria thought about Mikayla as a dancer. After Aria had performed for Miss Annette, she’d made herself invisible and watched through a crack in the door as Mikayla danced in the Advanced studio. Mikayla had seemed fidgety. She was constantly adjusting her posture, holding in her stomach, forcing a smile she obviously didn’t feel. Like she wasn’t comfortable in her own skin. Aria had seen the self-criticism swirling in her smoke.

  But then … there were those moments, embedded in the middle of a routine, when it was like all that fell away, and she seemed genuinely happy to be dancing. And in those moments, the smoke around her changed, too. Didn’t lessen or thin, exactly, but shifted. Reacted.

  So did that make dance the problem, or the solution?

  Or could it somehow be both at once?

  Aria looked down at her shadow, as if it had something to say. But it didn’t, so Aria leaned back. She stayed on the subway, riding it from end to end, changing from the blue line to the red to the green, trading As and Cs for 1s and 2s and Gs.

  As it got later, she started to stand out more and more (apparently twelve-year-old girls didn’t ride the subway alone after a certain time), and finally, between stops, when no one was there to see, Aria took a breath and willed herself to disappear.

  She didn’t like being invisible, but it definitely made things easier sometimes.

  As evening turned to night, the crowd on the subway thinned. There was a man with a bike. A tired-looking woman with grocery bags. A figure stretched out sleeping across three seats. And that’s how Aria realized, with some surprise, that she wasn’t the only one without a place to call home.

  At different stations, Aria began to see these people: slumped or dozing on the benches, looking lost and tired and ragged. None of them were surrounded by blue smoke. None of them were marked for Aria’s help. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try and make their lives a little better. She put coins in cups, mended coats and blankets and shoes with an invisible touch. Even if the acts of kindness were small, and wouldn’t bring her any closer to helping Mikayla and earning her wings, they still made her feel useful.

  After she’d ridden a few more trains, Aria decided to get some fresh air.

  When she got up to the street, she was amazed to find that the sparkling city was still very much awake. It felt even bigger at night, and Aria felt even smaller. But it wasn’t a bad kind of small. It made her feel like a piece of something. Connected. She wandered down the sidewalk, past dimly lit restaurants and brightly lit markets, and businesses closed for the night.

  She passed a handful of chalk murals on the sidewalk, stepping gingerly around them so she wouldn’t mess them up. They were so beautiful and colorful and intricate that it took her several moments to realize they were words. Sayings like This Too Shall Pass and Take a Deep Breath, It Will All Be Okay and Find Your Joy.

  Clever sidewalk, she thought.

  A streetlamp behind her cast her shadow forward so that it almost looked like it was part of the picture, the words of encouragement bubbling around its head.

  A bucket of chalk sat nearby, with a small sign that said, ADD YOUR VOICE.

  Aria wondered what she should write, and was still wondering when she heard the sound of laughter. She followed it, and found a group of teenage boys passing a basketball back and forth, taking leisurely shots at a net. Farther down the block, a movie theater was spilling out a group of girls, arms linked. Across the street, a cupcake shop was jam-packed with laughing customers.

  All these people had something in common.

  They all looked like they were having fun.

  Maybe that was what Mikayla was missing. Aria thought back, and realized that even though they’d spent most of the day together, she’d never once heard Mikayla laugh. Not even with her friends at lunch. She had that smile, but it faltered when no one was looking. And even though she h
ad perfect posture, she seemed to be bending under the weight of her life. The pressure. The expectation. The responsibility.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe Mikayla was taking on too much.

  After all, she was only twelve.

  When was the last time she’d acted like it? Maybe Mikayla Stevens needed to shrug off that weight, and have a little fun. It couldn’t hurt.

  Aria retraced her steps toward the mural.

  She smiled, and took up a piece of blue chalk and added her own message to the edge of the swirling letters. Two small words.

  Have Fun.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” snapped Miss Annette in dance class the next afternoon.

  In the midst of spinning, Mikayla lost her balance and staggered.

  “Where’s your head?” challenged her coach. “Because it’s not here.”

  Miss Annette was right.

  Mikayla hadn’t slept. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Aria had said on the subway, about there being no such thing as perfect. In fact, ever since the strange redheaded girl had showed up in Mikayla’s life, her words had been burrowing into Mikayla’s thoughts, snagging there like thorns.

  You’re way too hard on yourself.

  You’re an incredible dancer.

  There’s no such thing as perfect.

  Mikayla had lain there in her bed, looking at the poster across the room.

  WINNERS NEVER QUIT. QUITTERS NEVER WIN.

  Downstairs, she’d heard her parents talking. About her. About money. About dance.

  We’ll find a way …

  She’s worked so hard … we have to …

  “I’m sorry,” said Mikayla to Miss Annette now, trying to shake the questions and the voices of out of her limbs.

  “I don’t want sorry,” snapped Miss Annette. Mikayla cringed. Miss Annette often seesawed between treating her like a star and being harder on her than she was on anyone else. Mikayla guessed the two were connected — Miss Annette insisted she was tough on Mikayla because she believed in her, believed she was made of gold, but it didn’t feel that way. “Just do it again,” Miss Annette added sharply. “And do it right.”