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Yves’ ankle goes during the opening number.
It happens during a simple move, a turn she’s done a thousand times – a hundred this week in rehearsals alone. This time, though, everything goes wrong. Someone’s bandana falls off. Yves sees it a second too late to avoid stepping on it. When she shifts her weight from left to right, her heel slides against fabric instead of finding purchase on solid ground.
Then her ankle buckles, sending pain blazing up the outside of her leg.
Yves’ first thought is: get to the end of this number. There’s maybe a minute left, and they’re already past the sections where she is center stage. If she grits her teeth and powers through, the audience might not notice that something is wrong.
So that’s what Yves does. Every step hurts – her ankle throbs steadily, the pain sharpening into white-hot agony whenever she shifts too quickly or with too much power. Her movements get smaller, less emphatic, and she fakes her way through a high kick requiring weight bearing from her now-useless leg. Yves has always loved being on stage, getting to show off what she can do, but right now she hopes the audience is looking anywhere else.
By the closing formation, she knows she’s done for the night. She’s next to Kim Lip, and as the lights go down – signaling a short break before their next stage – she pulls the younger girl aside.
“I twisted my ankle.”
Lip looks grim, but she nods.
“I thought something happened. You’re an idiot, you know, for finishing the dance.”
“You would have too.”
“Irrelevant. But let me call the trainer. How bad is it? Do you want some ice?”
Yves shakes her head.
“Your duet is coming up. Focus on the show, I can take care of myself.”
“Yves, it’s just a show.”
“Sure. Not like this is my senior showcase, or anything.”
Lip frowns and starts to say something but the two-minute warning call cuts her off.
“I’ll be ok,” Yves says, trying to make her voice sound convincing instead of bitter. “I’ll be right here watching, so you better do great.”
“At least get your ankle wrapped, ok?”
Lip pulls Yves in for a tentative hug, and then she’s running backstage to get everyone else ready. Yves hobbles after her. The team looks up from their huddle when she appears, and Yves wants to die a little as the collective confusion turns to pity.
“Hey, cheer up,” she says. “This is a chance for you guys to get the spotlight. If I’m out there, we all know I’m too good for the audience to notice anyone else.”
That gets a laugh, and Yves smiles and almost means it. She watches the rest of the performance from stage right, icing her foot and doing her best to cheer everyone on as she stares at the empty space where she’s supposed to be. She makes it until the finale, when she starts crying too hard to see.
;;
Thirty minutes later she’s hiding in a locked bathroom stall, still trying and failing to suppress her tears. The team is blowing up her phone, but she can’t bring herself to respond. So now she’s got the guilt from being a shitty captain to go along with the guilt from letting everyone down.
Maybe she’ll just stay here forever.
“Um, hello?” comes a voice. “Are you ok in there?”
Yves doesn’t respond, hoping whoever that is will go away.
“I can see your feet, you know.”
Wait, Yves thinks. That voice is familiar.
She peers out through the crack in the stall, and yeah, it’s Lip’s friend. Chuu. Small, loud, always smiling. Also, very persistent and very unlikely to just leave her here. (Their last encounter involved Yves getting held hostage for an hour to watch baby penguin videos. The first one was cute. The eight after that, diminishing returns.)
“I’m fine.” Yves says, voice cracking. “You can go.”
Yves really wants her to. Few things sound worse than having to deal with an overly cheery acquaintance right now.
“See, you say that, but I don’t believe you.”
“Why are you even here? It’s not like we’re friends.”
“Lippie asked me to look for you. She’s taking care of the team. Also, I think she’s scared of having to try to comfort you.”
Yves snorts, but then remembers she should be the one out there consoling the team. Lip is a fantastic dancer and a promising leader, but she’s only a sophomore. She shouldn’t be cleaning up after Yves’ mistakes, and with that thought a new round of tears wells in her eyes.
Chuu’s face appears in the open space below the stall door, shocking Yves out of feeling sorry for herself.
“What the fuck!”
“Hi,” Chuu says, smiling up at her. “It seemed better to talk face to face.”
“Why is your face in my stall?!”
“It’s not like you’re doing anything.”
“I could’ve been!”
“I’ve been listening to you sniffle pathetically for the last five minutes. It seemed worth the risk.”
“So you’re a creepy stalker who’s probably diseased from getting that close to the disgusting floor.”
Chuu’s face does a lot of things at once before settling into a dramatic pout. A distant part of Yves – the part not consumed by self-pity – notes that Chuu’s exaggerated expressions are kind of cute.
“I object to most of that characterization, but the floor is gross. I’m putting myself in hazardous conditions for you, so you really should come out now. Not that I won’t stay here for however long this takes.”
Chuu finishes with a determined nod. Yves stares at her for a long moment.
“Ok.”
“Wait, really?”
“Really. Now back up so I can open the door.”
“You’re not just trying to get rid of me so that you can go back to moping alone forever?”
“Chuu. Move.”
Yves stands up, wincing as she tests how much weight her ankle can support. That seems to convince Chuu, who scuttles backward out of the opening and out of sight.
Yves takes a careful step and unlocks the door. Time to face the world. She gets three more steps before her ankle gives out and she has to catch herself against the sink.
