Variation: A Novel
Variation: Chapter 27

Bright2lit: She deserves whatever she gets.

The clock ticked as I sat in the armchair of our living room, scrolling through Instagram, liking a few of Reagan’s and Harlow’s posts as they geared up for summer intensives.

Good for them. I’d spent my morning having two spectacular orgasms while riding Hudson, pushed over the edge on the second by watching him lose complete control under me—after I made him beg, of course. Surely, that counted for cardio.

Anne sat on the couch across from me next to Kenna, her back twisted so she could look out the window, her fingers drumming a quick rhythm on the upholstered back.

Kenna and I shared a look, and then she swiped on her iPad. “Anne, you are going to have to replace some other outlet for the nervous energy, because you’re giving me anxiety.”

Anne’s fingers paused, but she didn’t look away. “Just nervous.”

“We can tell,” I noted, tucking my feet under me and reaching for my water bottle so Kenna wouldn’t get on me about hydrating.

“One of you could read to me,” she suggested.

“Would you like to hear about a new minimally invasive procedure for rotator cuff repair that’s showing good results in clinicals?” Kenna asked. “Because that’s what I’m reading about.”

“I thought you weren’t a surgeon?” Anne finally gave up on her pretzel maneuver and twisted onto her knees toward the window.

“I’m not. I’d rather treat the whole patient and replace ways to prevent getting cut open in the first place. Doesn’t mean I don’t read about what’s out there.” She swiped again, then glanced pointedly to the end table next to me. “That banana isn’t doing you any good just sitting there.”

I rolled my eyes and quickly peeled the fruit.

“What are you reading, Allie?” Anne asked. “Anything good?”

“Looks like Candace is engaged.” I smiled and turned my phone around so they could see the picture of the brunette showing off her ring. Anne looked over her shoulder, then spun back around like the car wouldn’t pull into the driveway if she wasn’t personally watching.

“Look at you on social media again, and good for Candace!” Kenna nodded. “Jillian’s great, and she’s wonderfully talented too. I stopped by her new gallery last month and the place was packed.”

“An artist? Huh. I always figured Candace would marry another dancer,” Anne said.

“That’s your mother talking,” Kenna chided before looking my way. “Some people like having lives outside the studio, having a partner who can help them anchor their life outside ballet so they survive life after ballet.”

“Don’t start.” I scrolled with my right hand and snacked on the banana.

“She has a point. You know what they say,” Anne muttered. “A dancer dies twice.” Once when they retire, the second when they expire. “I like that you’re breaking your no-dancer rule, Allie, and I love getting to see your smile again.”

“But?” I took another bite and opened the Seconds app.

She folded her arms across the back of the couch, and rested her chin on her hands. “I can’t help that I’m protective of you, and I know you said Hudson was there the night at Giselle, and that goes a long way to climbing out of the hole he dug when we were kids, but—”

“But you’ve never entirely trusted him.” It was nothing I hadn’t heard before. I logged in to a new, anonymous Seconds profile, then checked out the RousseauSisters4 page and stared. The account had gained another two hundred thousand more followers since I’d come to Haven Cove in May, and forty thousand in the last two days. Hopefully the video was slowing down.

“People make shitty decisions before their frontal lobe develops,” Kenna interrupted, saving me the trouble. “He couldn’t handle seeing Allie hurt and dipped out for basic. That makes him an immature dick at eighteen, not irredeemable. It’s not like he caused the accident or something.” She looked up from her tablet. “He didn’t, did he? There wasn’t some second set of tires or something?”

“No, that was all Lina. Never could obey a damned speed limit.” Anne sighed. “Or any rule, for that matter.”

“It was just us out there,” I confirmed. “That much I remember.” I searched RousseauSisters4 and clicked on the first video, turning the volume down so the others wouldn’t hear. It started as the video Eva had secretly taken of me explaining why I wasn’t comfortable with grand jetés—or any leaps yet—through the edits she’d made of my embarrassing errors during our weekend, and then WestCoastPointe stitched it, adding their commentary as they walked through the halls of a ballet company in California. Thanks to the subtitles, I kept my humiliation to myself.

