Page 64 of Falling With a Spin

“So, are you going to tell me what you actually were working on?” Emma leans forward, turning the music on low, and leans back to look at me.

Well, shit, I thought it worked.

I tap my fingers against the steering wheel aimlessly to Run Back to You by Hoang Alisa as the music flows from the speaker. I glance towards her to see her arms crossed against her chest, waiting for an answer. She looks so adorable trying to be stern, but my hands become clammy again and sweat starts to trickle down my neck.

I breathe out a heavy sigh and avert my gaze back to the road. “Okay, I was trying to find a birthday gift for you. I know you said you didn’t want anything outrageous, but I'm still getting you something whether you like it or not.” When I glance back at her, she has a wide grin on her face and rolls her eyes as she faces the front again.

“That was seriously all?” She asks as laughter bubbles from her.

“Yes. Yes, it was. But I do want to find you the perfect gift.”

A few minutes later, I pull into a parking space and take her hand as we walk inside. We wait at the front for a few minutes until a server comes by and walks us to a booth. She hands us two menus and says she’ll be back in a few minutes.

“Hey, I was thinking, since we saw your Dad for Thanksgiving break, would you want to come to my parents for winter break?” I look up to see her staring at me. “If you don’t want to, that's totally fine.”

It would be fine. Really fine, but I want Emma to meet my family. They are crazy, overbearing, and protective, but I love them. It will be the first time we will be together in a while. Aubrey won’t be at dance camp this year. She’s been dancing most of her life and is dedicated to reaching her dream to attend Juilliard. My sister and I have always been closer than our other two older siblings, Alec and Riley. It could be the age gap between us all or the fact that they are both like our parents. Overbearing and protective. They also followed in their footsteps in their career choices.

“Yeah,” a smile spreads across her face, “I would like to go with you and meet your family since you had to endure mine.” She chuckles.

“Everyone will be there this year, too. My sister is usually away at dance camp during school breaks, but this year, she chose not to go.” Right before I look at the menu deciding from either the chicken tenders or a hamburger, I could have sworn a sadness washes over her eyes.

“Where does she dance?” She clears her throat, covering up the crack in her voice. I reach across the table, taking her hand in mine.

“What’s wrong, babe?” I trace circles on the top of her hand.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing. I promise. It doesn’t matter anyways.” She gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Emma, please tell me. It matters to me. You matter to me.” She does indeed matter to me in every possible way.

“Okay,” She starts and pulls my hand from hers. I can see she’s hesitant, but the flicker of determination stops me from halting her. “I grew up so in love with dancing. My mom got me into classes when I was around five years old, working two jobs to afford my classes. I was good - better than good. My dance teachers always told me that I had raw talent that you don’t find in dancers anymore.” Tears fill her eyes, and she turns her head away as our waitress approaches us. I shake my head, letting her know we need more time.

“When I got to high school, I tried out for the company team. Putting in hours and hours into practice and working my ass off for it. When I made the team, it felt like my life was coming together. My dreams were slowly coming true. I was on that team from Freshman year towards the end of the first half of Junior year.” A shaky breath leaves her as she twists her fingers together. Her gaze never leaves the table.

“It was our last recital of the semester, and my instructor gave me a solo. They were my favorite, and I would get a rush of adrenaline anytime I saw my name on the sheet for soloists. There is a freeing moment when you are up there on stage. Surrounded by nothing and everything at the same time, all the attention is on you. Some people think it’s nerve-racking, but not for me. The music and I would always come together as one.”

How she feels about dance is how I feel about singing and writing music. To write down the feelings I hold inside, letting them free and be expressed in a way that could help others.

“I was working so hard on this routine and so nervous I wouldn't be able to get it down. My instructor wanted me to land an eight pirouette perfectly, and I had only been able to do seven. But I kept working myself, knowing deep in my bones that I could do it and that I just need to keep working harder.” She squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head.

Dread wracked through my body as she continued.

I’ve seen Aubrey do the same thing before recitals. Only stopping when my mom or I would drag her out of the studio, even then, we’d find her back in it a few hours later.

“I walked onto that stage with confidence and grace like each time before. The music began, and I moved through it like I was the wind. I started the pirouette, and I was so close, so fucking close.” Her closed fist comes down on the table, shaking the silverware. “I had one more turn, just one, and then I could have finished the performance. But as I went to get the momentum for it, my knee gave out, and I ended up tearing my ACL and Meniscus.”

All I want to do is to reach across the table and just hold her. Hold seventeen-year-old Emma and tell her everything will be okay. Wipe away the tears of the woman that I care so deeply for, who sits in front of me right now, telling me how all of her dreams came crumbling down in a matter of seconds.

“I remember this feeling of falling and then pain. Agonizing pain. Caleb was up on the stage within seconds, holding me until the ambulance came.” My body goes rigid at the mention of Caleb. He had been there to help her then, but when she needed him the most, he was off hanging with her assaulter. “When I woke up the next day in the hospital, the doctor came in, saying that the chance of me dancing without any pain is slim to zero. All my plans that I made went out the window, and I had a scholarship to Juilliard sitting on my dresser at home.” She looks up at me at last. “I wanted to give up on it all.”

I slide out from the table to sit next to her. Wrapping my arms around her, I rest my chin on her head as she silently cries into my chest.

She pulls back, and I wipe away some of the tears that stained her cheeks and place a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Emma, I don’t even know where to begin.” It’s true, I don’t. She unpacked such a powerful story of her life to me that I'm at a loss for words. “You’re so incredibly strong and brave.” I lift her chin so she can look at me in the eyes. “You have this amazing gift to help others around you and make sure they feel loved. I'm so thankful you didn’t give up, and you got through the storm.” I move my hand from her chin up to her cheek and run my thumb across it.

“I wanted to so badly to just give into the pain and despair. But I know if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to get myself out, and I wouldn’t be where I am today.” She smiles up at me. A sad one, where you know there isn’t much more you can do but be happy with where you are at.

“I want to ask you something, and you don’t have to answer it.” Her body tenses, but I give her a reassuring smile and quickly ask, “Have you ever tried dancing again?”

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