Chapter 3: Faith

“You’d be crazy not to go to this thing, you know.” Tara is lying on her bed in our dorm, flipping through a grunge fashion magazine as soft music plays from my laptop in the background. I’m cross-legged on my bed, munching on a bag of chips we’d snagged from the dining hall, pondering her words. Since we’d run into Danny and his team earlier, she’s been relentless in reminding me that I’m a big girl now (her words) and that if I want to dance, I can fucking dance. Also her words. And while I know she’s right, it doesn’t make the prospect any less intimidating. I haven’t even started classes yet. If Sadie caught wind of my tryouts before my first homework assignment, shit would hit the fan.

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” I remind her, licking Cheeto dust from my fingers. Chips aren’t the only thing we’d snagged from the dining hall. Cookies, pastries, crackers, and an assortment of other junk food currently litter my bed. Sadie never allowed it in the house, so it’s safe to say I’ve been binging on crap food the last hour or so with no regrets.

“The guy we talked to was hot,” Tara muses, snapping her magazine shut to turn and look at me, wiggling her dark eyebrows. “Danny, right? I’d fuck him.”

I giggle, mostly because I’m not used to hearing such language used in everyday jargon. As Tara stares expectantly at me, I shrug and toss her a bag of unopened chips. “I would, too. Fuck him, I mean. Happy?”

“Hardly.” Tara pops open her bag of chips and stuffs one into her mouth. “I’m serious though, Faith,” she continues, staring at the ceiling. “College is supposed to be the time of your life. How would you feel looking back one day and realizing that you didn’t do anything you wanted to do and that you just did what your evil stepmother told you to? Is that the legacy you want to leave behind?”

“Wow.” I crumple up the bag of empty chips and toss it into the garbage bin at the foot of my bed with a chuckle. “That’s deep. I’m almost convinced.”

I’m glad Tara and I are friends, regardless of how pushy she seems to be. Deep down I know that a fierce personality like hers is exactly what someone like me needs. I’ve spent far too long cowering under Sadie’s thumb, flinching at every sound, every look, every word. Maybe Tara is right. After all, there’s a good probability I won’t make it onto the team. I haven’t danced seriously in years. So, where’s the harm in trying?

“Fine,” I say, sliding off my little twin-sized bed to pad across the room to the bathroom sink to wash my hands. I could at least give my father and Sadie this much: they sprang for a dorm that included a private bathroom. Thank God for that. While I wasn’t necessarily a prude, the thought of showering naked in front of strangers terrified me. Tara probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought.

“Fine, what?” she yells. “Does that mean you’ll do it? You’ll try out?”

“Only if you stop bugging me about it,” I tell her, thinking again of Danny’s handsome, serious face. God, Tara is right though; he was dreamy. So were the other guys on the team. Just the thought of being intertwined in their arms during a number is enough to send a chill of anticipation down my spine. All I can hope for now is that I don’t humiliate myself in front of these people. But that’s bound to happen. It’s just my luck.

“Good,” Tara says, meeting me at the bathroom door. She leans against the frame and grins at me, then runs a hand through her pixie hair. “I’ll try out, too.”

“Really? I had no idea you danced.” I hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but Tara only chuckles.

“Don’t sound so shocked,” she says as we walk back to the beds. “I danced quite a bite in high school.”

“What kind of dancing?”

“A little bit of this and that,” she says with a vague shrug. Before I can push her more, she goes to her half-packed suitcase and withdraws a bottle of red wine, holding it up for me to see. “Would you care for a nightcap?”

“Erm. Is that allowed in here?”

Tara laughs again. It’s a good thing I like this girl because it seems like she cannot take anything seriously.

“Loosen up,” she insists, prying the twist-off cap from the bottle. “You’re an adult now, sis. Act like it.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Tara presses. “Because Sadie would disapprove?”

At the mention of my stepmother’s name, I cringe, and my hands ball into fists. Tara is right. I’m relying far too much on what my stepmother might think of my college activities. It’s hard to convince myself that I am, indeed, an adult, and I no longer live under her roof.

Just her wrath.

“Hit me then.” I watch as Tara pours us both a hefty serving into plastic cups and hands me one before capping the wine and sitting back down to drink it. I smell it, grimace, then take a sip. It’s not bad, actually. Fruity and sweet. My mother used to drink red wine with dinner and gave me a taste once, but it had tasted nothing like this. More bitter and dry. I never bothered drinking it again after that.

