Rival: A Feuds Novella (The Feuds Series) (6 page)

She couldn’t help gasping as they pulled apart. “That was—”

“It was,” he agreed, looking a little dazed himself. “There are no words.”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you soon, little bird?”

The pet name made her stomach flutter as if she were a bird, as if his words were true and magic had happened in their session. Like she
had
grown wings and under his touch could soar. She didn’t regret it, this time. She couldn’t. The risk—the thrill of something forbidden—made her want it more. But it wasn’t the thrill of the chase; giving in felt even better than she’d expected.

“See you soon,” she said, grabbing her things and blowing him a kiss before she exited the studio.

“
Bisous,
” he called after her—a nod to the French song her routine was set to. She laughed as the door swung shut behind her.

Davis made herself wait to DirecTalk Vera until she’d rounded the corner and was out of sight of the studio.
Meet in Cooper Park,
she said.
Big news.

Twenty minutes later, the girls were sitting next to each other on a chrome bench, soaking in the early-afternoon sunshine. “You and Seth,” Vera had said immediately, before Davis had even said anything at all. “It really happened.”

Davis nodded, smiling to herself. “Vera, he is
so
…”

“I want every single detail,” Vera told her, producing a plastic water bottle from her bag. “But first … mimosas to celebrate the occasion.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“My parents have a big stash. You know that. Besides,” she said with an eye roll, “we’ve gotta have something to get us through kiddie day at the Apex.”

The girls sipped their mimosas and Davis recounted every single detail, just as Vera had asked, until they were light-headed and giggling uncontrollably.

“I need water,” Davis said finally, reaching for her own—pure—water bottle. “I just realized, I need to be on top of my game today. Gaby’s going to be at the Apex, too, probably. She is so hateful,” she said, gulping water. Davis opened her mouth to tell Vera about the text, but the thought of recounting it stressed her out. She didn’t want to think about it yet again. She needed to stay strong. Anyway, Vera would blow a fuse and then who knew what would happen?

Davis took another sip, steadying her nerves. Why had she had any mimosa? If there was any time
not
to go nuts, this was it.

“You need to forget about her,” Vera said. “She’s trying to get in your head, and it’s working. You’re getting in your own way. Mind over matter, my friend. How do you think I got to first chair in the youth orchestra? It’s not because I goofed around or wussed out. If I’d let Steph Collins psych me out, I’d still be down in the gallows.” Vera’s nickname for the lowest levels of the orchestra had always made Davis laugh, but not today.

“Easy for you to say,” she told her friend. “You’re the type to bully, not be bullied.”

“Hey!”

“Face it, Vere.” Davis elbowed Vera in the ribs. “You’re kind of a mean girl.”

“That is absolutely not true,” Vera told her. “I’m just selectively kind and otherwise aloof.”

The two cracked up again, but Davis knew Vera was right. Davis had to get out of her own head—like she had with Seth—for everything to work out. She was her own worst enemy.

“She can’t touch you,” Vera told Davis, her voice serious now. “You are ridiculously talented, Davis. You always have been. She’s only trying to get in your head because she’s feeling insecure. That’s always the way it is. You have literally everything going for you. Including …” She waggled her eyebrows.

“A superhot, smart trainer,” Davis said with a sigh, leaning back.

“Exactly. And he cares what happens to you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so. And you need to know so, too. Never let them know you’re faking, girl.”

“I think your confidence comes from being an only child.”

“I think your lack of confidence comes from the nether regions of hell.” Vera slung an arm over Davis’s shoulders, and the two made their way to the Apex.

***

“
These
are the nether regions of hell,” Davis whispered to herself forty-five minutes later. She was surrounded by screaming things in tutus. Were they human? She thought not. They were whiny and snotty and every single one of them wanted all of her attention but didn’t want to take her advice. Worse, she couldn’t exactly exert authority with their helicopter dance moms hovering around. First position? Nope. Not happening. Pirouette? What a joke. Davis didn’t remember being like this as a kid. Fia certainly wasn’t like this—and Davis herself was a million times better behaved than these kids were. She and Vera both always had been well behaved and driven. But then, these kids were just there to have fun.

