Secret. Brigid Kemmerer

      CHAPTER 3

      Nick studied the sign over the door to the dance studio. The last time he’d seen Adam and Quinn dance, they’d been using the back room of the relatively deserted local YMCA. Now it was a real dance studio, with real dancers, and a parking lot full of real cars.

      Meaning real people. Real people who might know him.

      His head had been full of all the family secrets he’d revealed to Quinn, but in an instant, he forgot about Tyler and anything remotely Elemental.

      “I don’t think I can do this,” said Nick.

      “Whatever.” Quinn didn’t indulge him for one second. She was out of the truck and through the door to the studio before he got the key out of the ignition.

      He sat in the silent vehicle, listening to the engine ticking.

      Deliberating.

      If a girl was waiting in there, he wouldn’t hesitate. He could flirt with girls without thinking about it, and they’d be lining up to follow him home. He’d learned the opposite sex with the same efficiency he learned physics or trigonometry: a system of functions and formulas leading to a calculated result.

      He had no idea what the result of this evening would be. Worse, he didn’t know what he wanted the result to be.

      Quinn stuck her head back out the door. Her expression spoke volumes.

      Well. Really, just one sentence.

      WTF are you doing?

      Nick slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and dropped out of the truck.

      “I wish I could get this on video,” Quinn said when he stepped into the tiny lobby.

      “What?” he asked.

      “Nick Merrick, insecure. No wonder you’re such a player.”

      “What does that mean?” he demanded.

      “With girls, there are no stakes.” She grabbed his hand. “Come on. Adam’s still teaching. You can catch the end of his lesson.”

      “Wait—teaching?”

      “He works here. How do you think we get to use this swank studio?”

      “But—”

      She shushed him with a glare, dragging him down a narrow hallway that opened into a huge studio. Parents were crowded onto a few wooden risers along the back wall. Nick’s gaze fell on everything except the people in the center of the room.

      Mirrors lined the longest wall, stretching from floor to ceiling to make the room look twice as large as it was already. The opposite wall was all windows blocked by sheer screens, letting the last of the daylight in. A grand piano sat in the corner, next to a massive stereo.

      A dozen kids stood spaced across the hardwood floor, mostly dressed in loose pants or stretchy shorts. Nine girls, three boys. None was older than twelve or thirteen.

      Adam stood in front of the mirror, facing the group.

      Now that Nick’s eyes had found him, they didn’t want to look away.

      He’d worried that his imagination had built Adam into someone who didn’t exist, a memory of perfection that the real deal couldn’t match. But Adam’s flawless skin still carried that warm caramel hue. His hair was still pitch dark. His eyes were still brown and sparkling, his cheekbones still high. The same sinewy muscles traced the lengths of his arms. He moved with the same rhythm, as if a song played in his head.

      He didn’t notice Nick.

      Well, he was occupied. Teaching. Even now, he was talking about lines and balance and something about a firebird leap combination.

      But the room wasn’t that big. His eyes had flicked in their direction when Quinn climbed onto the back row of the risers—but his gaze passed over Nick without recognition.

      And now Nick was sitting here staring at him.

      God, this was awkward.

      In a flash, he understood the smiley in that text message. Maybe Adam was okay with Nick coming along because he didn’t care anymore. And honestly, Nick couldn’t blame him. Adam was out. He was comfortable in his skin. He had an apartment and a job and a life.

      He wasn’t hiding from his family and ignoring a stack of college correspondence because he didn’t want to deal with reality.

      At least this was easier. Bringing the physics textbook had been a good call. Nick slid his notebook out of the bag.

      He wasn’t fooling himself.

      His chest felt tight. Breath fought its way into his lungs. Adam might not have been watching him, but Nick felt like the center of attention anyway, like everyone in this room could feel his agitation, his insecurity, his disappointment.

      He kept his head down over his notebook, but the rich timbre of Adam’s voice kept poking at the edges of his awareness. Adam was a good teacher. Friendly. Engaging, making the kids laugh as he counted off a routine and pointed out their errors.

      His bare feet crossed the studio to stop in front of the stereo, drawing Nick’s eyes. He hit a button, and music swelled through the room. Country, to Nick’s surprise, lively guitar chords backed by a strong bass line and a driving beat.

      Then Adam returned to his spot in front of the mirror and counted off the same beat, leading his students into a routine.

      Nick’s breath caught. Music always rode the air until he felt each beat through his whole body. But the air here was full of energy that sparked and rejoiced with the melody. Nick could practically thread his fingers through the notes. He fed a bit of power to the air, getting it back in spades. The students leapt higher, their movements matching the beat perfectly, invisible streamers of sound-fed power weaving among them.

      And Adam—he was magnificent. He moved like the music lived inside him, as if Nick’s power choreographed each motion.

      When the last chord hit and they went still, the air in the room waited, too, charged with potential.

      Then the parents clapped.

      Nick felt Quinn breathing beside him. “You did something,” she whispered. “Didn’t you?”

      “I didn’t mean to.” And that was true. But facing Tyler in the driveway, telling Quinn his secret, the wonder and fear and uncertainty of coming here—all his emotions had rallied.