Interrupting flow of your reading to announce this book is up for a fucking watty lol what is going on!!!!???
Frantically, I texted George. I couldn't stop shaking, my breathing quickened. I clicked dial, but he went straight to voicemail. I had to go to his apartment and talk to him. The jeans and shirt I'd thrown on the floor last night would have to do, as I didn't want to waste anymore time. I prayed he would still be at his mom's place - I knew he was having issues over the summer. He did well in his exams, he was doing okay for himself. Part of me wondered if he'd support me too.
My legs could barely carry me out the door, my mind so clouded by thoughts I'd almost forgotten which way to turn when out of my road. Exhaling heavily, I started the somewhat lengthy journey to his house. Today, it felt longer than ever. What was usually thirty minutes had dragged to feel like an hour, thoughts and my imagination haunting my mind. What would he think? Would he even care?
I got to the tall red door, my small, pale fist knocking three times. It had only taken his mom a few moments to answer the door, and yet it'd felt like ten years. I swear my heart had beat at twice the speed in those few seconds. Vomit coated my throat watching the blackness from behind the entrance turn brighter until his mother's black hair was visible. She had tears streaming down her own face.
"Where's George?" I asked, harshly. She stayed silent. I felt last nights dinner grow closer to exiting through my mouth. My airways closed over.
"He left you this letter." She said, holding out a crumpled envelope. His handwriting looked messier than normal, but I read my name.
'Isobelle Burns.'
He'd written my full name. I hadn't understood why, but I knew what this meant.
"No - he can't-"
"He has. He's gone, Belle. I can assume he's gone off to Australia, to go stay with his dad."
Tears fell down my cheeks, after holding them in for so long. I nodded, turning around to walk back home.
Sweat coated my body, bile rising through my throat. It had been a while since I'd dreamt about that day - though it felt more like living it than dreaming it. I still feel the sheer amount of sorrow and fear I'd felt, the hopelessness I'd feel after hearing the phone go to voicemail. I'd probably called him every ten minutes for the next week until his phone bill got cancelled. After that, I gave up. If he loved me, he wouldn't have left like that.
I could hear a faint ringing from the other room, and I realised I'd left my cell in the kitchen. Exhaling, I pushed myself out of bed. It probably wasn't important, but it was a reason to get up. Part of me wondered whether it was George, or perhaps even Mel checking up on me. But once getting to the worn out granite counter, I realised it was neither; a private number. I debated whether or not to answer, but in the end, I figured there was only one way to find out who it had been.
"Hello?" I spoke, with somewhat reluctance.
"Is this Miss Burns?" A female voice called, of what sounded to be a European accent.
"Yeah, speaking." I was still unsure of what this cell call was about, refusing to let my guard down.
"Hi, we're sorry we are so late on calling, but I'm Jessica, I'm a talent scout for Baryshnikov's sponsorship, and I'm really excited to tell you that we would love to sponsor you for your ballet, and ballroom dance styles. After seeing your show, we would like to give you an opportunity to be a dancer in an upcoming classical show, in which you will perform in front of four thousand people." It took a couple of seconds for the information to process, but when it did, I was freaking out. I'd completely forgotten there would be a call back about sponsorships and whether we passed the exam. I'd been so distracted by therapy, George and my own thoughts that I didn't think to even ask my teacher how it had gone. Of course, I'd had sponsorships from a couple of companies, which is how I'd managed to live off dance. It just seemed surreal such a talented dancer would have noticed me.
"Is this real?" I ask, mouth wide. It didn't feel like something that could happen in my life. Four the entirety of it, I've been depressed and had the lowest self-esteem. I almost never leave the house.
"It is very real." Jessica laughed down the phone.
"I can't believe this - I would be so thrilled to work with you and perform under Baryshnikov's name!" It hadn't been a lie; I was thrilled. Perhaps it felt like I was buttering her up, but through the pure joy in my voice, I was sure she didn't view it that way.
"Thank you, that's fantastic. I'm going to email you a pack with all the information, including dates, costume, addresses, and transportation. The pay is included in this, though this is a rough estimate. It's likely you'll earn around ten-thousand for this show, as you'll be training four times a week, for the next two months." Ten thousand? This amount of money would keep me going for months. If I hadn't had to pay rent and bills, it would keep me going for years.
