Page 59 of Your Echo
“Actually, we’re here because none of you have any respect for personal boundaries,” I seethe. “I neverinvitedyou to come with me.”
“But we want to see hot yoga chick in tights!”
NowI’mthe one giving JP a death glare.
“If I hadn’t promised myself I’d never write a story about your band again, I would definitely be writing a story about this,” Kay muses.
I tried to pass off my being here tonight as a simple act of supporting a friend, but the guys saw right through it, and somehow we all ended up standing here outside the high school auditorium where the showcase is being held.
“Fuck it,” I grumble, heading over to where a stand is set up for people to buy flowers.
I hear the guys hooting behind me.
“I’ll take that,” I tell the woman at the stand, pointing to the first bouquet I see. It’s a half dozen light pink roses.
“Parfait!Would you like to keep them with you, or should I send them backstage to someone?”
I give her Stéphanie’s name and pay for the flowers. The woman hands me a small card to write a message on, and I scrawl a quick note:
Does it sound bad if I tell you I hope your kids all break a leg? –Ace
When I’m finished, the auditorium doors have opened. I rejoin the group so we can find our seats. Mine is on the edge, beside Matt. He turns to face me, blocking us off from everyone else.
“You really do like her, huh?”
I shrug.
“I know you like her. We’re at a fucking ballet show, Ace. I just wanted to say...I’m happy for you. You haven’t missed a rehearsal or been late for a meeting in weeks. Whatever this girl is doing for you, it’s working.”
The house lights dim, and we all focus our attention on the stage. Some woman with a frizz ball of hair comes on and makes a prolonged and overdramatic speech, and then a dance number finally starts.
And then another one.
And another one.
The shit goes on and on until I swear I’m going to start throwing things at the stage if I have to see one more kid dressed like a flower jump around to a Katy Perry song. I scan the program and see there’s still four more numbers to go until something choreographed by Stéphanie comes on.
Somehow, I survive the next fifteen minutes. I sit up straighter in my chair when some piece of classical music I recognize but can’t name starts playing through the auditorium speakers. A few girls who can’t be any older than six start skipping onto the stage in pink outfits.
The one leading the group seems to forget she’s supposed to keep moving once she reaches the middle of the stage. All the others bump into her like a cartoon pileup. The audience laughs. I try not to groan out loud.
Then Stéphanie steps onto the stage.
She’s in a black leotard and white tights, with a translucent pink skirt type-thing wrapped around her waist. Her hair is in a bun on the top of her head, and when she moves, I can see every perfectly defined muscle in her body flex.
She does some kind of twirl that gets her to the middle of the stage in a few steps, and then starts leading the train of girls through their routine. They don’t do much besides point their feet in front of them and spin around with their hands on their shoulders, but even in those simple movements, I can see how skilled Stéphanie is. I doubt even the kids’ parents are watching anyone but her right now.
She’s perfect. She’s absolutely, breathtakingly perfect.
Once she’s skipped off stage with the girls, I turn to find Kay and the guys all staring at me. JP flashes me a thumbs up. I give him the finger.
When the intermission is finally announced, Matt hums the ‘Hallelujah’ chorus and leads the way to a vending machine in the lobby. While the guys get chocolate bars and bags of chips, I scan the growing crowd. Parents are giving flowers to kids wearing terrifying amounts of makeup. I can see a few people who seem to be dance teachers shaking people’s hands, but I don’t catch any sight of Stéphanie.
I pull out my wallet to see if I have any coins to get chips with, and that’s when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Hey.”
I turn around and she’s standing there, a printed black dress thrown over her tights and leotard. She’s holding the bouquet I bought. I feel my jaw drop.
