The Extraordinaries

Chapter Five: Keaton

I watch their dance for a moment, the way their bodies flow under the lights, but then I turn away as another wave of tears threatens to rip its way down my cheeks. I can't stand it. People have taken time out of their days to come watch us, and all we're doing is making movements, lifting our arms and legs.

I sit down on one of the crates piled up that store extra costumes, books of music and things. It's hard against my slender body, but I don't care. I suck in a breath, forcing the tears back. If I cry, my makeup will get all screwed up.

But then, why should it matter? All I'm going to do is what they expect: the nice makeup, the singing, the dance. Why does it matter what I look like? It means absolutely nothing. They'll probably remember it more if my makeup is screwed up.

No. No, I can't do that. Marie will kill me if I mess this up, and then my parents will be disappointed.

The girls appear, coming around from the other end, their faces bright with lasting excitement. Quinn's face lights up when she sees me waiting, and she comes run.

"Congratulations," I say quickly, knowing that's what I'm expected to say. "You did.... you all did wonderful."

Quinn beams. "Thanks, Keats," she says, her voice squeaky with excitement. Her face is sweaty, her dark blonde hair sticking to her forehead despite being plastered back in a high ponytail. After a moment, she asks, "You okay? You look a little panicky."

Panicky. I almost scoff at the word. I'm not panicky. There's nothing worth panicking over.

"No," I say, standing up and brushing myself off. I see Quinn take in my outfit, chewing her lip, eyes hungry. The other girls look nice enough in their black, but my dress is gorgeous. It's short, just like theirs, stopping above my knees, and it's a deep red that clashes with my dark auburn hair. Still, I somehow manage to pull it off.

I get to wear heels too, rather than the simple ballet flats. I've had to practice like crazy to dance in them, the three inches of added height that make me tower over the others, but it's supposed to be worth it.

"Shit," says Natalee, stepping out of the crowd of girls. She clutches onto Quinn's arm, and they hold each other, staring at me. "You're so pretty, Keaton." Her voice is strained with falsehood. She doesn't think I'm pretty. She thinks she could do much better if only she were allowed wear what I have on. And I agree. I'm plain-looking, with a simple face and a boring, straight body. Natalee's stunning, with big green eyes and strawberry blonde hair to her waist, thick curls of it. But she wasn't picked for the solo.

We stand there for a few minutes more, silent, listening to the blasting music. A few girls go to the curtains to watch, giggling and whispering about the boys. Caitlin, a tiny girl with sharp bangs and a huge chest, likes Desmond, and they all whisper back and forth about the way he looks as he does his dance. So focused, so effortlessly talented.

The rest of the song passes, and I stand there, still, only Quinn still next to me as Natalee rushes forwards to watch the boys. Quinn gives me a tiny little smile, as if we're both in on something, a secret.

"They're going! They're done!" Natalee turns around, fire in her eyes. She grabs my hand, wrenching me forwards even though I'm perfectly fine without her help. "Good luck, Keaton," she says, her voice snakelike, and I know with all my heart that she wants me to fail, that nothing else could make her day in quite the same way.

I take a deep breath as I step on, doing what Marie and all the other instructors I've worked with have taught me: Forget.

Forget about Natalee. Forget about how little this means. Forget that it's just a dance.