The Hit List by Nikki Urang Read Free Book Online Page A

in place to warm up my muscles before I sit down to stretch. When I’m convinced I won’t pull anything, I flip the song to one of the old solos I learned in New York.
    I prefer to be in the studio by myself. It’s the only time I can really be me. I don’t have to put on an act for other students or for the teachers.
    Two hours pass. I barely notice. My muscles appreciate the familiarity of the routine. Since coming to L. A., everything has been new. It’s nice to change it up, but sometimes I miss the way it was.
    I pull myself into a pirouette. Something catches my eye as I spot the mirror and I let myself fall out of the turn. Luke stands in the doorway of the studio. His dance bag is slung across his chest.
    I pick up a towel and wipe off my face. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone had this room reserved.”
    Maybe I should have reserved the studio, after all. I’d hate to be getting in the way of someone else’s rehearsal that actually went through the right channels to get the room.
    “I don’t have it reserved. I was just walking by and saw you in here. You really are a great dancer.”
    I drop the towel back into my bag and pull the ponytail holder out of my hair. My hair falls down around my shoulders. “Thanks.”
    Luke pulls his bag off and lets it fall to the ground. He walks across the room and sits on the floor against the mirror.
    I tuck my hair behind my ears to get it out of my face. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I don’t really want to dance in front of him. I sit down in the middle of the floor and face him.
    “It’s quiet around here today.” I don’t know what else to say, but I feel like I need to say something. He just invited himself into my rehearsal.
    “Take advantage of it. People are probably out enjoying the weather. It’ll change in a few weeks and we’ll all be fighting for rehearsal space on the weekends. It’s always been that way.” He runs his hand along the floor and wipes the dust on his pants.
    “Haven’t you only been here for a year?” How would he know what it’s always been like?
    He laughs and it echoes off the walls of the studio. It’s a pleasant sound. “My parents used to let me use the studios on the weekends before I started class here. I’ve been coming here on Saturdays for like ten years.”
    Oh, right. I forgot they’re directors of the department.
    “The older kids used to teach me their routines. It was fun.” His smile fades into a small frown.
    Maybe it’s not fun for him anymore. I bet there’s a lot of pressure when your parents are big in the industry.
    He picks at a blue spot on the floor. “I remember when they were painting sets in here one weekend. I think I was fifteen. I knocked over a can of paint and stained the floors. My mom was pissed.” Amusement lights up his eyes.
    I smile back at him. “I bet.”
    “She made me clean this entire floor. And then she wouldn’t let me into the studio for a month.” He shrugs. “I snuck in anyway. It’s not like it was hard.”
    I laugh. I thought maybe last night at the fundraiser had been a fluke, but it’s still just as easy as ever to talk to him.
    He grins. “That’s what she gets for keeping paint in the studio. Pretty sure she learned her lesson.”
    “I’m sure she did.”
    He watches me for a few seconds in silence. I study the room around me. I don’t know why I’m afraid to meet his stare, but I am.
    His phone vibrates against the floor and we both turn to look at it. He picks it up and swipes his finger across the screen. His smile slowly falls until he’s frowning at his phone. The muscles in his arm clench as his grip on his phone tightens. If he squeezes any harder, he’s going to break it.
    “I have to go.” His eyes stay glued to the screen.
    “Um, yeah, okay. I should go, too.” I don’t know who pissed him off so much, but I’m not so sure I want to find out. I’m just glad it wasn’t me.
    He lifts his head up and his face relaxes as soon as