Chuu rushes toward her and then seems to think better of it, continuing her advance with tiny, careful steps. Like she’s approaching a depressed feral cat.
“Here, use me,” she says, wiggling her shoulder.
Yves sighs, but she lets Chuu put a supporting arm around her waist and throws her own over Chuu’s shoulders. Yves leans into Chuu, trying to figure out how to balance, and then jerks back abruptly when Chuu offers no resistance and they both almost fall over.
“You sure about this?”
“Yes!” Chuu’s voice comes out very fast and very high. “Absolutely. You just surprised me for a second.”
Yves leans again, and this time Chuu is warm and stable against her side. Chuu is soft, she notices. And a good height for wrapping an arm around.
Yves wonders why that is a thing she’s noticing, but then she’s distracted by how much effort it takes to move. It’s been a while since she had an injury, and she forgot how obnoxious it is to have her body suddenly diminished in capacity. She isn’t an Olympic athlete or anything, but she’s fit, and she’s strong, and she’s used to being able to do more than most people without trying too hard. Now, she’s reduced to leaning on someone she barely knows in order to limp out of a bathroom.
Yves steers them toward the auditorium’s back entrance, hoping to avoid any lingering crowds. It takes them ten minutes to make it out.
“What’s next?” Chuu asks.
Her voice is bright, and she has been beaming since they made it out of the bathroom. Yves is starting to wonder how her face doesn’t get tired.
“I don’t think I can walk home,” Yves admits. She’s suddenly exhausted; dragging herself the mile across campus to her dorm feels beyond her abilities.
“It’s ok, I can give you a ride.”
“You have a car?”
“A ride,” Chuu repeats, pointing to a bicycle locked to a nearby rack. It, like Chuu, is small.
“I don’t know, I’ve hurt myself enough for one day.”
“Hey,” Chuu says, tugging on Yves’ hand. “Trust me. I’ll take good care of you.”
She sounds so sincere.
Yves’ cheeks feel warm. Chuu’s smile widens, somehow.
“Um. Ok.”
It takes a while to arrange themselves on the bike. Yves ends up behind Chuu, arms wrapped around her, chin resting on her shoulder. Chuu is a good size for this, too.
“Which dorm are you in?”
Yves thinks about her quiet single, a night of lying in bed retracing all the things that went wrong today.
“Actually, could we go somewhere else?”
Chuu tries to look at her, but can’t quite manage it given their position. Yves realizes a second too late that she probably doesn’t have the right to ask that question – she’s imposed enough on Chuu, who has already gone way beyond what’s necessary in caring for a friend of a friend. Chuu answers before she can walk it back, though.
“Of course. What did you have in mind?”
“Anywhere that’s not my dorm, honestly.”
Chuu hmms thoughtfully.
“I can do that.”
;;
Chuu takes her to one of the other dorms, older and less desirable than where Yves lives, but still thankfully with a working elevator. They ride up to the top floor, and Chuu ushers her through a door that has a penguin decal stuck to it. (It makes Yves smile – she appreciates consistency.)
“Taking me back to your room already?”
Chuu’s eyes get wide and she lets out a panicked squeak. Then, seeing Yves’ grin, she whacks her on the arm.
“No! I mean, yes, but this isn’t where we’re going.”
“Huh?”
Chuu walks across the room, opens a window and pulls herself through, banging limbs on several different things in the process. Yves panics briefly before realizing there’s a long stretch of roof beneath Chuu’s feet.
“It’s our private terrace!”
Yves raises an eyebrow, but follows her out the window with significantly less flailing.
“That was impressive,” Chuu says.
“Yeah, well. The rest of me still works.”
Yves looks around. It’s a good roof – wide and open without being too exposed, with a row of folding chairs facing downtown.
“It’s best for watching the sunset,” comes Chuu’s voice. “We’re a little late, but still. I thought it might be nice.”
“It’s great. Thanks for bringing me here.”
Yves sinks down into one of the chairs, propping her ankle up on a second. She breathes in and out slowly, savoring how far up they are, how separate this feels from the rest of the city.
When she looks up, Chuu is settled into the chair next to hers, watching the remnants of sunset sink toward the skyline. The light is pretty, painting the city’s colors deeper than usual, and Yves takes the opportunity to admire the way it looks against Chuu’s face.
Before tonight, Chuu was someone she wouldn’t mind talking to for a few minutes at a party. That’s not nothing – there are a lot of rungs lower than that on Yves’ hierarchy of people, including ‘men I would rather punch than hear talk about philosophy’ – but Chuu isn’t exactly the person Yves would expect to devote a night to cheering her up.
And, ok, Yves has some tendencies toward self-absorption. She probably should’ve asked before now what Chuu is up to. But it’s been a rough day, and it’s only now that the disappointment of sitting out during the showcase she spent all summer choreographing is waning that she has the space to question: what’s in this for Chuu?
Yves is about to ask, but then Chuu very visibly remembers something. A realization spreads across her features, widening her eyes and mouth, pulling her eyebrows together, straightening her back as if someone tugged up on a string attached to her head. Yves has been told she’s expressive, but there’s something so endearingly honest about how Chuu feels things with every part of her.
