Head to Head (On Pointe Book 2) Read online

  “What a weird and random question,” I’d replied, gingerly taking the outstretched cup. I watched him pull his usual assortment of pens and paper out of his backpack until Hunter indicated with a twitch of his hand that I should take a sip. “My dad works near LAX so he drops me off on his way. I don’t mind getting here early.” I’d shrugged as I delicately sipped the hot tea Hunter had handed me, watching him arrange the multiple colored pens on his desk. His pen collection fascinated me. I’d never noticed it in Chem, but then again, we never sat near each other in class, no one else ever wanted to sit in the front row with me. “There’s a pretty courtyard behind the building. I hang out back there while I wait.” I’d handed him back his tea, his fingers brushing mine as he took it.

  I’d found the courtyard on Monday while I was hunting for somewhere to wait before the doors were unlocked. It’s enclosed on three sides, ivy and bougainvillea plants covering the walls in a riot of green and hot pink flowers. Four benches sit in a square around the massive jacaranda tree sitting in the middle. It’s the perfect spot to give myself a ballet barre every morning while I wait. I’ve been enjoying the time on my own, earbuds in my ears, music my only companion, as I give myself a thorough ballet class, using one of the benches as a barre, a canopy of purple flowers overhead, an ocean breeze keeping me cool as I work.

  “Damn, I don’t leave my house until seven thirty and I thought that was too early for Spring Break,” Hunter said, as the instructor walked in, rubbing his hands together.

  I decide not to mention anything to Katy about Hunter. I sleepily scroll through my phone under the blanket, knowing I shouldn’t. I’m going to regret it in the morning if I don’t go to sleep soon.

  “Liiiiiiiii-saaaaaaa! Wake up, wake up!” Someone is jumping on my bed, shaking me awake. I shoot out of bed, my heart pounding, looking around in a panic.

  “What time is it?” I half shout at Ray. “Jump on your own bed,” I add, pushing him off. I grab my phone and look at the time. Panic flares when I see it’s already seven twenty. My dad left ages ago. How am I going to get to Malibu? I can’t miss a day of the prep class if I want to dance this summer. Think Lisa, think.

  Hunter.

  Me: I’m so sorry it’s so early but I need Hunter’s number, please!

  I toss my phone on my bed and pull on the first pair of leggings I can find in my closet while I wait for Katy to respond to my text. She still hasn’t answered by the time I’ve pulled on leggings and a sweatshirt. I need a new plan.

  “…’lo?” Katy’s sleepy voice croaks after a couple of rings.

  “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t an emergency. Has Hunter left yet?”

  “What? No. Why?” she still sounds half asleep, good.

  “I need to talk to him, can you give him your phone or text me his number? Please,” I add.

  I hear rustling and muffled voices. I brush my hair and throw it in a ponytail while I wait. “Lisa?” Hunter’s voice rumbles through my speaker. “Are you okay?”

  “Can I get a ride with you? I overslept and my dad already left for work. Please? I know it’s weird but I wouldn’t ask if—”

  “No problem.” Hunter cuts me off. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “I’ll be ready.” I hang up quickly, scrambling to brush my teeth and gather up my books. Just as a black pickup truck turns onto my street, I fly out the door, the rumble of its engine reaching my doorstep. No wonder Katy was complaining—her bedroom window faces their driveway. Hunter’s truck barely stops before I’m climbing in.

  “Thank you so much, I really appre—” The words come tumbling out of my mouth before I’m even all the way inside, but Hunter cuts me off.

  “No problem. I don’t mind having company on the drive. You never answered my question, have you had breakfast yet?”

  “No. I woke up right before I called Katy. I hope she’s not mad at me for calling so early.”

  “She’ll get over it. I’ll give you my number, that way you don’t have to wake her up if you oversleep again.” He pauses. “I don’t mind driving you again tomorrow, if you don’t want to get up that early.”

  “Oh no, it’s okay. I don’t know what happened. I never sleep through my alarm like that.” I babble, twisting my fingers together in my lap. Hunter pulls his truck into a coffee shop drive-thru.

  “So, how come you missed your ride?” Hunter asks while we creep forward in the line.

  “I told you, I overslept.”

  “Yeah, but why didn’t your dad wake you up when you weren’t there when he was leaving?”

  “My parents think I’m old enough to be responsible for myself. If I’m not up and ready, it’s my own fault if I miss something.” I shrug. I know it sounds harsh, but that’s just the way my family is and always has been. “My parents moved to America from Osaka when they weren’t much older than I am now, I guess they figure I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Damn, your parents sound tough. What do you want for breakfast? My treat,” Hunter insists when I open my mouth to object—my instinct to make myself as little an inconvenience as possible, the same way my parents would.

  “Um, just a small green tea, I have a banana in my bag.” I wait for him to place his order before I continue. “They are, but it’s only because they want me and my brother to be successful. Anyway, thanks so much for the ride. I’ll call my dad at the lunch break so he can take me home.”

