Page 75 of Teach Me to Fly

The bottle in my hand sweats and I track the bead of water running down its neck.

“My father always said Lando didn’t like the attention,” I murmur after a long pause. “That he preferred supporting roles because leads made him uncomfortable.”

Terry scoffs. “That doesn’t sound like Lando.”

No. It doesn’t. It never really did.

I keep my gaze fixed on the table; brow furrowed as something cold twists in my chest. I think about the way Lando laughs when the spotlight is on him at parties, how he owns a room without even trying, dancing like he’s on fire.

I wonder if my father never gave him the lead because he thought it would scandalize or stain the company’s precious legacy somehow. It’s no secret he hasn’t been supportive of Lando’s sexuality. I make a mental note to talk to them both about this. I won’t watch from the sidelines anymore.

“Anyway,” Terry says, taking another swig. “We should let Lando take more leads in future productions. He’s ready.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as he nurses what’s left of his beer. I rarely talk much—Terry’s used to filling the silence—but tonight I need to say something.

“I’ve been composing,” I say, taking a quick swig from my bottle.

His eyes jump up. “Composing what?”

“Music,” I reply, fingers tightening around the bottle. “Mostly piano pieces, some full scores. It started small, but now it’s... something I do when I’m not dancing…something I’m considering doing instead of dancing.”

Terry stares at me for a beat, then breaks into a grin. “Seriously?”

I nod.

“That’s fucking sick,” he says. “You gonna let me hear something?”

“Yeah,” I say, then hesitate. “Terry, I want my music in our Swan Lake production.”

His eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” I say. “I’ve rewritten a few scenes. Just alternative themes—variations on Tchaikovsky’s structure. I think it could give the production something different.”

Terry blinks, then slowly a wicked grin spreads across his face.

“No fucking way,” he says. “Reign Harrington going rogue on a classic? You have to show me.”

“I will,” I say. “Tomorrow.”

He looks like he’s about to explode. “Mate, this could be insane. A modernized Swan Lake with your music? Angelique dancing to you? That’s got revolutionary written all over it.”

I’m about to say something else when my phone vibrates. I flip it over and see a text from Angelique. It’s a photo of Lando in the middle of a crowd, champagne being poured down his entire face, grinning.

Angel:

Your brother has started a riot.

I exhale a laugh through my nose and rise, grabbing my leather jacket off the back of the chair.

“There’s a party we have to get to.”

Terry grins like he’s just been called into battle. “Lando’s?”

“Where else?”

He chugs the rest of his beer, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then stands, pulling on his jacket.

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