Part of Forever

Prologue - Tucker

Just before I go out onstage, I kiss the tiny rose pendant on my necklace before tucking it back under my shirt. Then, I step out into the lights and can’t help but grin.

The thrill is the same every time I step out onto the stage. I don’t think it’s a feeling I’ll ever get over. Performing and the crowds going wild for me.

There is absolutely nothing like it.

And still, something is missing.

There’s always something missing. As I walk across the stage, guitar in one hand and waving with the other, I try to push the feeling away.

I take my place at the front of the stage, sitting on the lone stool in front of the mic, and rest my guitar against my legs. I strum twice, making sure everything is still in tune.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?” I ask into the mic, adding a little extra twang to my voice. The crowd cheers. There are phones out as far as I can see, pointed in my direction. It’s surreal to be here. 

I’ve been the opening act for bigger artists for the past few years.

This summer, though, I’m the main attraction, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to express what that means to me. How many twenty-one-year-olds can say they’re living their dream?

I smile and take a deep breath. I can do this.

I glance up at the sky. It’s clear tonight, but it’s impossible to see the stars with all of the lights shining down on me. Let’s do this.

“Thanks for coming out, y’all.” More cheering. “Tonight is the last show of the ROSIE Tour, and I want to start with a song I don’t normally sing.” While I know this tour is named after my first (and currently only) album, ROSIE, I haven’t sung this song yet.

I know the crowd will eat this up. My manager, Murphy, practically beamed when I told her my plans for the evening—and she’s not an easy lady to please.

“Many of you know about my first single, ‘Rosie.’” A hush of reverence falls over the crowd when I say the title—when I say her name. My heart thunders in my chest, and for a moment, the stadium in front of me disappears. All I see is her.

Her perfect smile, with full lips and auburn hair, pulled into a tight bun on her head. She’s got an eyebrow raised at me, and her mouth opens as if she’s about to say, “Well, are we going to do this or what?”

I blink away the image. As much as I love it, I can’t exactly break down onstage the first time I ever sing her song live. 

She’d hate that I call it her song, but it is. I think she’d also hate, just a little bit, that the reason I made it big was because of her; is because of her. Everything I have in this moment—in my life—is because of Rosie.

I play the first set of chords and swallow. It’s time.

By the time I’m finished, I doubt there’s a dry eye in the stadium. My face is wet as I stand and welcome the crowd to the tour once more, taking my next spot on the stage. The show must go on.

Life must go on.

Even if it breaks my heart.

Three Years Earlier - Rosie

Chapter One

This is it.

This is the moment that changes everything. Today’s audition will determine what happens next in my life. If today goes well, my future will go exactly as I’ve hoped and planned since I was nine years old.

One more time, I think as I glance at the clock. I have exactly fifteen minutes until they call my name, until I audition in front of the panel of Paris Ballet Academy dancers. I’ve worked on drills with these dancers and the other ballerinas auditioning for a spot at PBA, but now it’s time for the solo auditions. Thankfully, I have enough time to run through my routine one last time and have a few minutes to rest.

I push play on the stereo, grateful my mom thought to put five seconds of silence before the track started. It left just enough time for me to get to my place in the far corner of the room before the music started. The familiar notes hit my ears, and my body reacts instantly.

I was born to be a ballerina.

Everyone who watches me dance says that. It feels like the music and I are melded together so closely that everyone else sees it coming to life. It’s as if the melody and my body have become one. Dancing is as natural as breathing for me.

This is it.

I’m breathing hard when the song ends. My muscles scream in pain as I walk over to my bag and pull out my phone. I’ve been pushing my body to its limit this week. Mom would be proud. She’d also told me to turn off my phone before coming into the training room because she didn’t want me to have any distractions. I glance over my shoulder toward the door, half expecting her to come waltzing through even though I know she’s not allowed to see me until after my audition. She has to stay in the lobby with all of the other parents.

I probably shouldn’t turn it on.

I sink onto the floor, giving my tattered feet a break. At this point, my torn-up feet are just a hazard from being a ballerina and pointe dancer.

What I need is a nice long bath and a break. While I can probably soak in the tub this afternoon, I don’t think I’ll get a break from dancing anytime soon. Not that I want one; dancing is in my blood. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive.

