“Why are we walking in the rain?” Chris wondered aloud.

“To get where we’re going,” Lance shrugged.

“No, I mean why didn’t we just have the cab drop us at Bridget’s?”

“First of all, the cabby was taking us for a ride. We were basically making a figure 8 around where we actually wanted to be,” JC offered. “Secondly, Bridget’s place is right around the corner, here.”

“Thirdly,” Regan spoke up, “Hindsight is 20/20 and if you hadn’t decided to walk, I’d be dead.”

Justin lagged behind a bit, a little wary of the girl walking up ahead with his friends. He studied her. He hadn’t seen her face very well because it was covered by her jacket’s hood but when they’d hit the ground, it shifted a bit to reveal a very pleasing profile. The truth was, the only reason he was able to react so quickly was because he’d been staring at her as she got off the bus and crossed the street. He and the guys weren’t far behind her and when he saw her turn back, he noticed that the driver of the car coming at her was staring off into space. He moved so fast, neither Dave nor Mark even knew what was going on until he and Regan were on the ground by the curb on the opposite side of the street.

As they walked, Mark tossed Justin the occasional knowing glance, all of which went completely unnoticed by the young man walking slightly a head of him. He continued to study his subject, even though he had only a limited view. He noted that she walked with a graceful gait and remembered Bridget having talked about her. A ballerina, she’d said. He felt an uneasy sensation in his stomach that he couldn’t identify. He watched her chat with JC, the way she gestured when she spoke, sometimes to herself, other times, casually touching JC’s arm. Every once in a while, he could swear she was looking back in his direction but the hood, again, blocked his view.

Of course none of this meant anything. He was just curious. This girl obviously had a death wish. What the hell was she thinking anyway? She probably had zero common sense and did stuff like this all the time. Probably best to keep my distance just for bodily safety.

Regan began to pull out ahead of the group and lead them up the steps of Bridget and Mike’s town house. She dug a key chain out of the side pouch of her bag, eliciting a raised eyebrow from JC. “You have a key?”

”Yeah, I’m here a lot,” she chuckled as she unlocked the door and let herself in. “Mike!?” she called out, announcing her presence. “I hope you’re decent, you’ve got company!” she called out again before turning back to the guys. “You might wanna kick off those wet shoes and hang your jackets up out here. Bridg is a little Nazi-like about her carpeting.”

The seven men did as they were told, and made their way cautiously into the living room as Regan disappeared to look for her brother.

“Wow, Mike must be doing really well for himself,” JC muttered looking around the large room which could have doubled for an Ethan Allen show room.

“He’s not here,” Regan announced, returning from the kitchen with a slip of paper in her hand. “He went to check on the restaurant,” she continued handing the note to JC, for whom it was intended. Justin turned around at the sound of her voice from examining a photograph of Bridget, Mike and Maeve on the mantel. He could see her clearly now. Her entire appearance suggested a grace he hadn’t seen before. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a braided bun at the base of her neck, revealing her whole face, unobstructed. Her features were smooth; full lips and high cheekbones, complementing a striking pair of brown eyes.

“Did Bridget tell you where the spare key was?” she questioned JC.

“No,” JC answered handing the note back to her.

“I don’t know how my idiot brother thought you were going to get in here to read this note,” she scoffed shaking her head. She discarded the sweatshirt she wore over the leotard she never bothered to change out of and knelt down next to her bag and snuffed as much as she could into the top of it.

“Aw, take it easy on the boy,” JC laughed sitting down on one of the forest green overstuffed couches, mentally noting its comfiness. “Bridg told me he was up late sparring with you. I’m sure his brain wasn’t fit for coherent thought this morning.”

She laughed at JC’s comment before realizing her own idiot move that had occurred not ten minutes before. “I hear ya. I mean its not like I was exactly demonstrating the intelligence of a brain surgeon this morning either. Maybe I’ll cut him some slack when he come in. Its not like I’ll be able to live the ‘almost dying for a pair of pointe shoes’ thing down once it gets back to him.” She tossed a thankful smile at Justin who returned it, somewhat shyly. She turned to go back to the kitchen calling back over her shoulder, “Can I get anyone anything? Bridget makes these killer peanut butter cookies and there are like three-dozen left from her last baking spree.”