“So let’s break down the latest MBC drama. Do I think Alessandra knew she was being recorded? I doubt it. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s clearly still in the early stages of rehab, and from what I’m hearing at MBC, she flat-out lied to everyone at their gala about being ready to return for the fall, which brings up some major ethics issues, in my opinion.”

The banana lost its flavor. That wasn’t true. I never lied.

The creator’s face twisted in disgust. “Look, it’s not like MBC wasn’t going to hold a spot for her if she told them she’s taking longer to heal—she’s Alessandra Rousseau—but lying to her company about her injuries when they developed their entire fall program around her is just . . . It lacks integrity, you know? No respectable company is going to touch her after this. Look, I’ve said it before, she’s as pretentious and haughty as they come, but she used to be one of the greats, and I’m disappointed. She’s supposed to be an idol. Let me know what you think in the comments.”

I never asked to be. Despite the immediate nausea, I chewed the banana because I needed the fuel, then attempted to reach expert-level masochist and tapped the comments.

PenchePrincess: Damn. Bet she never thought she’d get caught.

AdrienneAdage14: This is why you should have to rehab at your company if on contract.

WestCoastPointe: AdrienneAdage14 Totally agree.

AraThomas9164: They should be able to sue her for fraud

Dulcinea4ever: She’s disgusting and I hope they don’t renew her contract

OnPointe34: Why isn’t anyone talking about the fact that they replaced her with her sister? Can’t MBC stand on its own without a Roussseau?

Pardonmypasse: OnPointe34 Doubt it. The whole place would crumble without that $$$

Tutucutex20: I stopped supporting her forever ago.

ReeseOnToe: I think her sister did a really shitty thing by posting that video.

WestCoastPointe: ReeseOnToe Disagree. Eva did the community a service.

ReeseOnToe: WestCoastPointe she’s her Sister.

WestCoastPointe: ReeseOnToe Right, so imagine how hard it must have been for Eva to hold Alessandra accountable. I have so much respect for her.

TanyaThomas97: ReeseOnToe, absolutely agree with you. Obs she didn’t know about the recording.

BrandoQueso: Not sure how I ended up on ballet Seconds, but I’m here for the drama.

ReaganHuang: If Alessandra says she’ll be ready by fall, then she will. She’s not a liar, and you’re not helping your professional image by calling her one, Lila.

“Allie?” Kenna called my name like it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to get my attention.

“Huh?” I jerked the phone to my chest, hiding the screen, and found her standing over me.

“I was asking why Hudson wasn’t here, considering this involves him too.” She held out her hand. “Give that to me.”

“Why?” I clutched it tighter.

“Because you went pale as hell, stopped listening to us, and now you’re the shade of a cherry, so unless Hudson is in there sending you dirty text messages that startle the shit out of you, hand it over.” She flexed her hand.

I swallowed my pride and embarrassment, and showed her.

She read through the comments, alternating between scoffs and sighs. “You do not need to be reading this shit.” She shook her head. “I’d love to see someone say any of this in person.”

“I told her to stop looking,” Anne said, still staring out the window. “Stick to the baby-goat videos if you need dopamine. Or that one guy who cooks.”

“Love that Reagan has your back,” Kenna said, handing the phone back. “Want me to hop in and defend your honor?”

“No. They’ll just call you complicit. I’m already on fire, no need to strap yourself to the pyre.” My fingers hovered over the screen, and for the slightest heartbeat, indignation won and I debated replying to set the record straight. I tapped the Comment button.

“Don’t do it,” Kenna warned. “I have no doubt this feels shitty, but you enter that fray personally and the sharks will feast. They’ll twist whatever you say to fit their narrative and set off a new wave of monetized content. Don’t pay their rent. We both know next week there will be something else new and shiny for everyone to comment on. Now, where is Aquaman?”

I scrolled up and closed the app. “Hudson couldn’t get out of work.”

“He’s here.” Anne pushed back so hard that she slid clean off the couch, and I winced as her knees hit the floor. “He’s here!” She scrambled to her feet, and I rose to mine.

“Stop it.” I ditched the phone on the end table and put myself in front of Anne. “We have a plan. You will stick to the plan. You have no idea how he’ll respond to this.”