Davis sighed, tired, and shot Vera a look from across the enormous auditorium that was normally used for performances. From the look of it (and the sound of the screeches that the clusters of tiny cellos were emitting), Vera was having just as hard a time as Davis was. Vera also kept sitting down on the edge of the stage, her mouth set in a grim line as she rubbed her temples. Davis suspected dehydration and headache had set in.

Hangover?
she mouthed at her friend. Vera made a
kill me
gesture and grimaced. Davis felt grateful she’d chugged all that water. Her thoughts went to that morning and her session with Seth. It made her so thrilled it was almost painful. She felt her mouth lift into a smile and realized—as one very adorable girl with dark curls that reminded her of Fia tugged her skirt—that she needed an attitude adjustment. She was trying to force these kids into being serious dancers, but they were just there to have fun.

“How about this,” Davis told the class. “Let’s all spin in a circle.” She spun, too, ignoring the glares of the parents. “Now point your toes and do a hop,” Davis said, abandoning all formal ballet language. It felt like they were playing a game of Simon Says, but she no longer cared. Soon the kids were laughing, and the parents looked a little more relaxed. She smiled at the Fia look-alike, glad for the inspiration. The little girl gave Davis a big, toothless grin in return. She found herself starting to have fun, too.

When it was finally over and the parents began filing in to pick up their kids, the little girl—whose name was Adele—was still clinging to Davis like a barnacle. “Where’s your mommy?” Davis asked.

“My daddy’s there,” Adele said, pointing to the man who strode toward them.

“Hello,” Davis said when he approached. “I’m Davis Morrow.”

“Pierce Mason,” the man said, giving her a smile. Davis frowned, wondering why he looked familiar. Then she realized: he was one of the guys from the monorail in front of the restaurant. One of the loud jerks who’d been pushing around the Imps. Just as she put two and two together, Pierce spoke again.

“What a scene,” he commented, surveying the room, which was still chaotic, with children running around and torn streamers littering the floor. “Great program, though. Addy,” he said in a gentle tone, looking down at his daughter fondly, “did you have fun?” She nodded, wrapping her arms around his knees. Her dad laughed. “This one’s a clinger. Wouldn’t leave me alone for a second if it weren’t for something like this,” he kept on, shaking his head. “Can you imagine Imps putting on a show like this? They barely pay attention to their kids, let alone go out of their way for them.” Davis felt her mouth fall open. “They’re basically heathens,” Mr. Mason continued. “Primitive, really. I’m so glad we’re not near the outskirts. This place has great security. I’d never let Addy come here alone otherwise.”

Davis smiled stiffly. She’d heard people talk badly about Imps before, but nothing like this guy—and so casually, like he was talking about the weather. Davis tried not to show her shock—she’d never heard an adult use the word “Imp” aloud in public. It sounded so … repulsive, the way he’d said it. “I’ve got to run,” she said. “I need to help with cleanup. Nice to meet you, Mr. Mason.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Maybe I’ll commission you for some private lessons. Looks like Adele had a blast.”

“Bye, Adele,” Davis called, running off. She didn’t know what to think. Her dad thought segregation—or controlled integration at the bare minimum—was a good idea. But he’d never gone off on Imps—
Gens—
like Mr. Mason had, acting like they were an undeveloped species. Mr. Mason had practically called them animals.

Davis shook it off and was about to leave the Apex when she realized she was missing good practice time. Good practice time would lift her spirits … and she wanted to see if she could replay everything Seth taught her that morning, without him. She headed through the long corridor and down a flight of stairs to the lower level where the practice studios were housed. She’d go back and meet Vera after she’d calmed down.

As she neared the rooms, familiar-sounding music—yes, unmistakably Stravinsky—emerged from an open door. Curious, Davis approached. It sounded like … It couldn’t be. Her pace quickened, and she felt her face break into a smile. It was Seth, going over her routine on his downtime. He was familiarizing himself with it, she realized, so he could help her. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

Davis approached the room, primed to give him a huge hug, and stopped in her tracks. She stared through the clear glass pane.

