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scene several more times. The more we “kissed,” the grumpier Sonya got.
    “What’s wrong with that last one, Charlie? It looked fine!”
    Now, as I watch Park Date in my bedroom, I wonder if I should talk about Sonya to Josh when she’s not around. See what he says. Although honestly, hurt’s written all over that one in capital letters. The dude is way too into himself to be a decent boyfriend to anyone. I’d hate to see Sonya’s heart permanently tattooed.
    I click over to the newest comments on the site. It’s hard to get used to complete strangers discussing me.
     
    She’s hot
    Not. check out the fat ass.
    So sick of boring girls tryin to get publicity. she cnat even dance.
    dreamed she was my lab partner
    Sleep on, chem turd. She’s mine.
     
    Weirdest of all, though, are the grown men. I picture Cisco staring at his screen.
     
    forgot how god h.s. chicks r

11
chapter eleven
    I hear the name first. Behind me, in the park. The end of daylight saving time has brought dusk earlier than I expected, so I can’t quite see the guy’s features. He looks sinister in his long gray trench coat.
    “Dancergirl—” he starts. The roar of a bus cuts off the rest. I glance at the street. Yes! If I can get to the corner before the bus leaves, I’ll be safe.
    My legs weigh me down. Heeled boots cover my feet and I can’t get any traction. I look over my shoulder. The guy is gaining….
    The pneumatic hiss of the closing bus doors gets my attention.
    “No!” I wail. “Don’t leave! Wait!”
    The driver sees me through the side window. Gives an evil smile. A cloud of noxious smoke spurts out of the tailpipe as the bus pulls into traffic. The old man sitting in the backseat looks at me. His toothless grin mouths, “Dancergirl…”
    I wake up fighting for air. It’s 2:00 a.m.
    “Mom? You home?” I yell, even though I know she doesn’tget out of work until 6:00. It’s just that it feels like someone’s in the apartment. Someone who only seconds before stood beside my bed, watching me sleep—
    I snap on the light. No one’s here.
    A metal three-hole punch sits on my desk. It’s all I have for protection as I tiptoe into the living room. The apartment is empty, silent except for the occasional creak of a wooden floorboard. I pad into the kitchen. Check the locks on the front door. Everything is exactly the way I left it when I went to bed.
    I don’t know what I expected. Some dancergirl freak sneaking into the apartment in the middle of the night? Mom installed a “guaranteed burglar-proof” lock on the door when we moved in, so it should be impossible for anyone to break in.
    Still, I cannot get back to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, that creepy feeling returns.

12
chapter twelve
    In Choreography, everyone warms up on their own. Eva puts on whatever piece of music she feels like and we stretch how ever we want. She must be feeling particularly nostalgic be cause today it’s the Beatles. “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” segueing into “Norwegian Wood” is like comfort food for a modern dancer. Exactly what I need. I’m so tired from being awake half the night that I thought about skipping class to go home and nap. But then I’d have to answer a million Mom questions. Why are you home so early? Are you sick? Did something happen at school? I figured it was easier to go to class.
    I’m doing simple stretches, butt firmly on floor. Blake slides over. He tilts his head toward Samantha. She’s at the barre, one leg hooked gracefully over the rounded wood. With the other securely on the ground, she pliés over and over, back straight, right arm arched royally over her head.
    “Did you hear?” he whispers. “She’s got her Juilliard audition next month.”
    A cloud of fear drifts over my heart. Next year, it’ll be mepraying night and day just to get an audition, never mind actually performing in front of judges.
    “I heard her mom’s paying Quentin for private