Page 60 of Old Acquaintances

His eyes land on my face, but I notice they’re specifically focused on a scar above my left eyebrow. Most people rarely notice it, but it’s from my car accident, so it would be new to him. He answers, “I just don’t drink much anymore.”

“Ella, you know how to play, right?” Serena asks.

I take my stack of cards and say, “Sure. I’ve been shoutingbullshitto Tucker for my entire life.”

“That’s not the game.”

“That’s how I intend to play it.”

We play two rounds and Tucker wins both of them.

“I bet you can’t win a third,” I say.

He snorts. “And what do I get when I win? You sleep on the couch?”

“If, jackass, and I’m never sleeping on the couch. You are.”

“You clearly don’t believe I won’t win another game or else you would make that bet.”

“Well, you cheat, so I don’t trust you.”

While Serena picks up the cards again, Callie says, “Oh my gosh, Ella – Johnny told us in the pool that you’re going to San Francisco! Congrats! Why didn’t you say anything?”

I respond, “I didn’t know how the audition would go, and then it all happened kind of fast.”

Jen looks back and forth. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m going to start with a new ballet company this June,” I tell her. “The San Francisco Ballet. It’s been my lifelong dream, I just finally had the right timing for it. Even though I’m old and washed up now -”

“You’re going to be so close to us.” She smiles.

Thank God. I might not have lost her completely.

I hold out my glass of wine. “Yes, I will.”

I am excited to get to know Jen and excited about being close to Johnny. We’ll be practically in the same city for the first time since we left high school.

He chimes in, “Yeah, I told her we will scout out some apartments while she’s still in Atlanta.”

I sip my wine. “And we can all go to the outdoor orchestra together sometime.”

Johnny tries to read that statement. He doesn’t know that I know he’s become more refined and broader in his interests. If I find out he writes her poetry, he’ll never live it down.

“Wait, you’re really doing it?” Tucker asks. He rests his arm on the coffee table and grabs my ankle with his other hand. “You finally auditioned?”

I look at his touch.

“Way to go, Ells,” he murmurs. “I knew you could do it.”

It’s genuine. He’s truly happy for me. I want to say something mean and pointed, but I’m absorbed by his praise. He murmurs, “And there’s nothing washed-up about you, Beautiful.”

I lift my eyebrow, catching his focus on my legs, prepared tomake a snarky comment about our ongoing bet, when Jen says, “I forgot that Johnny said you were a professional ballerina. I always wished I was a dancer.”

Serena adds, “Me too. What is it about us women wanting to be ballerinas? Do men wish they were racecar drivers and professional baseball players and blame their parents for not making them stick with their childhood activities?”

“Trust me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” I grumble. I almost sit up on my knees but I remember Tucker’s still touching me. “Ballet it not all about flowy tutus and ethereal dancing, it’s way rougher around the edges than it looks on stage.”

Jen squints up her nose. “I always imagined ballerinas were always so ladylike and graceful and…demure.”

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