Being Hartley (16 page)

Devil (aka Sonja): Your mom isn't here.
Erik isn't here. What have you got to lose? It's only one tiny dance. Nothing, really. You may never get this chance again!

Angel (aka Mom): Once you go out there, there's no going back.
The entire world will know who you are.

The thing is, in situations like this, it's the devil who usually wins.

And today?

Well, today, it seems is no different.
Because, with a gulp, I step left into the aisle toward Sonja and take my first step toward my dancing debut.

-
18
-

Sonja practically frog-marches me
toward the stage, and oddly, tugs roughly at my hair band as we go, telling me, "No hair bands on stage!" It pulls out, and my hair, of course, goes flying, springing out everywhere, as if it has a life of its own (which it does).

"Ow!" I say, rubbing at the spot where she pulled more than a few hairs out.

"Oh, dear. So sorry!" she chirps, then is gone, ducking behind a black curtain.

An escort then guides me up the steps.
As I climb them, I'm torn between not being able to wait to take my place beside Noah, where I've imagined myself for so long, and wanting to turn around, run back down the steps, hide underneath my seat, and quiver like a gelatin-based dessert.

"Looks like we have ourselves an undiscovered Hartley!" the host says to the audience when she registers my hair.
And my face must absolutely fall when she says this, because I think she gets instantly that this is the worst possible thing she could have said, that I am, actually, a Hartley, and that she's made a huge, huge gaffe.

As the audience calms down, the host holds one hand to her ear
, and I realize someone's speaking into her earpiece. When there's enough quiet for her to speak again, she asks me, "Your surname isn't Hartley by any chance, is it?"

"No," I tell her, shaking my head hard.

"And your first name, sweetie?"

"Thea," I tell her.

"Well, Thea, I'd say you're one of the luckiest young ladies on the face of the planet, because today you're dancing with Noah Hoffman!"

With this, Noah steps forward to retrieve me from the emcee, grinning the biggest grin I've ever seen on his face.
He offers me his hand, and in that moment of standing there, on stage, under the bright lights, Noah in front of me, arm outstretched and waiting to dance with me, the audience going nuts at the mention of Noah's name, I realize something…

There's no going back now.
I'm up here, the spotlight's shining upon me. I may as well enjoy myself.

So, I reach out, accept Noah's hand for a second time
, and then we take our place on the
SMD
stage.

Together.

Military school, here I come.

* * *

I totally mess up the first bit of "Lucky Star" because I'm so incredibly nervous, I just kind of lose all control over my body. There're so many people out there, all staring at me, waiting for me to trip over my own feet and laugh and…

Noah circles me, making it look like he's doing some super-cool impromptu move, rather than, well, you know…circling me to check out what on earth I'm doing.
"Thea," he says, staring me straight in the eye as he passes by, "stop thinking so hard." He circles around the back of me and then meets my eye again as he passes in front of me. "You can do this. I know you can. Rory told me how much you practice. Just pretend you're at home. Okay, you ready? We're going to hit it this time. You and me. Side by side. Five, six, seven, eight and…"

I can't do this.
I can't do this. I can't do this. But then Noah's words actually enter my brain. "Just pretend you're at home." It's the most perfect thing he could have said to me at exactly the right time. Because this is what I love to do best at home—practice along with
SMD
. Now, with the sequence starting over again, I try my best to block out the audience and do what I do every week in front of the TV, instead. Because Noah's right. I can do this. I know I can, because I do it all the time. I do it every single week.

And, this time around, with Noah by my side, I defeat "Lucky Star."

I even go one step further and teach Noah the few extra moves I picked up from Madonna herself on YouTube.

Next to me, Noah's eyes slide sideways to meet mine with a twinkle.
"Looking good, partner! Show me again with the arms, and I'll try and pick it up."

"You'll
try
and pick it up. Nice one. Okay, ready?" I take him through the arm work, and of course, he gets it in no time. In fact, he has it down even before I'm all the way through, having seen what I was doing the first time around. "Looks like you've got it, then," I tell him. "Ready for some more?"

"Hit me with it," Noah laughs.

So, this time, I add a little more again (must remember to email Madonna and say thanks). And, this time, Noah follows along with me. "Oh, one more thing," I tell him, as we keep dancing. "Some flashy star-like jazz hands. Let's not forget those."

Noah cracks up, but adds in the flashy jazz hands.
"Like this?"

"Please. A bit more effort!
What would Madonna say?"

He ramps it up.
"Enough for you?"

"Just," I puff.
And I thought I was in some kind of shape. I guess not.

"Okay," Noah says, glancing over at me.
"This is the last time around before we move on, so make it good. Add it all in. And, here we go…"

I completely lose myself as Noah counts us in and we start over.
In a good way, I mean. This time, I forget to be nervous, I forget to count, I forget about the audience, I forget about my mom, I forget…everything. Instead, I dance. With Noah.

I live my
SMD
dream.

And, as "Lucky Star" winds up and Noah and I laugh ourselves sick going jazz-hand crazy, I can barely believe how happy I am, or how much fun I'm having.
I guess the audience is, too, because they go crazy when the song ends and the emcee laughs, "It looks like Noah's learning a thing or two about dancing out there today!"

Noah moves to face me, smiles
, and then reaches over and pulls me in beside him, raising one of my arms alongside his in victory.

The crowd goes even wilder.

"I think they liked it," Noah says, letting our arms slide back down.

"Urp," I end up saying, which I think is a strange combination of "um" and "yep."
And I know it's not cool, but I can't quit grinning from ear to ear. Seriously, my face actually hurts I'm grinning so hard. Maybe that's a good enough reply?