“Cheers,” Tara says, air-bumping my cup. “To a successful tryout tomorrow.”

“And to a good first day of classes,” I add, to which Tara rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, that, too, I guess.”

I shoot back the rest of the wine, wrinkling my nose, but I can’t deny that I enjoy the warming sensation in the pit of my stomach as I set the now empty cup aside, set an alarm for the morning on my phone, and crawl under the comforter for bed. As I drift off to sleep, images of Danny and the other dancers swim through my mind, and I fall into a slumber with a slight tingling sensation between my thighs.

I wake the next morning to the scent of coffee brewing in our small room. Tara is awake already, sipping a hot mug of brew as she sits at the little makeshift desk outlining her current schedule.

“Good morning,” she says with a grin, her eyes landing on me as I sit up in bed. I’ve slept fairly well for being in a new place, and for that I’m glad. I guess being out of my father’s house and away from Sadie did me good. “Coffee?”

“God, yes.” With a yawn, I kick the blanket off my feet and swing my legs over the side before going to the bathroom to run a brush through my hair. The time on my phone tells me it’s seven thirty. My first class doesn’t start for another hour, and then dance auditions are an hour after that.

“How’d you sleep?” Tara asks.

“Like a baby.” I stretch my arms over my head and arch my back like a cat as Tara hands me a mug of steaming joe. Sadie was addicted to coffee at home, but she always refused to let me have any. I was never seen as a grown woman or adult in her house; I might as well have been a toddler for the way she treated me. But for now, I was free, and her hold on me would be far less now than it ever was. Or so I hoped.

“You’re still going to auditions, right?” Tara says, finishing off her coffee. “You didn’t change your mind?”

I consider this briefly, then shake my head. While part of me wants to call it off, a bigger part of me insists that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t at least try. I’d grown up as a dancer, and once upon a time, I’d strived to be the best. My drive and motivation never wavered, even after years of Sadie’s relentless emotional abuse. Besides, I’m certain I won’t make it anyway. I’m too rusty; it’s been too long. But maybe going will at least get Tara off my back so I can focus on my work like Dad and Sadie expect me to. I don’t need any reason at all to move back in with them if college fails me, or if I fail it.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I tell her. “But I know I won’t make it. They’re assuming I’m better than I am.”

Tara shrugs, gathering up her textbooks and she shoves them into her book bag. “Regardless, I intend to be there to cheer you on and maybe dance myself. So you better show up.” She slings the bag over her shoulder and grins at me. “I gotta run. See you in a bit.”

Tara leaves and I settle into the desk to go over my own schedule. I hope to have it memorized within a day or two so I don’t look like a novice walking around campus with it up to my face. It’s a big school, and I’m already nervous that I won’t know where to go for every class, but it seems pretty straightforward, and the map. Helps immensely. As I finish my coffee and gather the textbooks I need for my first few classes, my phone dings. It’s a text from the step monster.

Call us tonight. Tell us how it went.

I snort and set my phone aside before getting up to get ready for the day. Sadie loves to pretend like she’s some doting mother, but nothing could be further from the truth. She’s a grade-a bitch, and everyone knows it. I’m dreading the phone call tonight but I know I have to make it. That was part of our deal.

With a sigh of frustration, I dig into my suitcase for something halfway decent to wear for my first day as a college Freshman. There’s not much there, and I make a mental note to ask Tara if she’ll take me shopping soon for new clothes. I’m trying hard to branch out, to remind myself that Sadie isn’t here to dictate my every thought and decision. Once upon a time, I’d been my own person; unique, carefree, and fun. After my mother's death and my father’s marriage to Sadie, my self-expression had been squashed to oblivion over the years. I’m no longer the person I once was, but maybe with time away from her, I can find myself again.

I settle on a pair of jeans that have seen better days and a sweatshirt that, while oversized and frumpy, is a beautiful emerald color that brings out my eyes. I go to the bathroom to get ready, bringing my small and slightly useless make of cosmetics with me. There I find Tara’s curling iron and other hair products. Hoping she won’t be angry with me, I plug it in with hopes to walk out of our dorm looking somewhat decent this morning. If I show up to auditions looking like a homeless person, I already know they’ll kick me out before I can even dance.

Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

After doing what I can for my freckled complexion and dull blond hair, I grab my phone and bag and set out into the world, making my way across campus for my first class of the day. Intro to Economics. Oh, joy. It doesn’t matter though. Anywhere is better than home, even if it is the world’s most boring class. I just wish Tara was taking the same classes I am, but beggars can’t be choosers. I’ll just have to try to make more friends.