Anne pursed her lips, then snatched the manila envelope off the coffee table and sat down on the couch.

“Thank you,” I told her, then headed to the front door and opened it as Everett hauled his Louis Vuitton suitcase up the steps in a fitted teal polo and plaid shorts. A knot of anxiety formed in my throat.

“Oh my God, there she is!” He abandoned his luggage at the doorway, shoved his sunglasses onto his blond hair, and rushed me with his last few steps, carrying me into the house in a hug. I held on, knowing it might be the last one he willingly gave me. “Ugh, Alessandra.” His arms squeezed tight. “I was waiting for you to reach out, but when Anne called, I hopped on the first flight.” He set me down and lifted his hands to my upper arms.

“Hi, Everett.” I smiled and found myself searching his face for signs that Anne’s discovery had any basis in truth.

“What Vasily did is just . . . it’s a steaming pile of shit. The whole Company’s pissed. Since when do we announce casting in the middle of July? And you should have seen the fit Charlotte threw that Eva had been yanked through the ranks up to principal above any of the soloists. Reagan said she shattered one of the mirrors in the women’s locker room. Pretty sure Vasily is hoping it will all blow over by the time everyone’s back in the building after summer intensives, but I’ve heard a couple soloists might not renew their contracts. It’s all very dramatic.” His eyebrows raised scandalously. “Did Vasily at least explain himself to you, or did he send Maxim to do his dirty work?”

“I missed his call and now he won’t take mine.” That knot in my throat doubled in size.

“Of course he won’t.” He rolled his eyes and dropped his hands. “He knows the board isn’t going to fire him while his wife’s the executive director, so it’s not like he has to own up to whatever fuckery this is. What the hell happened? Did your mother make a call or something? Not that I think Sophie would screw you over in order to . . .” He cocked his head to the side. “Well, I wouldn’t put anything past your mother.”

“She didn’t call.” I stifled the absurd bubble of laughter that tried to rise at the accusation. “For the first time in my life, I can honestly say my mother had nothing to do with this. It’s all Eva.”

“Fucking Eva.” He pulled his suitcase in and shut the door. “So what’s the plan to get your role back?”

“I . . . don’t have one.” Short of becoming the act of God Hudson had suggested.

“Please. You have Dr. Lowell here with you. Everyone knows it. If you don’t have a plan, she does. Don’t you, Kenna?” He raised his voice with the last question.

“I do,” Kenna answered, appearing in the doorway. “But my plan depends on three things going right.”

“Well, I’m here, so obviously you have one.” He gestured to his suitcase. “I assumed Anne called because you needed a partner to practice with, because hell is freezing over before I partner with your sister come October. And before you ask, of course I’ll stay for the month. Michael will have to come visit, of course, but who doesn’t love summers in Cape Cod? God, I haven’t been here since that last intensive your mother taught. How old were we?” He surveyed the foyer like he was looking for changes and peeked into the studio.

I cleared my throat. “I was seventeen that summer. Lina was nineteen.”

“That’s right.” He didn’t so much as flinch. “So what’s the second variant to your brilliance?” he asked Kenna.

“That’s a bit more—” she started.

“How do you explain this!” Anne charged out of the living room, waving Juniper’s original birth certificate.

“Way to stick to the plan,” Kenna muttered.

Everett’s manicured brows lifted as she thrust the paper inches from his face, and I held my breath as he scanned the document that listed Juniper simply as Baby Rousseau. “Well, shit. I’d pretty much forgotten about that.”

My jaw dropped along with my stomach, “That’s all you have to say?”

He glanced at me, then Anne, his features slackening. “Oh, shit, you didn’t know. In that case, anyone feel like a drink? I might need one for this.”

Five minutes later, I handed Everett the fourth glass of lemonade I’d poured as he’d settled into the matching armchair, then took mine to my own seat and found a text message on my phone.

Hudson: Just thinking about you.

I smiled despite the circumstances and typed out Take it easy on your ribs today, then gave all my attention to Everett on my left, who was avoiding Anne’s glare like a professional.

“Start talking,” she demanded.

“I was sitting right where Kenna is when Lina asked me to play daddy.” He ran his finger over the rim of the glass. “She said it would only be on paper, and I’d only be responsible for a few hours. Just long enough to sign the termination of parental rights.”

