The Hardest Cut by Jamie Bennett (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

Kennedy gave Addison a look and then outdanced her, so much so that the vets started whistling and cheering.  It appeared that none of them had forgotten how happy Addison had been about Kennedy’s weight gain when we started auditions.  Addison looked ready to spit nails, especially when Rylah smiled and told Kennedy she’d just shown everyone how a Woodsmen dancer should be, and that she had no critique.  That resulted in a huge round of applause and cheering, and hugs when Kennedy took a knee with the rest of us.

But Rylah did have some things to say to Addison—nothing terrible or un-fixable, but it was clear to me that Addison didn’t like to be singled out for criticism.  Several other trainees were smiling delightedly as they listened, though.

“It’s not really fair to get down on the people who are trying, when other people are just sitting on their asses and getting a free pass,” Addison said at the end of practice.  It was loud enough to carry to my ears, but not for the coaches or team captains to hear her.

My face heated.  “I don’t want to be sitting here.  I’d much rather be dancing with you girls,” I said, and she smirked.

“But you can’t, because of your ‘injury.’”  She made finger quotes.

“The trainer said to stay off her ankle!” Caitlyn defended me, and when Addison opened her mouth again, Caitlyn preemptively told her, “Shut up!”

“What’s going on?” Sam called sharply, and everyone got their stuff a lot faster and moved toward the door, with Addison hanging back and still giving me the eye.  “Gaby, you come to my office,” he said, and I saw Addison’s face brighten with a smile before Sam told her to go on home and work on what Rylah had said.  Then she went back to glowering.

The office?  Oh, gravy.  Oh, no.  As if things weren’t bad enough this week.  Just yesterday, Mr. Waite had let me know that repairing my brother’s car was going to be quite an undertaking.  It wasn’t safe for me to drive, in his opinion, because it wasn’t just cosmetic damage to the front, there was also something about the structure underneath.  The molting paint was apparently the least of my problems.  He was doing his best to find used parts and cut costs, but the thought of what the final bill would be was enough to make me spiral.

And then, Ben…but I couldn’t think about him right now or about the things he had said about me to his brother.  How he didn’t even think I was pretty.  He thought I was boring, that there was nothing to me but a lot of hair…no, don’t think about him.  Smile!  I did, and I followed Rylah and Sam into his office.

“I talked to the trainer you saw,” Sam said right off the bat.  “You’re going to be out for longer than just this week.”

“I don’t agree with her,” I told him.  “I’m not saying that she’s a bad trainer, it’s just that she doesn’t know me very well.  I’ve had lots of injuries in my life as a dancer and I’ve always been super-fast to come back from them.  Like, minimal healing time!  I’ll be dancing next week and feel great.”  Neither of them looked like they believed me.  I swallowed.  “I’ll be back and better than I was.”

“Gaby, while you’re only watching, the other girls are actually working to improve.  It’s al dente,” Rylah said earnestly, and Sam turned to her.

“That’s something about pasta.  My wife says it.”

“No, it means that she’s missing out.  And she was already at or near the bottom in terms of skills,” she answered him, and my heart sank.  At or near the bottom?

“No, it’s something about cooking.  About teeth in Italian,” Sam started to argue, but I broke in.

“Guys?  I know it’s not great for me to be injured but I swear, I will be back sooner than you think, and both of you said I was improving before this happened.  Please let me keep trying.  Please?”  Don’t cry.  They don’t want a whiner on this team, don’t cry.

Both of them looked at me and time seemed to stretch out until I was ready to crack under the strain of it.  “I want you to go see the trainer again.  I’ll call her and let her know you’re on the way,” Sam said finally.  “We’ll talk again next week.”

My hands were shaking so hard that the keys to Mr. Waite’s loaner car jingled like bells in my grip.  “Thanks, Sam, I’ll go right now.  Thanks, Rylah.  Have a good weekend.”  I carried the crutches instead of using them to show the coaches how I’d improved.  I really was better!  I really was, but no, my ankle wasn’t exactly healing as fast as I wanted it to.  I leaned back on the crutches once I was out in the hallway and started on my way.

The last time I’d gone from the dance studio to where the football trainers had their rooms, I’d been carried.  Ben had me in his arms and I’d been high above the ground and resting against his hard chest, my face nestled against on his shoulder so that I could smell the mix of laundry soap and Ben-ness that he exuded, that same smell that still lingered on the sweatshirt I hadn’t given back and wore at my house at night when I was alone.

I swallowed back some more tears, not wanting the coaches to see me.  I was only crying from relief, really.  That was all it was, relief that I hadn’t been cut, that for some reason, they’d let me hang on for at least one more weekend despite the fact that I really did still need these crutches and that I was at or near the bottom in terms of skills.  Just relief, not that I was sad about anything.

I stopped, took a t-shirt out of my dance bag to wipe my eyes, and then looked