I find the Econ classroom fairly quickly but right on time, and as I grab the door handle to enter, it swings open from the other side, and a student barrels out, knocking into me. My book bag comes loose from my shoulder and drops to the tile, and a binder full of papers scatters across the floor.

“Oops,” the guy says, but he doesn’t bother helping as I bend down in a frenzy to gather it all up. I’m humiliated, but even more so as I raise my chin to look into the eyes of this asshole. A flutter of recognition flits across his face, and it takes me a minute to place him. One of Danny’s dancers. I don’t know his name, and I don’t care to, but he’s astonishingly handsome and I hate that.

“Don’t mind me,” I say, my anger growing as I grab the last of my papers and shove them into my bag. “I’m fine.”

The guy chuckles as though he’s highly amused. If I was a violent person, I would have hit him.

“No problem, Faith,” he says, and I’m shocked that he knows my name. The sound of it on his tongue sounds so out of place, and I want to cringe. I don’t like that he knows more about me than I do him. Danny must have spilled the beans about me to his team. I’m a fairly private person, and I don’t like that. As I straighten up, coming face-to-face with him, I’m caught off guard by how close he is to me suddenly. His soft brown hair falls loosely into his eyes, and bold, tortured hazel eyes shoot straight into my soul. He’s smirking at me, but behind that smirk is pain. A wounded spirit, if you will, and even more so than that is anger. This guy hates me, and I have no idea why. He doesn’t even know me.

“Still coming to tryouts today?” he asks, sounding hopeful that I might not. I feel defiant suddenly like all I want to do is piss this brooding guy off further and I don’t know why.

“Most definitely,” I say, throwing my shoulders back defiantly. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

He shrugs like he doesn’t care enough one way or the other, but he’s still standing squarely in front of the door, blocking me out, so he must care to some extent.

“You just looked disinterested yesterday when you were chatting it up with Danny,” he says. “Kind of like you’d rather gnaw your arm off than dance for us.”

I open my mouth to retaliate and then close it again because I know he’s right. I didn’t even want to go until Tara convinced me otherwise, after the fact.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” I tell him, hoping I sound braver than I feel. “Not sure why you care at all.”

I expect the guy to keep this little tiff going, and just when I’m sure he’s going to insult me further, he simply snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head before turning and walking away without looking back.

“Asshole,” I mutter under my breath, but it’s a lost cause. At this point, I’m not sure if I want to go through with the audition. Can I handle such ego and attitude like that? Better yet, do I even want to?

I’m still seething as I take a seat in the classroom and glance around, feeling out of place for a reason that I couldn’t pinpoint. As students piled in behind me, envious heat rose to my neck and cheeks. They were all comfortable, some of them already friends, like high school cliques I dreaded then and especially now. College kids. Happy. Carefree. Well dressed. Nothing like the meek little mouse my stepmother has raised me to be.

Maybe I’m not cut out for this.

Pushing down the tears that settle in my eyes, I clear my throat and sink into my seat, hoping that if I become invisible, I’ll survive the first day. The run-in I’ve just had with the dancer kid outside the door has rattled me more than I want to admit, and I have a feeling that the rest of the day will be equally crappy. Can I do this?

Just as expected, my first class is boring and uneventful, mainly going over rules and curriculums. I can’t wait to get out of there, and when the time finally comes fifty minutes later, I jump up from the chair and race out of the room before anyone else has even had a chance to stand up. How I’ll get through an entire semester of this class is beyond me, and how I’ll someday major in Economics as Sadie and my father want me to seem even further from reality. What a sad, boring existence.

With a huff, I check the time before making my way back to the dorm to change into something appropriate for the tryout. Since being confronted by that jackass from the team, I desperately want to prove him wrong. I can dance, and I can do it well. Sure, it’s been ages since I’ve danced seriously, but my mother used to say, once a dancer, always a dancer. I keep that in mind as I dig through my clothes. Of course, I have nothing that will work well, so I settle on a pair of gray sweatpants and a tee shirt. Ugly, boring, but it’s the best thing I’ve got. It’s not about how I look, it’s about how I dance.

I have one more class before it’s time for tryouts, and I’m far more excited about this one. Psychology. I’ve always been fascinated with the human psyche. Maybe this class will even help me figure out the men on this dance team. It’s evident to me that I’m not the only one with issues.

