Page 37 of Taking It To Overtime

It takes an eternity, his back rising and falling as he breathes in and out. A millennium as her brain turns over and over and over with the possibilities. He said yes to be nice, because she’s his best friend. Her question gave it all away. He’s going to know she has asomethingfor him—nota crush, thank you—and it’ll ruin everything between them. It’ll be like last year all over again. This time, he’ll be the one to pull away.

The yard is still as the sky turns dark purple, shadows lengthening across the grass. She’d spent hours out here the day before, pulling up weeds in the flower beds and helping spreadfresh mulch. They’d trimmed each hedge that separated her house from the house next door until the tops were flat. A wall of greenery keeping the outside world out, and her in.

“You’re pretty on stage.”

She startles at the sound of Robbie’s voice. Out in the yard, fireflies flicker. Their lights pulsing in the dark.

“You’re so happy when you dance. Doing what you’re meant to do.” Robbie leans back in his palms, looking up at the deep blue sky. The porch light makes it too bright to see the stars, but they’re out there.

“Really?” Of course her parents tell her she’s a wonderful dancer. Theyoohandahhover her performances. They buy her bouquets bursting with flowers and take her into the city to watch the Rockettes at Christmas. She knows she spends more time at the studio than most other kids, and that late rehearsals often mean the family can’t eat dinner together. They tell her all the time she’s meant for greatness.

It’s different when Robbie says it.

“Yes,” he says, the simple word vibrating the very marrow of her bones. “I bet you’ll be a prima ballerina someday.”

Vera doesn’t know about all that, but it would be fun to live in a big city and dance every day. To sit in the front row at fashion shows and have her hair and makeup done by professionals as she sips a smoothie in a fancy chair with her name on the back. She likes the idea of seeing herself in magazines. Of some little girl picking one up and seeing her there, freckles and all, and making big plans too.

“Professional dancers don’t come from Kimmelwick.” She shrugs. “But I could teach one day.”

The sound that comes out of Robbie’s mouth is something between a scoff and a grunt. He stares at her, dark browns dipped together and eyes narrowed.

“Don’t talk like that.” He says. “You’re going to do amazing things, Vera. Someday the whole world will know your name.” She shrugs. Robbie has never lied to her, not once, but she’s not sure she believes him. ”Can I can go pro? With hockey?”

That’s a ludicrous question. He’s incredible on the ice, fast and agile. He seems to know where the puck will go before it gets there. Especially when he plays with the twins.

“Of course.” It’s not even a question. “Someone always has to be the first.”

His grin gleams in the light from the wall.

“Pot, kettle.”

It’s her turn to smile, even chuckle. “That’s not how that phrase goes, Robbie.”

He shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

She does. “Fine. I’ll be world famous and you’ll make it to the NHL and we’ll both leave this tiny little town.”

He holds his hand out in front of her. “Deal.”

She wants to ask if they’ll make it together. If they’ll always be best friends. If even when they’re old and living their dreams. When he’s hoisted a Stanley and she’s danced on stage at Lincoln Center, that they’ll still look for each other. Still support each other.

Still be Vera and Robbie.

Forever.

“Vera.” They both turn toward the door and the sound of her mom’s voice. “Where are you, honey? There’s someone I want you to meet.”

She’s off the back steps like a rocket, legs pumping as she bolts for the far row of hedges. Robbie is hot on her heels. He could easily overtake her, but stays a few steps behind, letting her lead the way. She does not want to go into the party. She does not want to meet anyone. Especially in this stupid dress. She kicks off her shoes to move faster, ducking into the secretspot where the hedges thin out and Robbie slides in after her, almost running smack into her back.

“Why are we running?” He asks, cupping her elbow in his hand and turning her to face him. “I’m with you no matter what, but I do like to know what I’m up against.”

They’re hidden behind the layers of foliage, the noise of the party a distant hum of sound and even the light is muted back here, hazy. It reminds her of that book she borrowed from her mom’s bedroom, the one with balls and high society and the very idea that being alone with a boy—or man—would mean marriage.

“I didn’t want her to find me,” she says, and he drops his head to hide his laugh.

“I know that.” He looks up at her from under inky lashes, eyes obsidian in the dark. “Why?”

Because everyone she’s met tonight has treated her like a five-year-old. They’ve pinched her cheeks and called her cute. She blames the dress. She blames her mother. Shewantedto go to the movies with Robbie and the twins—and yes, that’s a moot point now that he’s standing in the hedges with her—but she would honestly rather run the mile at school than be here for another minute. And her mom will just look for her if she goes to hide in her room.

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