It’s fun to watch, and it makes Yves forget her question.
“Oh! I have ice cream, I meant to bring it out. Ice cream always helps. Do you want some? I can go get it –”
“It’s ok, Chuu. Really.”
“Isn’t there something I could get you? I want to make you feel better.”
“You already have.”
Chuu pouts, and Yves holds back a laugh.
“Ok, how about this," Yves says. "Why don’t you tell me a story?”
“A story?”
“Yeah, anything. I want to know more about you. What’s the weirdest thing that happened to you this week?”
Chuu looks at her unsurely.
“Well, the music majors had a walkout, if that counts?”
“Wait, what? A walkout?”
“Yeah!” Chuu exclaims, warming to her task. “So it all started when they stopped maintaining our practice rooms last year, and the rumor is…”
;;
They stay on the roof talking until it gets too dark to see. Back in the room, Chuu perches on her bed, asking if Yves wants to watch the latest episode of a drama. Yves doesn’t really like the show but she also doesn’t want to leave, so she agrees and stretches out next to Chuu.
Yves is feeling better – lighter, more grounded, like she could survive turning her phone back on and replying to the I’m-mad-but-please-let-me-know-you’re-ok messages she’s sure Lip has sent her.
Chuu’s story helped. Yves still has no idea why the music majors staged a walkout – Chuu is too distractable and tangent-prone for effective storytelling – but she’s fun to listen to anyway. She talks with her hands, and with several octaves’ worth of noises.
Yves would like to do it more often, maybe. Listening to Chuu. Which brings her back to the question:
“Why are you being this nice to me?”
Chuu freezes behind her laptop.
“I like helping people when I can. Making sure they’re ok.”
“That’s it?”
Chuu shrugs, looking a little guilty.
“Also, um. I’ve always thought you were gorgeous. I saw you dance at orientation when I was a freshman, and like. Wow. You have such a strong presence – you always seem like you can do anything, like you’ve got everything under control. I looked up to that, and I was attracted to it. But, I realized tonight that that’s not real, or it’s not the whole story at least. Because today you needed help and you let me help you, and I liked getting to see this side of you even more.”
“What, the weak one?”
“No, silly. The human one. I had a crush on Yves the dance queen. I could like Yves the person for real.”
Chuu meets Yves’ eyes as she says that, and the boldness of it takes Yves’ breath away.
She’s received a lot of confessions, girls and boys who look at her and make a dream out of what they see. A lot of them start with, “I’ve seen you dance.” She’s never accepted one of those, but then again none of the people confessing have made her smile on a night when all she wanted to do was curl in a ball and cry.
“Chuu,” Yves says. “Can I kiss you?”
“Seriously?”
Yves nods.
“Ok.”
Yves takes the laptop from Chuu and sets it on the desk. She turns back around, slowly, carefully.
Chuu has gotten closer. Her eyes are big and dark, and Yves looks from them down to where Chuu is biting her lip. It makes Yves want to be the one doing the biting.
When their lips meet, Chuu’s hand comes up to rest against Yves’ jaw, and it’s so soft, like Chuu is afraid to fully touch her. Yves pushes in closer. Chuu pulls back, grinning, and then Yves realizes she has it wrong.
Chuu isn’t scared. Chuu is teasing her. She can tell what Yves wants and is keeping it from her.
“Chuu,” Yves says, and it comes out breathy and whining, and she would be embarrassed if she wasn’t so absorbed in getting Chuu to kiss her properly.
“What?”
“You said I could kiss you.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
Yves whines again. Fuck it, she thinks.
She throws her good leg over Chuu, rolling so that the two of them are pressed together with her on top. She kisses Chuu hard, with her whole body, and is gratified by the gasp she gets in response. Chuu’s hands grab at her hips, pulling her down harder, and she finally kisses back the way Yves wants her to. Everything about it feels good; every point of contact sparks with possibility.
“Wait,” Chuu says a few minutes later, as Yves is starting to kiss down her neck. Yves doesn’t process the word until the hands that had been pulling her close push up at her shoulders, but then she backs off immediately.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No, it’s not that at all.” Chuu takes a deep breath. “Before you commit to anything, I want you to make sure you’re not just kissing me because you had a bad day and you want to feel better. If we do this, you need to actually like me.”
Yves blinks. Once people start kissing her, they don’t usually tell her to stop.
“So, to recap. You like me. I kissed you. And now you’re kicking me out.”
“Pretty much. But I’ll call you an Uber, and I really hope you decide to come back.”
Yves leaves with Chuu’s number in her phone and her wide, brilliant smile imprinted in her mind.
;;
Two weeks later, Yves walks out of the health clinic with a smile of her own. She’s supposed to take it easy, but she officially has the OK to start dancing again.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” she texts to Lip.
She opens a new message, wondering what exactly she should say. Decides this is worth a call instead.
Chuu picks up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“So, today is a good day.”
“And?”
“I still want to kiss you. More, if anything.”
“I see,” Chuu says. Yves can hear her grin. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Can I see you tonight?”
“I get out of class at 5. Pick me up?”
“Can’t wait.”