Following the map, I find the lecture hall rather quickly. It’s massive, but somehow one of the first faces I spot in the sparse crowd is Tara, and a flutter of relief passes through me as she waves me over with a grin.

“I guess we should have compared schedules,” she says as I take the empty seat next to her. “It would have made this morning easier knowing I had my second class with you.”

“Everything okay?” I ask, and Tara nods her head with a tight laugh. “I got lost. I was fifteen minutes late. Fortunately, the professors are lenient today.” She leans down and pulls a fresh notebook and pen out of her bag, flipping it open to take notes. “How was your first class?”

“Boring as all get out,” I tell her. “I also had a run-in with one of the guys from that dance team. He’s kind of a knob.”

“A knob?” Tara chuckles. “Or a douchebag.”

I sigh. “Definitely a douchebag.”

“Which one was it? Danny?”

“No, one of the others. He didn’t tell me his name. I imagine we’ll see him at the tryouts.”

“I’m glad you still want to go,” Tara says, and I glance down at my silly outfit of a tee shirt and sweatpants.

“Can’t you tell?” I joke. “I’m clearly dressed as a champion.”

Before Tara can respond, a hush falls over the crowd as a male professor steps through the doors and settles his things in front of the podium before looking up and scanning the hall, his eyes briefly falling on each of us before moving to the next.

“Welcome to Psychology 101,” he says. “I’m Professor Hansen. Let’s go around the room and say our names, please.”

As expected, Psych is much more interesting than Econ, and time flies by. After our fifty minutes is up, it’s finally time for Tara and me to find the auditorium for auditions. It’s only now that I suddenly feel nervous, even more so than before, and my palms are sweating and shaking as we find the auditorium ten minutes later. Both of us stop right inside the doors, stepping into the dimly lit, massive area that boasts theater seats and a beautiful stage. At the front of the auditorium are a group of people I recognize as the team dancers, and scattered about the other seats are observers and what I assume are other dancers there for tryouts. Nobody really bothers to glance back as Tara and I slip in and take seats near the back. I need a moment to compose myself before announcing our arrival.

“Next up is Hailey Stanford. Come on out, Hailey.” I recognize Danny’s voice from one of the men up front, and a sigh of relief slips through my lips. Out of all of them, Danny seems to have the most faith in me. I’m still curious as to why, though, as he’s never seen me dance. He’s just assuming I’m any good, and for all either of us knows, I’m going to blow this entire tryout.

A moment later, a beautiful girl with legs that go on forever enters the stage. She’s dressed in a lovely dance suit that shows off her curves and her golden blond hair is tied up in a ballerina bun. I can tell just by looking at her that she’s not new to dance. Not at all.

“How cliche,” Tara murmurs to me. “She’s like the epitome of a dance snob.”

I nod but don’t say anything. This girl, Hailey, is probably going to kick both of our asses for the tryout. The thought makes my stomach roll with nausea. If this is what I’m up against, I should probably just leave now.

Wait, a little voice in my head says. Just because she looks good doesn’t mean she dances well.

I highly doubt that, but I won’t run away yet.

As the music to a familiar jazzy song begins, Tara and I watch intently along with the rest of the small crowd as Hailey begins her routine. I certainly wasn’t wrong in assuming that the girl was good, because she is, and anxiety climbs up my spine as Hailey twirls and moves her beautiful body to the music, lost in her own world, taken with the groove and the beat of the music. I swallow, squirming uncomfortably in my seat. Even Tara seems impressed by this girl, and that makes it even worse.

As the music fades and the lights dim to dark, a round of applause cracks through the crowd. I can’t help but notice, however, that the men, including Danny, barely clap their hands before leaning over and whispering to one another. I’m sweating now as the second dancer comes up on stage, a male hip-hop star. He does well, really well, and I cringe when he’s finished. The applause for this guy is even louder than the last, and anxiety simmers through me. I shake my head and lean in towards Tara.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rising to my feet. “I can’t do this.”

“But, Faith—,” she reaches for me but I slip out of her grasp and hurry towards the door to make my escape. As my fingers brush the door handle, the sound of my name stops me. This time, it doesn’t come from Tara, but it’s a man’s voice, one I recognize.

“Aren’t you here to try out, Faith?” The voice asks. I turn slowly, my eyes locking with the very man who confronted me outside the classroom. The douchebag. His tone drips with derision and mockery, and anger flares inside my soul. As his eyes stay locked with mine, the rest of the team turns to look at me. I shift my gaze to Danny, and his eyes light up.

"Faith," he says. "You made it."

