The Flamenco Academy by Sarah Bird

Author:Sarah Bird
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, coming of age, womens fiction, dance, obsession, jealousy, literary fiction, love triangle, new mexico, spain, albuquerque, flamenco, granada, obsessive love, university of new mexico, sevilla, womens friendship, mother issues, erotic obsession, father issues, sarah bird, young adult heroines, friendship problems, balloon festival
Publisher: Sarah Bird

Chapter Twenty-four

Outside, Didi ran past. “Gotta blast,” she yelled back at me. “Jeff’s helping me put a new piece together.” She stopped. “You wanna come? You’ve hardly heard any of my new stuff.”

I shook my head no. All I wanted to do was stand in the sun and enjoy the spell Doña Carlota’s story had cast over me.

“What? You’re just going to hang here and pretend that you’re the emerald-eyed dancer and the heart you steal belongs to Tomás Montenegro?”

“No.” She was, of course, exactly right. That was precisely the fantasy I was looking forward to.

“Oh great,” she said sarcastically. “Then that means you’re actually planning to do something real about the Tomás obsession.”

I pulled a foot out of the sandals I’d changed into and displayed my calluses, bunions, and blisters like they were merit badges. “And these aren’t real enough?”

“Hey, girls who cut themselves get real scars.”

“That is so ridiculous! That is a completely different thing al—” But before I could finish saying altogether, Didi left, waving her fingers at me over her shoulder as she went.

More to prove to myself than Didi that she was wrong, I moved without thinking. Thinking was a problem for me since it always led to nothing, to me daydreaming in the sunshine. So I didn’t stop long enough to think, I simply made myself run to the faculty parking lot just in time to see Doña Carlota’s driver pull up to the back of the academy, jump out of the Buick, and race around to open the back door for the old lady.

Because it was the last thing on earth I wanted to do, I called out, “Doña Carlota!”

It is possible that I hadn’t called out loudly enough for her to hear me. That I’d only called out loudly enough to say that I’d done it. That I had tried. But the handsome, silver-haired driver with the unplaceably ancient face did hear me. He stopped and looked my way. The thrill of recognition that I had always expected when looking into Doña Carlota’s face hit me in the instant my eyes met this old man’s. The eyes. It was like looking into Tomás’s eyes. The ridiculous suspicion that he might be related to this old man was what alerted me to how dangerously overwrought I was. If the driver had not already been turning Doña Carlota’s attention my way, I would have fled. But she was beckoning me to come to her and the driver was walking away to give us privacy, so I stepped forward.

“Metrónoma, yes, what is it?” Her tone, her expression, her bearing, all the eloquence a great dancer can bring to bear expressed how highly irregular and irritating my appearance was.

What would my lie be? A question about Lorca? About the bulerías desplante? Stopping her after class when she’d made it quite clear she didn’t want to be stopped after class or any other time was bad enough. Now I had to compound the offense by asking an idiotic question.

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