  Hunter hands me my tea and the two pastry bags he ordered for himself. “I’ll take you home. Besides, if I have you in the truck I can use the carpool lane. You wouldn’t want to make me sit in all that traffic by myself, would you?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure.” I eye Hunter from my side of the truck. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, it’s a long drive. Ask away.” Hunter smiles. His smile lights up his face. The Quinn siblings lucked out with their combination of Italian and Mexican genes. All four have dark hair and eyes and gorgeous bronze skin that Hannah is jealous of every time she gets a sunburn, which is often. Cole, Jack, and Hunter all have the same square jaw and defined cheekbones—Katy looks like them, but her face is softer and rounder than her brothers. I study Hunter’s face as he navigates through the ever-present California traffic and think about what I want to know. “How come you gave up your Spring Break to go to this prep class? I didn’t think anyone else from our school had even heard of it, it’s a pretty exclusive program.”

  Hunter rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I need to do well on the SAT’s if I want to get into the schools I’m hoping for. And I don’t want to depend on my athletics either.”

  “Which schools are you trying to get into?” I ask.

  “UCLA, USC or CalTech.”

  “Does CalTech even have an athletics department?” I can’t hide the tone of surprise in my voice. I assumed Hunter would be trying to get in somewhere with a huge athletics program where he could play his way through college. “What do you want to major in?”

  Hunter looks embarrassed, in fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was blushing. “Engineering and physics. I want to work at SpaceX or NASA one day.”

  “Wow…” I search for the right words. “So, you mean to tell me, I’m an overachieving Asian nerd who’s secretly an athlete, and you’re a star athlete who’s secretly a nerd?” I can’t help myself, I burst out laughing. I’m laughing so hard I have to put my drink back in the cupholder before I spill it in Hunter’s truck. Hunter glances at me repeatedly as he drives us, a smile pulling at his lips.

  “My turn,” he says, once I’ve caught my breath.

  “Your turn?”

  “Turnabout’s fair play, you asked your questions, now I get to ask mine.”

  Hunter bites his lips whenever a particularly loud rumble from my stomach can be heard in the near silent room. I’d spent our l
unch break giving myself the ballet barre I missed this morning, not that I’d had time to grab anything to eat but a banana anyway, and I’m starving. “Should have gotten that pastry when I offered,” he whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps down my neck.

  “Shhhhh,” I poke him in the ribs as a particularly colorful rumble has him giggling softly. Hunter giggling may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

  Hunter snorts and shakes his head, refusing to look at me. I huff and turn my attention back to the tutor at the front who’s busy quizzing us on vocabulary.

  “Lisa?” Everyone is looking at me and I realize that the instructor just asked me a question. A question I completely missed because I was busy fooling around with Hunter. Embarrassed, my face heats up and I stutter as I ask him to repeat the question.

  “I asked for the definition of the word ignominious,” he says, impatience dripping from every word.

  “Sorry. Um,” I pause to gather my thoughts. Really, Lisa, this is ridiculous, you know this. “Publicly shameful or humiliating.” I cringe at the irony.

  “Hunter, you’re next up. Please define the word petulant.”

  Hunter smirks and says, without missing a beat, “Cranky or irritable.”

  Could the universe be any more ridiculous? I get it Karma, you can leave me alone now.

  By the time we finish up at five, I’m so far past hungry my stomach is tied in knots.

  “Listening to your stomach all afternoon has mine rumbling in sympathy. What do you want to get to eat?” I follow Hunter to his truck, surprised when he opens the door for me to climb in.

  “You’re hungry?” I ask, confused.

  “I’m starving. And if you try and say you’re not, I’m going to leave you here.” He winks as he pulls out of the parking spot. “So, where are we gonna eat, Sport?”

  “Sport?”

  “You don’t like it? I think it’s perfect.”

  “Um, no. How do you feel about boba? There’s a bubble tea place down the road, I’ve been waiting there for my dad to pick me up.”

  I direct Hunter to the Japanese bakery down the block. The smell of sweet breads and tea fill my nose as we walk in. “Have you ever tried a red bean bun?” I ask as we eye the glass shelves full of fluffy, soft baked breads.

  “No, I’ve never tried any of these, but everything looks amazing.” He points to the round buns on my left. “You pick for me.” We order mango, coffee, and red bean buns to go with our peach and jasmine boba teas, which I insist on paying for, juggling it between us as we walk back to his truck.

  “Who are you texting?” Hunter peeks over at my phone screen while we’re stopped at a red light a few minutes later.

  “Katy and Hannah. Katy wants to know why I called her this morning. Is there a reason she doesn’t know you’re taking this class?” I’m not sure what the deal is, but I feel weirdly protective of Hunter, if he wants to keep this a secret then I don’t want to betray that confidence.

  “Not really, I just didn’t mention it.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Well, truthfully I didn’t want Jack to know, he can’t keep a secret to save his life and I didn’t want to get crap from the rest of the track team for skipping out on our Spring Break training.” I didn’t realize he was missing out on something important to be here this week. Kind of like me.

  “I forgot you ran track.” I watch him take a huge bite of one of the red bean buns, waiting for his reaction. “Good?”