I open my mouth to respond and then close it again. I can't leave now, not with everyone's eyes on me. Beside Danny, the rude kid speaks again.

"I don't know, Dan, I think she was trying to sneak away instead."

"Cut the shit, Theo," Danny says, his dark eyes narrowing in his friend's direction. "Leave her be."

Theo.

I hate that the name suits him. He looks like a Theo. A very, very hot Theo who, for some reason, has it out for me. Then again, the guy sitting to Theo's right who I also haven't met yet, is glaring at me like I've done something to personally and mortally offend him.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I demand, straightening my spine and throwing my shoulders back. I think of my mother, of her unyielding confidence. She taught me all I know, and I intend to show them all.

"You got this, girl," Tara whispers under her breath, looking proud. Despite my terror, I return her smile and walk confidently down the aisle and to the stairs leading up to the stage.

"Do you have a song preference?" Danny asks, his eyes roaming over my baggy tee shirt and sweatpants. I feel like an idiot and have to remind myself that I'm not here for a fashion show. I'm here to dance. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing.

"Can you play Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake?" I ask, and he nods, looking mildly impresses as Theo leans over his laptop and chooses the song for me. Swan Lake was one of my first competition songs. If I'm going to show them ballet, what better song than this one?

The music begins, and I take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body.

As I begin to move, I feel the grace and elegance of ballet take over me. Every step, every turn, is carefully choreographed, yet still feels like an expression of my soul. God, I missed this.

I extend my arm, reaching out to an imaginary partner, and then begin a series of pirouettes. My body spins and twirls, but I am completely focused, my mind blank except for the music and the movements, just like my mother taught me.

The minutes pass painfully fast. As the music reaches its climax, I leap into the air, feeling weightless and free. I land softly on the ground and hold the final pose, feeling the audience's surprised applause wash over me. It feels so familiar, and a sudden flashback of my mother standing at the edge of the stage after this very dance comes barreling into me like a freight train. I remember her tears of pride, and the smile on her face as she applauded.

That was the night she chose to break the news of her cancer to me.

I straighten up and try to catch my breath, catching sight of Tara who stands in the middle of the aisle applauding loudly. Many of the other dancers are cheering and clapping, including Danny, but the other ones, Theo and the guy next to him, simply stare at me, sneering. I ignore them both, basking in the admiration of the audience. God, I missed this. But even as I relish in their admiration, I know that the true joy of ballet is not in the applause or the costumes, but in the moment when movement and music become one, and my body becomes a vessel for the beauty of art.

“Well done, Faith,” Danny calls, sitting back down to observe me. I’m trying to catch my breath; it’s been so long since I’ve danced, I’m surprised I even remembered the routine.

“Well done?” Theo repeats, turning to the kid on his other side. “Sure, she did fine. But don’t you agree, Mark, that precious Faith here didn’t loosen up for a single moment on stage? She danced like a zombie—or a corpse.”

The other guy, Mark, nods, his eyes narrowing in on me. “I noticed that, too,” he says. “She doesn’t know how to dance without the strict rules of ballet. I was waiting for her body to loosen up, but it didn’t. It was an act. A routine. There was no emotion. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed she hated dancing and was just doing it to please somebody.”

Crushed, I look at Danny, who furrows his brow. “You were a little stiff,” he admits, and I let out a huff but say nothing for a long moment. I’m humiliated and angry and all I want to do is smack all three of these guys in the face.

“You said you were looking for ballet dancers,” I say steadily, my eyes roaming over the trio. “That’s what I did. Ballet.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Danny continues as if I didn’t speak. “You did well. But the boys are right. Can you learn to loosen your body? To bend to the music? This team isn’t just any team, Faith. We need someone hot. Seductive. Someone who can get up on that stage and temporarily be someone else.” He pauses. “Is that you?”

My eyes meet Tara’s across the auditorium, and she gives me two thumbs up, encouraging me.

“Yes,” I say, my eyes traveling back to Danny. “I can do that.”

“Thanks for your time,” Theo says. “We’ll let you know if you made it.”

“Will I hear either way?” I ask, and hate myself for caring so much. I missed this, I missed dancing. And I hate that I had to go and remind myself of how much I missed it. Because the truth is, I probably won’t make it. And that will be a tough pill to swallow.

“We’ll contact you if you make it,” Danny says, glancing over his shoulder to where Tara still stands. “Tara, you’re up.”