At the mention of the word ‘cookie’, it was every man for himself as they bounded into the kitchen after Regan. “I’ve had dreams about Bridget’s peanut butter cookies since the last time she came out to see JC,” Joey said eagerly awaiting their appearance.

Regan dug a tin out of its hiding place in the cupboard. “Bridget, you’re slipping,” she uttered, very pleased with herself for discovering the hiding place of the coveted treats. She placed the tin out on the table and watched in awe and the group attacked it with a ferocity she’d never seen demonstrated outside of Animal Planet. “Jeeze, slow down. Chew your food.”

Joey’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he savored the cookie he just popped into his mouth, whole. “Good stuff, Joe?” Regan giggled at the sight before her. All he could do was nodded his approval in lazy nods while he reached for another cookie.

“I’ll be back in a minute, boys. If you exhaust the resources call for me and don’t tear the kitchen apart, please. If Bridget is Nazi-like about her carpets, she’s the uber-nazi when it come to this kitchen.” With that, Regan retreated to Bridget and Mike’s room. She sat down on the unmade bed, left by her brother and reached for the phone.

“So when I say that Byron’s “Corsair” sold ten thousand copies in one day, you have to understand that for this era, a standard press run was five hundred, period.” Bridget looked out in the blank faces of thirty 17-year-olds. “C’mon, guys! Lord Byron was like the Later Romantic equivalent of a rock star.” Still no response. “You guys are supposed to be advanced students, here. Gimme something!!” Finally, a lone hand went up in the back of the classroom. “Yes, Will?”

“Can we talk about all those chicks he did again?”

Bridget only had time to roll her eyes before a knock on the door interrupted the class. She looked over to see Susan, one of the receptionists motioning for her to come to the door. “Start reading the second Canto of ‘The Corsair,’ and I’ll be right back.”

“You have a phone call in the office, it’s your sister-in-law.”

“Thanks Sue. While you’re here, you wanna watch my class for me?”

“I suppose,” the older woman said reluctantly.

“Ok, thanks, Susie Q. I’ll be right back, promise.”

Something was up. Regan never called her at work never mind in the middle of the morning. Bridget strode down the empty hallway toward the main office with purpose in her step. When she arrived she smiled warmly at Kate and Leslie, the other receptionists. “Hey ladies, I’ve kidnapped you’re comrade to watch my class.”

“Poor Susan,” Leslie chuckled.

“Hey, I resent that,” Bridget smiled moving to pick up Susan’s phone. “They’re honor students.”

“Yes, and you’d never know it,” Kate commented. “She’s on line three, dear.”

“Thank you,” Bridget winked before pushing line three on the phone’s mini switchboard. “Hello?”

“I almost died today! Hi, by the way.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Bridget said, her heart nearly stopping.

“I almost got ran over by a god damned cab around the block from your house. I always knew it would be a cabby to do me in.” Regan replied nonchalantly.

“But you’re ok, though, right?” Bridget breathed.

“Yeah. Justin Timberlake saved my life.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he totally threw himself in front of the car and knocked me out of the way. We’re all at your house by the way. I’m keeping them placated with your cookies till you get here.”

“Wait a sec. Back up. Are you telling me that Justin risked his life to save a total stranger,” Bridget asked in awe, not totally believing her ears.

“Yup. Then he gave me an autograph.”

“Cute,” Bridget replied dryly to Regan’s sarcastic remark. “Remind me to give that boy a kiss and his own batch of cookies. Love that kid, I swear. Everyone’s ok, though, right?”

“Peachy,” Regan replied, her tone suggesting anything but.

“What’s wrong? And why aren’t you in class?”

“Camilla gave me the weekend off.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“Any particular reason I should be? I didn’t ask for any time off.”

“Then why did Camilla give it to you?” Bridget asked, becoming suspicious.

“She said she noticed I’ve been slipping a little and I didn’t want to tell her about my ankles so I, uh, kinda told her that you were sick.”

“What! How sick?”

“Like ‘deathbed-my-brother-needs-a-shoulder-to-cry-on-so-that’s-why-I’m-drained’ sick,” Regan stated wincing in preparation for Bridget reaction.

“I can’t believe you! Regan—”

“White lie, Bridie! White lie!”

“Whatever, I want you to hang up right now and call that sports’ physician and make an appointment.”