The rest of the participation segment goes by so quickly it's like I'm living it in fast-forward.
But I manage to stay in the moment and enjoy myself, because I know that if I don't, I'll kick myself forever. This is my one chance—to dance on stage, on
SMD
, on TV, in front of millions of people, with my dream partner Noah Hoffman.

It doesn't get any better than this.

It is, without a doubt, easily the best twelve minutes of my life. And even if I do have to go to military school, it will have been worth it to dance with Noah and the
SMD
team for those sweet, sweet twelve minutes on stage. By the end, I'm practically crying, and I don't know whether it's with happiness, relief, or something else entirely.

At the end of the segment, the emcee asks each of the
SMD
dancers to step forward along with their chosen partner, and the audience claps.

As Noah and I were up front, stage left, I hadn't really been able to see the other dancers much at all, so it's interesting to see who gets cheered the most.
Mara's guy must have been good after all, because he gets a huge round of applause, and Rory's mom must have been funny, because everyone laughs and claps when Rory brings her out front.

Noah and I are last to come forward.
He grasps my hand and as we walk, he asks me, "Know anything about West Coast swing?"

"Er, no," I say, sounding more than slightly worried.

"Oh, well. I'll keep it easy for you, then. Left-side underarm turn with dip, okay?"

"Not okay!" I squeak, thinking this is one dip-happy guy I have on my hands, but as he starts pulling my right hand, I go with it, spin and fall into the dip.

And then, I gaze out at the audience and watch them go absolutely, completely, crazy. There's screaming, there's yelling, there's whistling, there are kids jumping up and down on their seats. There's even a rumble that gets louder and louder as more and more people join in the stamping that's going on on the floor.

"You're a natural." Noah looks down at me, before lifting me up again.
"I get the feeling they like you."

"No," I tell him, my eyes meeting his.
Suddenly, I feel brave enough in the moment to say what I'm thinking. "I think they like
us
."

* * *

The problem is, as soon as my twelve minutes of fame are up and I get off the stage, my new reality hits me like a plank of wood to the head.

I just totally embarrassed myself in front of Noah Hoffman. Like a total groupie, I practically told him I think we're going out together or something. I told him there's an "us." An "us"! What am I doing? There is no "us." There's Noah wanting to get to know me better because I'm Rory's cousin and that's it. Well, maybe there's a little more to it. Sure, we get along great, but so what? Like I keep trying to remind myself, I'm out of here in five minutes. My mom will make sure of that.

Oh, yes. Mom. Not to mention Mom is going to kill me over this.

Kill. Me.

I stand, stock-still, backstage, as the other audience participants are herded up and given escorts to take them back to their seats and wonder how on earth I can save my skin. I'm not coming up with anything much when a hand lands on my right shoulder and goose bumps immediately shoot up all over my body. Mom's found out already.

"Thea!" I pivot to see it's not my mom, but pitchfork-wielding Sonja from my other shoulder.
"You were fantastic. A true Hartley!"

"Thanks," I say.
They're not exactly the words I'm looking to hear. Now that I think about it, I would have been better off acting more like a true Wallis and indulging in the kind of two left feet old-fashioned dancing I've seen my dad do at weddings. "I don't think…my mom…I…" I start, but Sonja cuts me off.

"Oh, don't worry about any of that.
We'll smooth everything out later with your mother." She waves my worries away. "Now, are you going back out into the audience, or do you want to wait in the green room?"

I gulp.
"I think I might, um…go."

"Sure, back to your suite?
I'll get you an escort out." Sonja spins around and beckons someone over. "This is Cassie Hartley's daughter, Thea. She'd like to go back to her suite. Via the back way, I think."

"Of course," the escort says, with a nod.
This time, someone else again—a brunette with braids. "Are you ready to go now?" she asks me.

I nod back.

"This way, please," she says, starting off.

As I follow her, my feet, so light and responsive on stage, feel awfully heavy and move reluctantly.

"Joining us for the show tomorrow, Thea?" Sonja calls out as we go.

"Um," I turn back.
"I'm not sure." I don't feel sure about anything anymore. Which is weird, because just five minutes ago, just yards away on the stage, I'd felt so very sure about everything.

"No problem.
There's always room for you. Out front, or backstage. Wherever you'd like."

"Thanks," I say, sounding more than a little flat, and I follow the escort further backstage.
We walk down a long corridor, past the green room, and onward. Waves of dread wash over me, as if I'm being escorted to meet a firing squad, rather than to a luxury Bellagio suite.

Finally, we get to the bank of elevators that will whisk me back to the suite.
And Mom. If she's there. Which she may well be if she's finished with her interviews. "Um, I've changed my mind. I might go for a walk," I say to the escort.

"Oh," she replies, her brow wrinkling.
"Oh, um. I think it would be better if I took you back to your suite."

"No, really.
It's fine," I tell her, seeing that she's freaking out a little. Sonja had handed me over as Cassie Hartley's daughter who was going back to her suite, and now I'm not.

She bites her lip for a second. "I'd really prefer it if I could take you back to your suite."

I sigh, realizing it's going to be easier to get in the elevator, get out of the elevator again, stick my card in the suite door, wave goodbye to the escort, close the door, and then do whatever it is I want to do without anyone hovering over me. So, I guess I know how Rory feels now. "Fine," I say, giving in. "Let's go."

"Thanks," she says.
"Sorry."

"It's okay," I tell her as the elevator doors open. It's not her fault, I know. As we get in, I swipe my card to access the right floor, press the floor number, then grab my cell and text Allie.

SOS. Have done something stupid.

Her reply comes zipping back smartly.

Fantastic! Too boring here. Am in suite. Where are you?

I text her back, my fingers flying.