It’s clear I’ve been dismissed, so I slink off the stage, all the powerful, beautiful energy I had flowing through me only moments ago dissipating into thin air and leaving me silently begging for more. It feels like coming down after a night of drinking—like a really bad hangover that just won’t subside. I want to cry, but that’s the last thing I need to do in front of these guys. Forget them. I’m not supposed to be dancing anyway.

“Don’t listen to them,” Tara whispers as I pass by her to take my seat in the back row. “You did amazing.”

“You’re up,” I say, holding back the tears until she’s at least out of range. I take a seat and watch my friend walk up on stage, and that’s when the tears come. As Tara dances, bringing a round of applause from all three men, all I can think about is how badly I screwed this up. I might not ever recover what little confidence I had left.

I escape out the back door just as Tara ends her jazz routine, too embarrassed to stick around, then make my way briskly back to the room to jump in the shower before Tara shows up and sees me crying. I stand under the hot water for what feels like ages, eyes closed, rinsing away the day. As I wash suds over my body, my fingers go automatically to the scars on the inside of my thighs. Red, jagged, once deep scars that had carried the burden of stress, anxiety, and self-hate for me. I haven’t cut in nearly a year, but when my self-doubt kicks in, sometimes my fingers itch to open those wounds.

When I finally emerge from the shower, my roommate is still nowhere to be seen. I have no doubt in my mind that Danny and the others are probably welcoming her onto the team right now, patting her on the back and shit-talking me. I don’t want to be a bitter sap, but I am, and now that I’ve had my moment to mope, I realized I promised my dad and Sadie that I would call and let them know how the day went.

As if this day could get any worse.

I call my dad's cell phone first, hoping he'll answer and I won't have to call Sadie, but no such luck. I dial her number next, my heart racing. It's not possible, of course, for her to know that I tried out for a dance team, but Sadie never fails to uncover my deepest and darkest secrets. I swear, the woman has eyes in the back of her head and cameras hidden everywhere.

She answers on the second ring.

"Hello, Faith."

"Hi, Mom." I cringe inwardly as the word leaves my mouth. Sadie insisted years ago that I call her Mom instead of Sadie. I resisted for as long as possible until Dad got after me one night. She's not my mother, she never will be, but whatever appeases her is what I have to do. It’s easier that way. "Is Dad there with you?" I ask. "He didn't answer his phone."

"He's working late tonight."

I sigh. Sometimes I wonder if he works overtime intentionally to get more of a break from his controlling wife.

"I see." Taking a seat on the foot of my bed, I nibble on my fingernails, a habit that Sadie absolutely loathes. It's gross, I know, but I find myself doing it just to spite her sometimes.

"How was econ?" Sadie asks. "Did you pay attention?"

Of course, no “how was your first day”, or “did you make any friends?” With Sadie, it’s straight to business every time.

“It was good,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “And yes, I paid attention.”

“Good. We expect you’ll pass your classes with flying colors.”

“Right.” Just then, the dorm room door opens, and Tara steps in, her eyes landing on me. Guilt takes hold of me when I see her face, and I speak into the phone. “Mom, I have to go. Homework. Call you guys tomorrow.” I hang up the phone and meet Tara’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and I shrug, unsure of how to answer that.

“I’m alright,” I say finally. “I’m really sorry, Tara, for running out on you. I kind of had a panic attack. It was a little stressful. But you—you danced beautifully.”

Tara smiles, but it’s forced. “No one tonight danced like you did,” she says. “And you don’t even see it, do you?”

I sigh and cup my hand over the back of my neck, rubbing the kink in it. “I don’t think they liked me.”

“They’re intimidated by you.”

I shake my head. “They’re not going to call.”

“You don’t know that.”

Tara’s insistent support overwhelms me, and before I know what’s happening, tears are streaming down my face, streaking my makeup and forcing a red flush to my skin. God, I’m a blubbering mess.

“Faith,” Tara says softly, and she gets up to wrap her arms around me as if we’re best friends and have been for life. “You’re far too hard on yourself,” she whispers. “Be proud, girl. You killed it out there tonight.”

I have a hard time believing her, but it’s useless to argue, so I force a sad smile and wipe the tears from my cheeks, wishing we’d never stumbled across the team in the quad, to begin with.

“Hey,” Tara says, nudging me. “How about we blow off the rest of our classes today and go shopping? We can update your wardrobe. I think it’s years overdue.”

I grin. “Blowing off class on the first day of school?”

“It’s one day, Faith,” she says. “Before we worry about school, we need to find you again.”