“Stuff it,” he says. “You love me.” He slaps my butt as he passes by, and I whirl to whack him with my hat. The girls follow after him, hugging me, telling me they’re excited and that I did so good.

I really did.

I flip off the light and swing the door closed with a click, leaving the room dark and quiet and waiting for us, the music, the audience, for showtime.

13

There’s so much to worry about. The adrenaline from our escapade makes it hard to sleep, and hard to sleep means hard to dance the next morning. Crack of dawn, because I woke in a panic, realizing how little work I’ve done on my showcase piece lately, how far behind I suddenly feel. Nothing but burlesque on my mind, but what about the rest of my life?

My steps are illuminated; shadows follow behind me on the pale sprung wood floor of the studio as I extend and bend and stretch through my piece. Flying up, landing solidly, relieved that the choreography’s still branded into my muscles, pushing through the low sweep and the broad leap. Still, even though my body is performing, I keep having to ignore thoughts that slide into my brain about things other than the showcase. Also have to ignore my phone, which I should have left screen-side down, because every so often I see it light up, and at a pause in my choreography, I give in to temptation.

Magic, the preview of Taylor’s message reads, and then no, Taylor from Nevaeh below that.

And then photo shoot tonight, from Katherine.

My stomach does the thing where it springs up and spins in a circle, bumping against my heart and making it wobble. Katherine has booked a basement rehearsal room for after dinner, and Jack will come around eight. Hard to say which part of all this is making my heart wobble the most: being photographed, being photographed by Jack, or the deadline for choreographing this act that not only requires removing my clothes, but removing them in an exciting and creative and clever enough way that people are happy to have spent their money on watching me do it.

But then I think of that video, the one of me at the party. And how confident and amazing I look in it. I set my phone back down on the floor, shut my eyes, and picture myself prowling around Taylor like a lioness. Visualizing the scene, I let myself open up into that new space where I am delightfully free, undeniably hot, and full of joy or something like it. Not bulletproof, because that’s having a protective shell. Just not needing one at all.

“New showcase moves?” Carly’s amused voice rings out over the music.