The Hit List

THE HIT LIST

NIKKI URANG

S
PENCER
H
ILL
C
ONTEMPORARY

Copyright © 2014 by Nikki Urang

Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

Spencer Hill Press

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact: Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA

Please visit our website at
www.spencerhillpress.com

First Edition: November 2014
Nikki Urang
The Hit List: a novel / by Nikki Urang – 1st ed.
p.cm
Summary: Aspiring dancer who was betrayed by her former partner must start over in a new conservatory where she becomes the focus of a game of sexual conquest.
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this fiction: iPod, Frisbee, Fortune 500, Google

Cover design and interior layout by Jenny Perinovic

ISBN 978-1-939392-32-9 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-939392-31-2 (e-book)

Printed in the United States of America

For my family

1

I
N A WORLD OF MEDIOCRE TALENT, ONLY THE EXCEPTIONAL SURVIVE
. T
HEY THRIVE OR WITHER, SOAR OR FALL, EXCEL OR FAIL – AND TO THAT, THERE ARE NO EXCEPTIONS
.

I never should’ve agreed to do that stupid article. I shove the magazine back onto the shelf and pull another magazine over the top to partially cover it. Not that it will do any good. The bright red letters of the “Jeté” in
Jeté Magazine
are recognizable to half the students here. It’s probably the most popular magazine at our little campus book store. Even hidden, my naive happiness taunts me from the glossy page.

My huge performance smile on the cover makes me look fake, even though it was genuine at the time. My blond hair was brown then, and it curls around my face and shoulders. Patrick’s picture is farther down the page, hidden by the fitness magazine I used to conceal it.

Good. I’d prefer not to see him again anytime soon.

The feelings I thought he had for me were nothing more than a joke. I was only there to fill the void until he could move on to bigger and better things.

Without me.

I pull the magazine out again and snatch the last three copies off the shelf before I walk to the counter. No one else will have a chance to see it if I buy them all.

The blond girl at the register looks bored as she picks at her fingernails. Her Los Angeles Conservatory for the Arts T-shirt is tied at the back to offset the bagginess of the fabric. I set the magazines down on the counter, and she lazily scans each of them and pushes some buttons on the computer.

“This issue has been really popular. I’ve sold like twenty today already.” Her eyes stay glued to the screen as she finishes the transaction.

That was a detail I didn’t need to know.

She looks up to grab my credit card and freezes with her hand outstretched. “Hey, wait. You’re her. You’re Sadie Bryant,” she says, pointing at my face on the cover. Her eyes widen as they scan me.

I say nothing and shift my bag onto my other shoulder and glance around. “Thanks,” I mutter. I grab the bag and rush out of the door.

Four days into my fresh start and it’s already ruined.

The bright California sun does little to lighten my mood. My dorm is in the main building across the quad. I just want to get there without anyone else noticing me from the article. Easier said than done since the sidewalks are filled with upperclassmen coming back to campus on move-in day. I dodge around students as I make my way down the sidewalk.

Trees grow randomly throughout the space. They’re unnatural against the backdrop of businesses and buildings that line one of the busiest roads in the city. A fountain rests in the middle of the yard. Water shoots six feet in the air and cascades back down around the dancer standing at the center. The mirrored walls holding The Conservatory reflect the sun and throw it back across the surface of the water.

A group of girls walk down the sidewalk, leaving no room for anyone else. They split to walk on either side of me. The red head closest to me meets my gaze and frowns. She whispers something to her friend. They both turn to look back at me with confused expressions. As soon as I see the top of the magazine the red head pulls out of her bag, I turn back toward the dorms and walk faster. I refuse to meet anyone else’s eyes. Too many people have already seen the article. Too many people already know who I am. I don’t want to answer questions.

The article was supposed to be featured in one of the spring issues, but it got pushed back. I’d been counting on the buzz to die down over the summer before school started again. On par with my stellar track record of luck, it released on move-in day instead.

Laughter seeps out of the crowds toward me. When I look up, two blondes sit hunched together behind the magazine. They look up at me and then whisper.

So much for starting over.

My grip tightens on my bag. That article won’t define me. I came here for a reason, to start over, to live my life how I want, to forget about everyone back in New York who had no problem forgetting about me first.

I can be the exception, the one who comes back from injury and a failed partnership to achieve greatness.

“Sadie!”

I whip around at the sound of my name. Brielle and Adam jog toward me. Brielle wraps her arm around my shoulders in a half-hug when she reaches me.

“Hey, roomie.” Brielle runs a hand through her bangs to get them off her face. A few strands of her brown hair fall forward again to frame the edge of her cheek and curl around her chin.

“Hey, guys.”

I pull out of her grasp and lean away from her. Brielle moved in this morning, but she acts like we’re best friends already. I don’t want to make it awkward, but I don’t need friends here—especially not ones that I’ll spend the entire year in competition with. Even the way she stands marks her as competition, with her posture and perfect turnout. Brielle’s been classically trained for years, which ratchets her up a few notches on my competition meter. The whole reason I’d made the decision to come to The Conservatory instead of staying closer to home at New York Academy, the school feeding directly into the New York Ballet Company, was to get away from classical ballet. The only thing it symbolizes for me now is everything I’ve lost.

“So, I found something special this morning.” Brielle pulls the magazine out of her bag and holds it up in front of her. “Look how adorable you are.”