All she could see at first was a flash of brilliant red hair, swirling around the room as slim, muscular legs carried a girl’s frame with the grace of a natural.

Gabrielle Rydell.

Gaby was soaring through the air to the unmistakable, eerie melodies of
The Rite of Spring.

Okay, so she and Davis had coincidentally chosen the same obscure song. And Gaby had had to get there early for the showcase—it made sense that she would. She’d traveled in from another territory and would have to overcome jetlag.

Even as Davis attempted to calm herself and field her disappointment, it took her only a few more seconds to identify
her own exact routine.
She froze. Cold panic swept over her body. How was it possible? How could Gaby have known? Davis’s mind raced. It was too late to think of a new routine, and Gaby was performing this one flawlessly.

It was humiliating, the worst kind of mockery.

Davis felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes; Gaby finished the routine, a self-satisfied smile spreading across her face. Davis was torn between running away and confronting Gaby directly, but then she heard the burst of applause.

“Bravo! You were gorgeous.” The masculine voice preceded the tall, muscular form that had been concealed by Davis’s partial view of the studio. When Seth moved into the center of the studio to sweep Gaby into a hug, Davis wasn’t even surprised. She was sick.

Seth pulled Gaby to him and kissed her tenderly, then more passionately. She returned the kiss, her hands working along his back and his tangling in her hair. It was clear it wasn’t the first time they’d done it. Davis took a step back, her throat closing. She had to leave. She had to get out of there immediately.

It was all startlingly, horribly clear: Seth had used her. And he’d given Gaby her routine.

“Vera. You need to come with me.”

Vera’s eyes were half-closed when Davis grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the stage, where she was splayed out on her back, two remaining children tying her hair in knots and giggling.

“Oh thank god,” Vera said, struggling to her feet. “Playtime’s over now, kids. You can wait for Mommy and Daddy at Reception.” Vera and Davis walked the children to the reception area and handed them off to the assistant before she could protest. “You don’t know what I’ve been through,” Vera moaned to Davis. “The next time I pick up a shampoo bottle in the locker room, just don’t. Don’t let me do it.”

Davis was silent while Vera babbled for a minute longer before she finally noticed that something was wrong. “Girl. What gives? It wasn’t
that
bad,” she said.

“Can we go to your house? I can’t say what I need to say in public.”

“Mine?” Vera said.

“It’ll be quieter there.”

Davis couldn’t handle being distracted by Fia just then, much as she adored her. They made their way back to Vera’s high-rise, one of the luxury high-rises popular with Priors. They walked the ten blocks in silence; Vera seemed to realize the gravity of what Davis was going through.

When they punched into Vera’s building, Davis headed directly for her room to avoid the possibility of running into one of her parents. Davis sat on Vera’s blue cotton bedspread and took a deep breath, trying to will back the tears threatening to spill down her face. Then she recounted the story, going over and over the minutiae.

“You’re
sure
it was your routine,” Vera said for the millionth time.

“I am five hundred percent sure,” Davis said. “Just like I’m five million percent sure I wasn’t having an apocalyptic vision when I saw them making out. They were hard-core making out, Vera. Not like a first makeout.”

“Like a ‘people who have done it’ makeout,” said Vera.

Davis winced. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid,” Vera said, pulling her into a hug. “You’re just a good person. And Seth is a bad, bad person. You wouldn’t do those things, so you can’t imagine other people doing them.” Davis pulled back and Vera looked into her eyes. “It’s not a bad thing that you trust, Davis.”

Davis laid her head on her friend’s shoulder. “What am I going to do? The showcase is Friday. That’s only two days from now. I can’t plan another routine by then. And I took a chance with him. If anyone found out we hooked up …Vera, I could have just blown the Olympiads.” She put her head in her hands, struggling to keep herself composed. She’d never felt so trapped.

Or betrayed.

“Maybe you don’t have to plan another routine,” Vera suggested, looking thoughtful. “Maybe there are other ways around this.”

Davis knew her friend well enough to know exactly what she was hinting at. Normally, Davis opposed Vera’s half-cooked plans, plans that often got them into trouble.