“Speaking of, did you want to go to a party this weekend after I get out of rehearsal?”

“Oh! A party? What kind of party?” Lydia asked.

“Just some of my friends getting together.”

“High school friends?” She sounded dismayed.

“Don’t you know me better than that?”

“Model party?” she guessed.

“Only the best. Some people I know from London who I worked with last summer are going to be in town.”

“Any hot guys?”

“What part of models did you not understand?” Trihn joked.

Not that models were Trihn’s type. They were extremely good-looking, but so many of them were narcissistic to a fault. She couldn’t handle a guy who took longer to get ready and had more hair products than her.

“Okay, I’m in. Can’t pass up on hot models. Though…you’re the one who shouldn’t be passing up on hot models. You’re too serious, and you need to loosen up.”

Trihn rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m going to get my bag and get ready for dance.”

“You can ignore me all you like, but you need a good lay,” Lydia called loudly as Trihn walked out of the room.

She retreated to the shared bathroom and pulled on her tights and leotard under her ensemble. She forced all of her hair up into a high ponytail on top of her head and then removed her box of bobby pins. It took fifty of them to get all her hair up into a proper ballet bun. There was just too much hair for it to cooperate with fewer pins. She sprayed back the wisps around her face. After retouching her blush and mascara, she exited the bathroom and returned to Lydia, who continued to rant about how Trihn was too serious.

“Give it a rest, Ly!” Trihn said in exasperation. “I’m not you. I’m never going to be you.”

“I’m not saying that you have to be!” Lydia cried. “I’m just saying that there’s nothing wrong with casual sex.”

Trihn shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Feel free to fuck around with whoever you want.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Trihn hauled her bag onto her shoulder and slid into her heels. “I’m going to dance.”

“Hey, don’t be upset,” Lydia said, following her to the front door.

“I’m not upset.”

“You’re clearly upset. I’m your sister. I should know.”

Trihn let out a deep breath. Lydia could push her buttons like no one else. Trihn loved her sister to pieces, but the subject was already a sore one at the moment. It hadn’t helped anything that Lydia was pushing.

“Just say you’ll think about finding a nice guy to occupy your time this summer. You deserve it for all your hard work,” Lydia said.

“I’m not dating someone or fucking someone as a prize for my accomplishments,” Trihn said in frustration. “I want to date someone because I like him, because I could fall in love with him. I want to be with someone who I could marry.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “You’re eighteen years old, Trihn. Life isn’t that serious. You don’t have to marry anyone for a while, and if you keep talking like that, you’re going to give me gray hair.”

Trihn rolled her eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Probably, but creativity stems from madness. Or does madness stem from creativity?” she pondered. “Anyway, go to dance. Don’t worry about finding someone to marry or whatever horrible thoughts are floating through your head. You’re young and beautiful, and you should have so much more fun before you get married. This weekend, we’ll find someone fun for you!”

“Okay, Lydia,” Trihn said. If she didn’t relent, Lydia would continue with her relentless diatribe.

What she didn’t say was that she’d had plenty of that kind of fun during the past two years.

Lydia thought she was older and wiser; thus, she would be the one to corrupt her younger sister. But the truth was, with all the modeling events Trihn had been to, it had been almost too easy to be casual.

Now that she wasn’t modeling, she was intent on finding something more meaningful.

A WEEK HAD PASSED BY IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE.

Trihn sank down to the floor of the dance studio and started working at the knots on the ribbons of her pointe shoes. She had just spent six long hours rehearsing for the Senior Showcase at the NYC Dance House this upcoming weekend. Her feet were killing her, and she had worn through another pair of shoes. At this rate, she would go through at least two more pairs before the performances and probably one each night next weekend during the shows.

Renée flexed her feet and then pushed up onto the toes of her shoes. “Do you see this shit?” Renée asked.

She moved up and down on her shoes, and Trihn could see that the hard insole of the shoes—normally, a perfect curve to her friend’s foot—had split in half.

“The shank is completely broken. Fucking hell.”

“Mine, too.”

“What the hell am I going to do? I can’t keep spitting out seventy-five dollars every week. I’m not made of money.”

“We’ll work it out. We always do.”

Renée plopped down next to her and mercilessly tore at her shoes. “This wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t in the middle of the fucking Intensive as well.”

Trihn laughed. “My shoes are falling apart, and I’m not doing Intensive.”

Every year, the NYC Dance House would put on a big summer dance workshop called The House Intensive. Dancers from all over the country would come to their studio to compete for dance scholarships. Renée was a scholarship recipient, so her participation in the summer program was required. The studio liked to showcase their prodigies. It helped that Renée had just been admitted into Juilliard for the fall. It was an incredible achievement for anyone but even more so for an African American scholarship student from the Bronx.

“Well, you should be helping with Intensive! There are so many fucking kids, and we need more brilliant-minded choreographers.”

“Ha! You must be joking. We all know that I’m not a choreographer.”

Renée gave her the look. She tilted her head down, cocked one eyebrow, and pursed her lips. “Puh-lease. I know what you do on your days off. That freestyle shit works in contemporary, too.”

“That’s why, in a week’s time, I’m performing my senior piece in contemporary and then spending the rest of my summer doing what I do on my days off!”

“Whatever, hooker,” Renée joked.

Trihn shook her head. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that one. “I just like to have a good time. Why don’t you come with me tonight?” Trihn asked.

She shoved her shoes in her bag, and they headed to the dressing rooms.

“As much as I’d love to, I can’t. My mom’s expecting me home to watch the boys while she takes the night shift,” Renée explained.

“What is she going to do when you’re out of the house next year?” Trihn asked.

Renée sighed heavily. The choice to move to Manhattan and pursue her dreams had been really tough on Renée. Outside of dance, she’d work her butt off around the house while her mom worked three jobs to try to support their family.

“I try not to think about it. One day at a time,” Renée said. “At least Matthew will be there to help tonight.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You’re really going home to be with the BF.”

Matthew was Renée’s boyfriend of three years. They were pretty much the cutest couple around. He was a jazz musician and swore up and down that he was going to compose a ballet for Renée like nothing anyone had ever seen before.

“Whatever,” Renée cried.

Trihn stepped into a shower stall, peeled off her sweat-soaked tights and leotard, and stuffed them into an empty side pocket of her bag. She turned on the water and hurried under the spray when it was steaming hot. Her hair was still tightly held in its bun. She wouldn’t have time to blow it out before meeting her friends. After washing off the hours of practice, Trihn dried off and changed into a pair of tight leather booty shorts and a low-cut V-neck tank before slipping into her favorite pair of heels.