I sigh. I’m never going to be able to escape this. My face is everywhere. Which means my story is too. The past doesn’t seem to want to let me go.

The article was supposed to talk about how Patrick and I were one step away from the New York Ballet Company. Except the interviewer came about a week too late. I’d already gotten hurt. I guess he did the only thing he could. He wrote about how Patrick was the new shining star at NYBC and pretty much painted me as a has-been.

“How did you even get that so fast?” I ask. I know it’s popular, but not this many people should know about it yet. It just went on sale today.

Brielle raises an eyebrow, like that’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard. “Priorities, Sadie. I picked it up on the way to campus this morning.”

Of course. Priorities.

“It’s a good article.” Adam takes the magazine from Brielle and flips through it. He’s a little taller than me. Sections of his wavy hair cling together where his hair product wasn’t applied evenly. His button-up shirt stretches tight across his broad chest.

Brielle puts her arm on Adam’s shoulder and leans into me. “So what really happened with your partner? The article was kind of vague. Did he cheat on you? Is that why you left New York?”

I should be more prepared for this. I should have the answers to these questions rehearsed and be able to repeat them back in my sleep, whether they’re the truth or not.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

But I don’t. I guess I hoped the whole thing would disappear.

Adam glances at Brielle, silent communication passing between them. I let them have their moment and continue toward the dorms.

It’d be easier if Patrick had cheated. At least then I would feel like he left me for someone else. In reality, he left me for himself and his career. He was the one who caused the hip injury that took me out for six months. He was the reason the New York Ballet Company didn’t offer me a spot.

When NYBC offered him a place in their company, he didn’t bat an eyelash before accepting, even though we were both supposed to go. Together. But he didn’t care. My injury meant nothing to him. He didn’t see how I fell apart as my career disappeared and I watched him get everything I ever wanted.

Adam nudges my side with his elbow. “Are you nervous about class tomorrow?”

I smile, grateful for the change in subject. “No, I’m actually excited.”

I can’t wait to get back into a routine again. It hasn’t been that long since I was in the studio for rehearsal and I’ve been trying to get in some time every day during orientation, but it’s not the same. I’m anxious to meet the teachers, learn new things, and to feel the familiar smoothness of the wooden barre under my hand again.

Brielle links her arm with mine. “I don’t want to think about class until tomorrow. Let’s go get lunch. It’s Tuesday and the cafeteria has epic tacos on Tuesdays.”

Adam smiles. “They are seriously amazing. Just you wait.”

“Let’s go eat then.”

I take a step toward the main building when a Frisbee skids across the sidewalk and hits my left foot. Brielle picks it up and looks around for the person who threw it. Her face morphs into one of displeasure almost instantly at the guy jogging over to us. She looks like she’s still going to throw it across the lawn in the opposite direction of where it came, but Adam grabs her arm and stops her. She sighs and drops her arm to her side.

“Hey, guys.” Frisbee guy’s brown hair clings to his forehead. He’s shirtless and drops of sweat glisten on his chest. His bright green board shorts sit low on his hips, exposing his tanned skin and the V in the muscles on his stomach.

I drag my eyes back up to his face. He watches me curiously, but I force myself to hold his stare. I don’t want him to think I’m weak. I might be new, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own.

Brielle holds the Frisbee out to him. “You could have just waited for me to throw it back, Luke.”

“Hello to you, too.” Luke bends over and runs his hands through his sweaty hair a couple of times. He leans back again and puts his hands in his pockets. His hair falls perfectly into place.

How is that even possible?

Brielle ignores him and crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you ever fully clothed?”

“I figure it doesn’t do anyone any good covering it up.” Luke looks down at his chest. He takes a step toward her without taking his hands out of his pockets.

I’d be lying to myself if I said he wasn’t attractive. Which gives me more reason to stay away from him. I don’t need someone like him to cloud my judgment.

Brielle makes a gagging sound and steps away from him. “I think I just contracted an STD from all the manwhoreness pouring off of you right now.”

I cover a smile with my hand, pretending to scratch my cheek. It’s obvious he’s just trying to get under her skin. And it’s working.

A smirk spreads across his face. “You used to not be able to get enough of this.”

She narrows her eyes. “Let’s be clear on one thing. That was a long time ago and I wouldn’t touch you now with a ten-foot pole.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.” His smile broadens.

It’s getting pathetic. He’s trying too hard and she’s not having it. He needs to just give up and leave.

Their conversation is interrupted by Luke’s phone chirping. His thumbs glide across the screen as he returns a text message.

“Girlfriend?” Brielle’s tone is venomous.

“Jealous?”

She looks like she’s about to slap the smirk right off his face. I’m a little fearful for him. I don’t know Brielle well enough to know if she would actually do it or not, but Adam doesn’t look worried. He actually looks bored. Maybe this is normal?

“I’m sorry. I forgot. You don’t
do
relationships.”

He shrugs. The muscles in his arms glide against each other. I focus harder on the scene around us. Anything other than Luke’s muscles.

A beat pulses through the air from a group of break dancers on the lawn across from us. I focus on that. On the piece of cardboard spread across the ground. On the vibrating sound waves caressing my skin as they pass.

“They’re overrated, complicated, and unnecessary for what I want,” Luke says.

Brielle takes a step toward him. “You’re a pig.”