I glance around the empty space one more time as I switch my phone on. My belly flips in this simple act of rebellion. I just need a distraction. At least that’s what I tell myself. I feel ready and confident that I am going to kill this part of the audition, but I’m still a ball of nerves. The butterflies remind me of how I feel before every performance or competition. They won’t go away until I get out on the floor, in front of the panel, and dance.

Until then, I welcome the opportunity to focus on something—anything—else… My phone vibrates with notifications as the door to the room opens, and I throw my phone back into my bag. I try to sit as though I’m just sitting, and not like I’m about to get caught looking at my phone before the biggest audition of my life.

But it’s not my mom; it’s Elena, another ballerina auditioning for PBA that I just met two days ago.

“Could I run through my routine in here?” she asks nervously. “The stereo in my practice room doesn’t work.”

“Sure.” I smile at her. She might be my competition, but she’s good. I’d bet that she and I both make it into the academy. They only take six new dancers each year, and there are fifty of us in this studio right now, either warming up, practicing, or auditioning.

Elena smiles in relief. “Thanks.” She walks over to the stereo and plugs her phone in. I watch as she gets started.

Mom has told me a thousand times not to get too close to the other girls here. She told me it’s best not to have friends in the dance world because it gets too messy when you make a team and they don’t, or vice versa. Mom probably would have told Elena no. But I’m not Mom—something I’m grateful for.

I love her as my mom, but as a dance coach, she’s a little intense. And I’d rather have friends. Elena seems like a good one. 

I close my eyes, listening to the music while Elena runs through her routine. I should stretch so my muscles aren’t tight when they come to get me for my audition, but I don’t want to move. I imagine the pirouettes and leaps I will do as the music crescendos.

The music stops, and I stand.

“Thanks again.” Elena grabs her phone and walks toward me, hugging me. “Good luck on your audition. I’d love to see you in Paris next year if we both make it. Maybe we could room together.”

I smile. “I’d like that.”

She leaves, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I don’t have enough time to check the texts that came through as I turned my phone on, so they’ll just have to wait until later.

I look at myself in the mirror. Today is January 3rd, the day I’ve been training for every day for the past three years. This audition means everything. My future depends on me dancing my best today, and I will be excellent.

The door opens.

“Rosie Dillon?” A small woman with graying hair peeks into the room. “They’re ready for you.” I smile at myself in the mirror and stand a little taller as I follow her out of the room and down the hall.

I am Rosie Dillon, daughter of Catherine Dillon, and I am the best ballerina on the West Coast.

* * *

The audition room is only slightly larger than my rehearsal space. The panel sits at a narrow table in front of the mirror; there are three women and one man watching as I walk across the room. A small X in the middle of the floor marks where I’m meant to stand.

“Rosie Dillon,” the man says, smiling. This is David Caron. He trained my mother and observed many of my sessions last summer, when I went to Paris for a boot camp, as well as the group auditions over the last two days. “What a pleasure to see you again.” 

I nod, Mom’s words echoing inside my head. Do not speak until they ask you a question.

“Oh, this is Catherine’s girl?” 

I don’t recognize the woman on the right as she takes me in again. She smiles this time, and I’m sure she sees Mom in parts of my features. I look more like my dad, but my delicate frame resembles my mother’s.

The middle woman, Babette Moss, who’s been in the ballet world for over fifty years, squints at me. “Could you tell us more about yourself and why you’ve chosen to audition for the Paris institution?”

I nod and then say the words I’ve practiced a hundred times, hoping they don’t come out sounding rehearsed. “I’m Rosie Dillon. I’ve been dancing since I was five. I stopped dancing when I was seven and was diagnosed with cancer. After treatment, when I was almost nine, I started training again. I’ll have been in remission for nine years next month.” I smile at this part; it’s been almost nine years that I’ve been cancer-free. I continue, “I chose Paris first because it is where my mother was professionally trained. I am choosing Paris now because it is the best academy in the world, and I want to dance with the best.”

Everyone smiles at me, and the woman on the right makes a note. I know I’ve said exactly what they want to hear. Mom coached me on what to say. A little bit of my sob story about how I had to take off years of training, but have now come back, even better than I was before.

“You may take your place, then the music will begin,” Babette tells me. I nod and head to the far right corner of the room. Just as it did in the practice room, as soon as the music starts, everything else fades away as it becomes a part of me, and I tell a story through dance.