  Hunter just moans, fluttering his eyes closed. “That’s amazing. I may have a new obsession.” My stomach flutters and I take a huge bite of the mango bun in my hand, so I don’t say anything stupid. “You’ve been holding out on me, Sport. How did I not know these existed and how can I live without them in my life now?”

  I snort laugh around my mouthful of food at his dramatics. We’re silent, chewing and lost in our own thoughts. I swallow first and take a sip of my tea to clear my throat. “There’s a Japanese bakery by my house, no need for the ignominious despair.” I chuckle at my own joke, Hunter groaning at how terrible it is.

  “Are you calling me a petulant child?” Hunter winks, turning onto the freeway. We both sigh at the sight of red taillights reaching from the on ramp as far as we can see. This is going to be a long drive.

  Chapter Three

  Hannah

  My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath, sweat is dripping into my eyes, and my legs tremble. I feel amazing.

  “That was much better, Hannah,” Ms. Parker says from her perch at the front of the studio. “Catch your breath for a moment and then let’s work on your preparation for the sissones, I want to see if we can get more power in that jump.” I swipe my water bottle from the floor and take a sip, grateful for the cool water trickling down my throat. “Have you talked to your parents yet?”

  I set my water down to wipe the sweat from my face. “Yeah, I talked to my mom last night. She was going to talk to my dad and let me know. I hadn’t thought about the possibility of going to the finals when we were making our plans. Do you really think I should go? What about the recital? I’d miss the last week of class before the show.”

  Ms. Parker gives me that look. You know, that one. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was a good idea. Don’t worry about the recital, think of it as good training for you—see if you can come back and do your best, even after missing that week. If you don’t want to do it, or if your parents don’t want you to, I don’t think it’s going to hurt your chances of a career or anything. But going to the Youth International Grand Prix finals, even if you don’t win anything, is an amazing opportunity to be seen. It won’t hurt you to go.”

  “But what if my nerves get the best of me and I completely screw everything up?” I ask, sitting down to fix a loose ribbon on my pointe shoe.

  “Then you screw up.” Ms. Parker shrugs. “The only way to get over your nerves is to practice getting out there, no matter how you feel. You have to practice screwing up just as much as you have to practice getting everything right. If you practice failing, then your failures become opportunities to grow instead of roadblocks. You’re so close to the next big step, Hannah, but you have to learn to get past your nerves.”

  I don’t have a response. This isn’t the first time Ms. Parker has said this, she’s been telling us this for as long as I can remember. Mistakes aren’t the enemy, getting stuck on them is. But it’s so hard to remember when I’m overwhelmed by my emotions. This time it feels different. Making a mistake in our recital or at a small competition is part of life. But screwing up on an international stage is more than a bump in the road, it could be a disaster.

  Ms. Parker and I keep working on my solos for the next forty-five minutes. I know I’ve been complaining about nobody showing up for class over spring break, but I’m secretly glad that being the only one here lets Ms. Parker and I work one on one even more than usual. It’s practically an entire week of private coaching, instead of the one hour a week I usually have. By the time we’re done, I’m so sweaty and tired all I want is to take a shower and collapse on my bed. Ms. Parker and I lock up and walk out together, the cool April air cooling the sweat on my face as we walk to our cars.

  “Goodnight, Ms. Parker,” I call to her as we get to our cars.

  “Goodnight, Hannah. The entry form is due in a week, don’t forget!” she calls back, easing herself into her car.

  The whole drive home I think about going to the New York finals of YIGP. I wish I had Lisa and Katy around to help me with a pros and cons list. Competing in New York? That’s a dream come true. I’d get to take classes and perform with some of the best dancers in the world while being seen by teachers and company directors from every ballet company in the United States, not to mention some of the international schools that send representatives. Last year they started livestreaming the final nig
ht of competition. Who knows who could be watching?

  But that’s exactly what makes the whole idea so terrifying. All those important people watching, judging, waiting for me to make a mistake. Just thinking about the pressure tightens my chest, my breath coming in shallower and shallower gasps. I slowly blow out my mouth, flicking on the radio to drown out the voice in my head.

  “Hi, Pumpkin,” my dad says from the couch as I walk in the door. He and my mom are watching one of their shows, cuddled together. It’s adorable.

  “Hey, Dad,” I say, plopping onto the couch next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder, my eyes glazing over as they watch their show. “Did you have a good trip?”

  “Yup.” He pauses the show, the motion making me sit up straight. “So, your mom was telling me about the YIGP finals. Do you want to go heat up your dinner and the three of us can discuss it?”

  I don’t, but I know I need to. “Sure.” I pull myself to my feet and go heat up the chicken casserole waiting for me in the fridge. I pull my phone out while I wait for the microwave.

  Lisa: I would rather be in class Hannah.

  Katy: Don’t lie, you love having the extra private lessons.

  Me: Extra privates are always good but I miss you guys. It’s lonely.

  I add a gif of the baby lemur from Madagascar making big sad eyes as the microwave dings.

  Me: Ms. Parker thinks I should compete in the YIGP finals. Gonna go talk it over with my parents. What do you guys think?

  I pull the hot plate out of the microwave and take it to the dining room table where my parents are waiting for me.