Page 52 of The Facade

They’d been really awesome and had their cook, Marie, cooking enough food for my family, so my dad didn’t have to worry about meals and could just focus on spending time with my mom and me when he was home.

I used the special stone path between our houses and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, I rang the doorbell and knocked again.

Usually, someone answered the door pretty quickly, since if one of the family members wasn’t around, one of the staff members would come answer the door. But maybe they all had the afternoon off?

When no one came, I punched in the code for the door that they’d given me—a perk of being a best friend and neighbor—and then walked through the marble-floored entryway to the kitchen.

I expected to see Marie whipping up something in the kitchen, but even though something was cooking in one of the ovens, she was nowhere to be seen.

I set the crockpot on the granite countertop of the large kitchen island, figuring Marie or someone from the family would take care of it when they got back. I was about to head out the front door when I heard muffled music coming from the hall that led to the ballroom and conservatory.

Were they having a party I didn’t know about?

My curiosity piqued, I headed down the wide corridor to see what everyone was doing.

Only, when I looked through the ballroom windows, I didn’t see a party at all. Instead, Cambrielle, in a black leotard and pink ballet shoes, was dancing across the ballroom floor.

The music was loud and familiar—the melody reminding me of something she’d played in her bedroom one of the nights she’d let me stay in her room.

There were no vocals, just a slow instrumental song with a piano and cello carrying the melody. And the soothing tone of the music made me pause and brought me back to those few nights we’d stayed up late chatting and of how peaceful her room had been.

Cambrielle’s back was turned to me as she leapt across the floor in her pointe shoes, her arms lifting up at her sides in the way I’d seen ballerinas gracefully move them in movies.

I’d never watched Cambrielle dance before, because I never paid much attention to her back when she spent hours in the dance studio with her ballet tutor. Playing basketball or video games with Carter and Nash had always been more my speed back then.

But even though I didn’t know much about the art of dance and ballet, I could tell from the way Cambrielle moved across the dance floor that she wasn’t just a rich kid whose parents forced her to be involved in an extracurricular activity. She wasn’t a girl who had been accepted to the ballet academy because her billionaire parents had made a large donation.

No, I could tell she had a natural ability and talent that had been shaped and developed through years of dedicated practice. She was gifted. A prodigy any teacher would feel lucky to come across.

And as I watched her twirl and leap across the floor, I couldn’t help but become mesmerized by the beauty of her art because I’d never seen anything like it.

I’d always assumed the reason she quit attending the ballet academy in New York after her freshman year was because she didn’t like dancing anymore—I hadn’t heard of her dancing or taking lessons the last year and a half at least. But this girl I saw before me was not a girl who hated dance. It was obviously part of her soul, and it almost took your breath away to witness.

She made it to the far end of the ballroom, doing some sort of quick step before standing on pointe and extending one leg up high behind her, showing off how impossibly strong and flexible she was. Then she pivoted until she faced the window I stood behind. And I realized a little too late that I probably should have stepped behind the wall so she wouldn’t see me and get distracted. But her focus snagged on me almost immediately, and I knew I’d been caught.

Been caught admiring a girl I wasn’t supposed to be feeling waves of attraction for.

Since being a creeper who snuck away after getting caught staring at her would only make me look creepier, I forced a smile on my lips and waved.

She glanced sideways, as if blushing over being watched. And since I really didn’t want to interfere with her dancing session, I hurried to the large double doors that led inside the ballroom, poked my head inside, and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you. I just heard the music and wondered what was going on.”

She frowned and used the dial on her watch to turn down the music’s volume. “What did you say?” Her brow was furrowed, like she hadn’t heard me over the music.

Which made sense. It had been loud.

Since I’d already interrupted her dancing session, I opened the door the rest of the way to step into the large ballroom. “I said I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just dropping off the crockpot your mom brought over when she came to visit my mom yesterday and heard the music.”

“Y-you weren’t standing there for long then?” she asked, the apprehensive look on her face telling me she was self-conscious of being watched without knowing it.

I could have lied and saved us both some embarrassment, but instead of hiding my admiration of her dancing, I said, “I was only here for a minute or two.”

“Two minutes?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks colored a beautiful shade of rosy pink.

“Maybe only one?” I hurried to say before she could become too embarrassed, or self-conscious, or whatever emotion she was feeling. “I promise I wasn’t trying to spy on you. I just…” I sighed, knowing I probably wasn’t coming across very well. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance before, and I couldn’t help but watch.”

She looked down at her satin pointe shoes and swallowed. “I don’t usually dance when anyone is around these days.”

“No?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Do you still practice a lot?”

---