“But—”

“No ‘but’s Regan, I mean it. If you don’t get those ankles looked at you not be able to walk in a year let alone dance. I hear ABT likes their ballerinas on their feet rather than on wheels after that whole ‘Swan Roller Rink’ fiasco last time they—”

“Ok, ok! Jeeze, sarcasm overload. I’ll call. Tomorrow.”

“Regan—”

“I promise, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday, there may not be anyone in the office. Nevermind, just go get the phone book and tell me the number. I’ll call.”

“Fine. Wait a sec.”

After a few moments of silence and several knowing glances directed at Bridget’s aggravated expression from Kate and Leslie, Regan returned out of breath.

“Ok, you ready?”

“Yeah,” Bridget confirmed grabbing a pen and a post-it from Susan’s desk.

“555-8212.”

“Ok, now go get off your feet and don’t let those boys drive you nuts. They’re a handful.”

“Well, I think with the help of their rather large body guards I can manage to break their spirit,” Regan smirked. “Oh, I was thinking about making dinner tonight, what do you think?”

“Can’t you sit still for, like, five seconds?”

“You know you love when I make pasta. I learned from an actual Italian,” she laughed. “Do you need anything from the market?”

“No, just please take it easy.”

“I will, I will. Tomorrow.”

“Uhgg,” Bridget growled in frustration. “Good bye, Regan.”

“What did I say?”

Click.

“I swear that girl is going to give me gray hair.”

“Not easy raising a teenager, is it, Mrs. Costelloe?” Kate laughed.

“It’s not funny. That’s exactly how it feels sometimes,” she shook her head ruefully as she dialed the doctor’s phone number.

“Buongiorno, Luigi’s Pizza!”

“Dammit,” Bridget muttered as she hung up. “I’m gonna kill that little brat.”

“Something wrong, Mrs. Costelloe?” Leslie snickered.

“No,” Bridget mumbled throwing an icy glance in the gray-haired woman’s direction as she moved toward the door. “I have to go rescue Susan from the natives and hope they haven’t turned into ‘Lord of the Flies’ yet. I knew I was a mistake to keep that book on the reading list. Gives ‘em ideas.”

Regan wandered back into the kitchen where most of the guys sat in a satisfied trance. “Eyes too big for your bellies?”

“Something like that,” Lance commented, rubbing his stomach. “I prefer to think of it as or bellies not being big enough for eyes.”

“Ok…” Regan smiled as she grabbed the last two cookies left in the tin and headed into the living room.

She found Justin browsing through the book shelves on either side of the entrance to the dining room. “Big reader?” she asked softly, sinking into one of the couches.

“Not really,” he said not taking his eyes off the expanse of books. “There’s some library here though.”

“Yeah, Bridget’s a big reader. Makes for a good characteristic in an English teacher. It’s a regular approved reading list up there.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine. I’m more John Grisham less,” he paused scanning the spines of the books, “Marcel Proust.”

“I assume you’ve never read ‘Swann’s Way’ then?”

“No, I can’t say that I have,” he said as he felt her move up next to him.

“Well, you don’t know what you’re missing,” she said taking the book from its place in between ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’ and ‘The Awakening’. “I’m sure Bridg wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it,” she said handing it to him.

“Um, I don’t think it’ll be necessary,” he shook his head, trying to hand it back.

“Why don’t you just hold onto it and see,” Regan countered, a knowing smile on her face. He was nervous.

”Ok,” he agreed, a pleasant smile creeping across his face. Her suspicions were absolutely correct. He was nervous and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. I’m probably just nervous these books are gonna come toppling down on me around this walking disaster.

“By the way, I’m sorry about before,” she said softly, returning to her seat.

“Sorry for what?”

“Well besides being so stupid as to have to be rescued in the first place, you pretty much risked you life and I acted kinda weird after. I didn’t mean to shrug it off; I was just embarrassed. Still am, actually.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he shrugged, sitting down in a chair across from her.

“Ok, I won’t,” she mumbled, tucking her legs underneath her, biting into one of the cookies.

“So where are you from?” Justin said suddenly feeling the need to fill the silence.

“Why do you ask?”

“The accent, you’re not from here,” he clarified.