My heart clenched. She’d told him, but not us.

“So you aren’t Juniper’s father?”

“Is that what they ended up naming the kid? Her parents, I mean.” He took a drink, then realized we were staring. “Of course I’m not her father. That would require me having sex with a woman. No, thank you.” He shook his head.

Anne sagged like a balloon that had lost all its helium.

“Like you didn’t know it was a long shot,” Kenna muttered at her.

“Do you know who it is?” I asked Everett.

“No.” Everett leaned forward and took a coaster from the stack on the coffee table. “She said it was a one-night stand when she got to San Francisco and couldn’t remember his name.” He set the coaster on the end table, then put his glass on it. “I can’t believe you guys don’t know this. I thought you shared everything.”

“Apparently not, so please keep going.” Anne stared at her glass. “When was this?”

“I think it was the first week in May,” he answered.

“And she was here?” I looked around the living room like Lina would magically appear.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Said she’d been here for a month or so.”

“She must have come once we went back to New York after spring break,” Anne muttered. “Records said Juniper was born a few towns away. She stayed in Barnstable County.”

“Sounds right. I agreed to come up once she’d had the baby, and when that happened, I signed whatever the lawyers put in front of me.”

“Why would you do that for her?” I asked.

“She was pregnant and needed help. The lawyers said the adoption would go through easier, faster, if the legal father signed off on it, and Lina made it sound like she had the perfect family picked out for the kid. And when I hesitated . . .” He struggled for words, then took his sunglasses from the top of his head and set those down too. “You’re going to think I’m a piece of shit.”

“I could never.” I reached across the end table and squeezed his hand.

“I could,” Anne mumbled.

“Knock it off.” Kenna threw a pillow at her, and Anne deflected, then hugged it to her chest.

“I didn’t make the cut for the MBC summer intensive that year,” Everett admitted, running his fingers through his hair so it stuck straight up. “I auditioned in January, and didn’t make it.”

“Impossible.” I shook my head. “You were here that summer, and Mom only allowed kids who were accepted into that program to come . . .” My ribs tightened around my lungs.

“Yeah. That.” He nodded. “That was the price. I could train with the Rousseau girls, and she’d cover my room and board in town, as well as secure me a place in the Classic so I could compete for an MBC contract.”

I forced myself to breathe, then drank down half my glass of lemonade, focusing on the tart, sour flavor.

“Machiavelli had nothing on your mom,” Kenna said.

“I really thought you knew,” Everett said to me. “I thought that’s why you were always so nice to me.”

“I’ve always liked you because you’re . . . you.” I could hardly fault him for keeping secrets when I kept so many of my own.

His gaze whipped to Anne. “They said it would be confidential. Your mother promised me no one would ever know.”

“She only kept this copy of the birth certificate, from what I’ve found,” she told him. “But you were always going to be found, Everett. They changed the law a few years ago. Once she turns eighteen, Juniper will have access to her records.”

“Well, that’s . . .” He swallowed. “Good to know.”

“I thought I knew her,” Anne whispered. “And every day I’m realizing I knew nothing.”

“No one knows everything about everyone,” Everett said. “We all keep things to ourselves.”

Gravel crunched in the driveway, and we all looked out of the window as a black Range Rover pulled in.

“Are we having a house party I don’t know about?” Anne asked.

“That’s the third element of getting your role back,” Kenna said, unfolding from the couch and walking across the living room. “I can rehab your ankle, but what you need is an instructor.”

“Did she call your mom?” Everett whispered.

She wouldn’t. My stomach lurched.

“Doubtful,” Anne replied. “Mom is a little . . . self-absorbed at the moment.”

“What did you do?” I asked Kenna as I stood. Every instructor I knew was teaching intensives this time of year.

“I’d never call your mother,” Kenna called back from the foyer, then opened the door.

“Baby!” Eloise stepped into the house in a red sheath dress and hugged Kenna, then looked over her sunglasses at Kenna’s athletic wear. “What are you wearing? No matter. My bags are in the car. I’ll take Sophie’s room, of course.”

Oh, holy shit.

She hadn’t called my mother. She’d called hers.