Chapter 1: The Day I Met Daniel Reyes.
Elena POV
I sit on the bleachers of a gym due to the fact that my ballet flats were torn.
The reason to be there, rather than the studio, is a foolish one, but the only one slipped off in the middle of lunch, and I did not want to dance on planked wood. So I have bare feet, and my toes are huddling in the cold metal, and I stretch out my calves and the noise of after school is swelling round me.
That is when one says, You look like you are going to jump.
I glance up.
He is leaning on the railing, long, lazy, his jacket slung over his shoulder as though there is no pressing business he has. Dark hair, easy smile. It is the type of face people will trust without even noticing that they are.
“I’m not,” I say.
He grins anyway. “You sure? You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
Just like you are never coming in the door.
I frown, lowering my leg. “Do I know you?”
He says, Daniel, the way we have already begun something with him holding his hand out. “Daniel Reyes.”
“Elena,” I reply, shaking it. His grip is warm, confident. It will last a second longer than it should.
He nods toward my bag. “You dance.”
It’s not a question.
“Ballet,” I say.
“Figures.”
“For what?”
He shrugs. You have yourself like beats to count.
I laugh and I am unable to stop. It falls out, fast and shocked. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is,” he says easily. You simply do not come to realize it since it is normal to you.
I study him then. The manner with which he speaks makes out that he has decided something about me. The manner in which he appears not nervous at all.
“What about you?” I ask. You psychoanalyze people you do not know?
“Only the interesting ones.”
His name is called by someone on the other side of the gym. He looks and looks at me, and then back again, as though he is debating the issue whether to go.
“I’ve got practice,” he says. “But I want to see you again.”
The words land cleanly. No hesitation. No games.
I blink. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” he replies. “You’re not afraid of work. You just forget to rest.”
This ought to make me uneasy.
Better said, it is more like my chest tightening in a dangerously near way of excitement.
“When?” I ask.
“Tonight,” he says. “After rehearsal. By the square there is a coffee place.
I say automatically, I have rehearsal.
He tilts his head, studying me. “Late?”
“Always.”
He smiles. Not annoyed. Not disappointed. Just patient. “Then after.”
I hesitate. I don’t say yes. I don’t say no.
Daniel is already turning his back. “I’ll wait.”
“Wait for what?”
In order to determine your decision, he says behind his back.
I stare at him as he walks away, longer than I intend to.
No one ever waited to me.
And I know not yet--but already something has changed, silent and impossible to turn back, the moment I think of letting him.
