Page 18 of Pretty Little Lies

“Good luck,” Silvia says sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she sits up in bed and closes the book she was reading. Making her way across her Paris-chic decorated room, Silvia reaches me before I can turn away. “Hey, are you okay?” She grips my wrist as she looks up into my eyes, a hint of concern in her gaze.

“Always,” I promise and pat the back of her hand before pulling my arm away. Leave it to Silvia to see right through me. I swear, for a younger sister who’s supposed to be innocent of the reality of our family, she’s far too perceptive sometimes.

9

ANYA

“Very good,” Professor Moriari praises as he watches Fin and me practicing one of our lifts for our showcase number. “Miss Orlov, you need to tighten your core more. You might not be a limp noodle for Mr. Tanaka to lift, but you’re al dente at best. He needs more stability than that unless you want him to drop you one of these days.”

A blush warms my cheeks, and I nod enthusiastically.

Fin snickers quietly beside me as Professor Moriari moves on to his next pair of students to watch their progress.

“Yes, no more cooked noodles for me,” Fin murmurs as soon as the professor is out of earshot. “Only raw, crunchy pasta gets to dance with me on stage.”

I give his shoulder a light shove and follow it up with a smile. While I had been reticent at first when Professor Moriari paired me with Logan’s quiet friend, I’ve come to appreciate my partner immensely over the past week. Being unfamiliar with paired dancing, I wasn’t so sure having a partner for the showcase would help me put my best foot forward. But Fin is actually quite an exceptional dancer, and I find I’m able to truly challenge myself in our routine without being entirely out of my element. Now I’m only worried I’m going to let Fin down because we’ve chosen an impossibly difficult number fromSwan Lakethat will either showcase just how good we are or send us falling back to the earth in a ball of flaming failure.

“I promise I’ll get better,” I insist.

“You’re already improving,” Fin says more seriously. “Come on. Lighten up. This is only your second week of dancing with a partner, and lifts are a whole new ball game. I, on the other hand, am essentially made for this,” he teases, striking a proud pose. “So I’m used to it,” he adds, deflating.

I laugh, grateful that he can still manage to make light of it, even though I’m sure he would much prefer a partner who’s more familiar with pair dancing. Unfortunately, that’s one of the few areas where my training has been less than sufficient in my other programs, seeing as male ballet dancers flock to the prestigious schools, and since there are far fewer of them on the whole, they almost never get turned away.

“Besides, you’re one of the strongest dancers here otherwise, and I’d much prefer you make us look good by bringing all the beauty. I can handle the brawn.”

Chuckling, I shake my head. I don’t know how I got so lucky to have Fin as a partner, but I think we might make a splash at the autumn showcase if only I can keep my core strong.

“Take three hundred and seventy-three?” Fin suggests lightly, holding out his hand.

I take it with a smile before composing myself and going en pointe. Fin steps forward confidently, his strong hands bracing my hips as he spins me once, twice, and I extend my foot backward, arching my back into a swan shape as I round my arm. We shift in tandem, Fin adjusting his center of gravity as I leap and twist, turning to face away from him. His hands find the small of my back and raise me effortlessly.

With all the strength I can muster, I tighten my core, trying to hold myself steady even as I sweep my arms up into an arc. I can feel my muscles quivering with the effort, but I refuse to be a noodle of any sort.

And then my momentary weightlessness ends as Fin lowers me gently back onto the floor, my dance slippers touching down so lightly I almost don’t hear the sound. Excitement floods me as I realize I actually did much better that time. I spin to smile broadly at my partner, who returns my grin wholeheartedly.

Slow rhythmic clapping interrupts my relief, and I look to find its source.

“Brava,” Professor Moriari says from across the room, where he stands next to Logan and his dance partner, but his eyes are on Fin and me.

I give a shy curtsy as the other students turn to see who’s receiving acknowledgment from our professor.

“See? What’d I tell you? We’ll have this routine down easy-peasy by the autumn showcase,” Fin says.

I raise an eyebrow at him. That is definitely not what he said when we landed on this piece. “I’m pretty sure your exact words were, ‘Hell, it’s only my senior year. When we fail at this completely, I’m sure the scouts won’t laugh at me. They’ll be happy to give me another chance.’”

“Me? I said that? Nooo,” Fin objects. “I’m pretty sure that was you.”

“Fin, I’m a junior,” I remind him dryly.

“Okay, fine. I’ll eat crow and admit you were right. If we can pull this off, we’re going to knock their socks off.”

“Come on. I want to practice transitioning from the lift into the next part of the piece.”

Fin nods agreeably, shifting from his playful humor into a laser-focused performer.

I know it’s still early in our practice for the showcase, but after my breakthrough moment of understanding how I’m supposed to help Fin with our lifts, I feel much more confident that we’ll have enough time to put together something we can both be proud to perform. And since we’re also meeting every day after school for an extra hour of practice, no one can claim we aren’t giving it our best shot.

“A round of applause from Professor Moriari today, huh?” Whitney says, bumping my shoulder encouragingly with her own as we walk together to our next class.

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