More Than A Game (The Kings of Kroydon Hills Book 2) by Bella Matthews (the best electronic book reader .TXT) 📗

when I wore it in braids, so that’s what I wanted. But mom told me no. “Now, Annabelle, if you want to be a ballerina, you have to dress the part.”

My parents had taken me to see The Nutcracker for Christmas a month before. The dancers were so beautiful up on that stage. They looked like they were flying through the air. That night I decided that I wanted to be a ballerina more than anything. I was five years old and ready to conquer the world. It was that determination that had me sit back down on my mother's vanity stool and let her continue to stab me with bobby pins.

One class a week quickly turned to more. Eventually I was dancing five nights a week and all morning on Saturdays. Once I got a taste of ballet, there was no turning back. I had no way of knowing that I would be accepted into one of the most prestigious ballet schools in this country just five years later. What ten year old wants to leave everything they have ever known to move away to a school hours away from their family? This one.

I didn't know that nine years after that, I would be standing on the stage of Lincoln Center, taking my final bow of the night as a principal dancer, having just danced Giselle for a sneak preview for the ballet company's most prominent patrons. I had worked my entire life to achieve my dream of being a principal dancer, and tonight those dreams were coming true.

As Mikael wraps his fingers around my hand, he leads me to the front of the stage for our final bow, and I'm finding it hard to believe I'm really here. The spotlight is blinding me, making it nearly impossible to see anything further out than the orchestra pit. The sound of applause is deafening, and the theater isn't even full. The bouquet of roses I was given feels heavy in my hands, and the scent is overpowering my senses. I need to ground myself. I'm not sure why I feel an impending panic attack, but it's there, lurking just below the surface. I close my eyes as we bow one last time and breathe deeply. As we step back and the massive stage curtains close, I feel Mikael wrap his arms around me. I’ve known Mikael for years. He’s a good looking man. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a lean dancers build all help to create a beautiful package and a magnetic dancer. "You were incredible tonight, Annabelle." He lifts me off my feet and spins me around, which is the very last thing I need.

When my feet touch the ground again, I push back. "You were wonderful tonight, too. I can't believe tomorrow is opening night." I take another deep breath, holding it for a five-count before letting it out slowly for another five. When I turn to walk off stage, our dance master, Mr. Archer, is there waiting for me.

"Annabelle, I need to speak with you. Please come with me."

Shit. This isn't good. He must not be happy with our performance.

"Arch, if you're going to give her shit for the pas de deux, it's on me, not Belle. I was a beat off. She tried to compensate." Mikael can be sweet and caring when he wants to be, but he usually wants to get in my pants as a reward.

"This does not involve you, Mikael. Annabelle, I need to speak with you." He looks pointedly at Mikael, then back to me. "Alone."

When Mr. Archer walks toward my dressing room, I follow. I started out as part of the corps de ballet with him when I was seventeen. He saw something in me then and pushed me to give more than I knew possible that year. By the time I turned eighteen, I was a demi-soloist and was promoted to soloist only a few months later. Dancing Giselle is my first time as a principal, and I cannot wait for my parents to see me tomorrow night. I can't wait to show them that all of my work has paid off. That I did it. That it was all worth it.

When we enter my dressing room, I smile as I see my name listed on the door.

Holy shit.

I have my own dressing room.

I doubt that will ever get old.

Mr. Archer points to the chair in front of the brightly lit vanity. "Please, Annabelle, take a seat." His voice has taken on a tone I'm unfamiliar with. And, suddenly, I'm feeling the fluttering of the panic again.

When I hesitate to sit, he gives me the look. The one that says do not argue, just do as you’re told. I gently sit down. "What's going on, Arch? I know the pas de deux was a beat off, but…"

He interrupts me. "Annabelle, I got a call during the second act. Your parents were in a car accident in Pennsylvania."

"What? When? How?" A million questions fly through my head as the room begins to spin.

Arch walks over to me, placing an arm on my shoulder and squeezing. "Annabelle, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this."

"Then don't." I shrug his arm off and stand up. The room seems to tilt on its axis, but I push through. I focus on the clock hung over the door, not on the feelings I feel suffocating me. "When… when did you get the call?"

"Annabelle, you need to sit back down. I wasn't done." He tries to grip my shoulders, but I turn away.

Refusing to look at him, I ask again, "I asked you when you got the call?"

"Right after the curtain went up on the second act. We didn't want to bother you with the information until the performance was over. It wouldn't have changed the outcome."

I'm a dancer. I have a pain threshold three times higher than the average person. I dance seven hours a day on my legs, and they just gave