AMIRA by Matthew Betley (spicy books to read .TXT) 📗

for her upbringing as the daughter of an Italian detective and Ethiopian immigrant – both whose work ethics rivaled Amira’s – the attention TDSP heaped upon her might have gone to her twenty-year-old head.  But she was not like other young women her age, and while she was grateful for the attention, she was also mature years beyond her current phase in life.

She breathed deeply, her body attuned to her surroundings, her legs in full contact with the stage as she sank deeply into the front splits.  The Kay Theater was the school’s premier classic theater for plays, dance performances, and ceremonies.  Seating six hundred and twenty-six attendees, it currently had an occupancy of one – Amira.  She loved the privilege of training alone on stage with only her focus and dedication to motivate and move her.  The fact that the theater had a noiseless ventilation system only added to the experience.  She was convinced that someday she’d perform on bigger stages – hopefully with a company like Bill T. Jones in NYC – and the sooner she was comfortable with all eyes on her in a setting like the Kay Theater, the better it would be for her career.  She smiled to herself, engaged in an internal conversation.  You’ve been comfortable on these stages since you were nine and danced at the National Mall Christmas Tree lighting.  True, but you can never practice too much.  It’s about the progress, not perfection.

No TDSP classes were held after 5 PM for the purpose of providing the students the opportunity to rehearse and train in the evenings until 11 PM.  Each student had a badge that provided electronic swipe access to the facility.  The instructors urged the students to stick to the 11 PM cut-off time, but it wasn’t a rarity to find a student or two somewhere in the facility at 2 AM.  Youth, energy, and ambition were a potent cocktail for combating the normal need for sleep.

Shouts from outside the theater interrupted her near-meditative state.  A dull thump followed, as if something had struck a wall in the main lobby.  Her sense of calm was replaced with alarm, a sixth sense she was convinced she’d inherited from her father.  The only other person in here tonight is Susan, but she’s in Gildenhorn across the lobby. 

The Clarice was constructed by an architect whose guiding principle had been to configure the facility as if several Tetris pieces had been haphazardly arranged during construction, with hallways, rooms, and exits jutting off the facility at all angles.  The four front doors emptied into the multi-storied main lobby, the Grand Pavilion, which led up a lengthy three-tiered, wide staircase to the upper pavilion.  Skylights and support beams lined the ceiling and created the airy, spacious central area of the Clarice with the four main theaters situated off the long, ascending space.  The Kay Theater was the first one on the right and closest to the main entrance.  The Gildenhorn, where Susan trained, was further up and to the left, the second theater on the other side.  It was possible there were other students practicing deep in the maze of the facility, but it was a Friday night, and while the other members of TDSP might be dedicated, unlike Amira and Susan, they also chose to engage in the typical college experience, which included the local bars and Greek party lifestyle on the weekends.

Susan Li was Amira’s closest friend and confidante at the University of Maryland.  They’d become inseparable since Freshman year and shared an off-campus apartment.  Susan’s parents had immigrated to the US from China when she was five, and she barely remembered her homeland.  Her father was some kind of engineer, and her mother a mathematician, the combination which explained Susan’s “secondary degree” in bioengineering.  Amira had no idea what that entailed, but like she’d told Susan, who breezed through classes with an endless supply of 4.0s and no effort, it didn’t sound easy. Different upbringings and goals aside, they shared a passion for dance, and the fact that Susan was five-foot-four, lithe, and petite, while Amira was a lean, ripped five-foot-eight made the two quite the pair at first sight.

After a brief moment of silence, there was a second thud, followed by a short scream that cut-off abruptly.

Amira’s internal alarm erupted into action, her only thought, Something’s wrong with Susan.  Her concern for her best friend outweighed her sense of personal security.  She raised herself out of the splits, and like the graceful and powerful athlete that she was, she leapt off the stage, landed on the carpeted aisle below, and sprinted up the aisle, disappearing under the balcony seating.  She ran as if floating up the inclined aisle towards the back of the theater and the orchestra-level exit.

Within seconds, she reached the set of double doors, paused, and tried to quiet her mind and control her breathing.  The right rear door opened directly onto the grand pavilion, and if she emerged too quickly, she’d reveal her presence to whoever was outside.  She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t want to make herself vulnerable without gathering more information.  The most informed decisions are always the best ones, her father’s voice reminded her.  And then her mother’s voice, Amara’s Voice of Reason, as Amira called it: Just be careful, honey.  Be smart. 

The shouts grew louder, the voice of an angry male drowning out all others.  He’s speaking Chinese.  Is her dad here?

Amira slowly pressed the bar across the right door and waited as the internal mechanism released, freeing the door.  She pushed outward, slowly exposing a sliver of view to the scene outside.

Susan was being dragged against her will by two men towards the front doors, her ballet shoes providing little traction against the carpeted lobby. She leaned backwards, as if trying to brace herself, but the men were too strong and pulled her forwards.

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