“Oh, right,” she nodded, swallowing the last of her first cookie. “I grew up in Dublin until I was 8 when I moved to London to study at the London Junior Ballet. When I was 10 I moved here to go the School of American Ballet. So the accent’s not as strong as it used to be. Wait till you meet Mike, he can be almost unintelligible at times.”

“Can’t wait,” Justin mumbled, looking around the room.

“You know I really didn’t expect you to be so, um—”

“What?” Justin asked, getting defensive.

“A, quiet? I just thought you’d be more talkative and, I dunno, upbeat, ” Regan shrugged.

“Well, excuse me if I didn’t live up to your expectations,” Justin said not quite under his breath.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Regan said softly. This was going just swimmingly. Regan shifted in her seat and winced as her feet tangled into a very uncomfortable position. “Dammit,” she muttered, rubbing her right ankle when she finally pulled her legs successfully from underneath herself.

“You ok?”

She looked up to see Justin leaning forward in his seat, his brow crinkled in… was it concern? “Yeah, my ankles just haven’t been cooperating lately.”

“Oh,” he replied, his eyes downcast. “Sorry.”

She looked up to say something when she heard the creak of the floor behind her. “Hey kids, you playing nice?” JC smiled as he took a seat beside Regan.

“Best buds,” Regan replied, throwing a pointed, but stunning, grin in Justin’s direction.

“So what are we doing today?” Chris inquired, entering the room with Lance and Joey in tow. They all looked at Regan.

“Why are you looking at me?” she said incredulously. “Hey I just got you guys here, I’m not a tour guide!”

“C’mon Regan, you live here. You must know some fun, less-than-obvious things to do,” JC pleaded.

Regan rolled her eyes at JC and looked from face to face. They all looked at her expectantly with the exception of Justin who’d cracked open the copy of Proust sitting on his lap. “Guys, I really don’t know what to tell you. I have my own agenda today so unless you want to tag along, I suggest chilling out here and getting settled. I mean aren’t you guys on, like, vacation?”

“True, we are on vacation but I don’t think any of us are really in the mood to just sit around. What did you have planned?” JC said shifting in his seat to look directly at her.

“Well, I was planning on cooking dinner for you guys tonight so I’m going home to shower and change and then I’m heading to Little Italy to the markets. If you wanted to come with we could hit some of the little stores in the Village near my place and then have lunch in Little Italy before we head back here.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard!” JC said nudging her. “We should only drag one of the Thomson Twins out there along and I think it should definitely not be Mark,” he continued gesturing to the two men who still sat in the kitchen talking about whatever it was that bodyguards discuss amongst themselves; riot tactics and what not, it was assumed. “He’s already pissed we made this little impromptu trek in the first place.”

“Good call,” Lance affirmed.

“Yeah, well you guys are going to have to sit in my little apartment while I get my act together, though,” Regan added.

“I think we can handle it,” Chris smirked. “You have cable, right?”

“Of course, what do you think this is?” Regan chuckled, climbing to her feet. Her soft laughter turned into another wince as she put more pressure on her feet.

“You ok there kiddo?” Joey asked stepping forward to brace her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she smiled. “My ankles are just a bit sore. Toe shoes are killer, I’ll tell ya.”

“You sure?” JC persisted, climbing to his feet as well.

“Positive,” she said moving away from both Joey and JC’s protective gestures. “You guys wanna go get settled upstairs first before we get going?”

“Yeah,” JC said still eyeing her suspiciously. He didn’t know Regan all that well but what he did know made him doubt that she was being completely upfront. She was an absolute sweetheart but fiercely ambitious when it came to her dancing. There was very little that could distract her from her dream and he was even shocked that she had let a single bite of one of Bridget’s cookies pass between her lips. She was always on some insane diet every time he saw her. He went and grabbed his bags from the hallway, followed by everyone except Justin.

“You coming with, J?” Joey questioned his friend as he climbed the first few stairs.

“Nah, I’m just gonna chill here I think, I’m wrecked,” Justin replied.

“Suit yourself,” Joey mumbled as he followed the rest upstairs.

Regan, once again knelt down next to her bag and retrieved her sweatshirt as well and a roll of bandaging tape from her self-made dancer’s first aid kit. She sat down on the floor, Justin’s view obstructed by a chair. She pulled up the legs of the navy drawstrings she’d pulled on after she was banished from the studio. She also rolled up the bottom of her foot-less tights to her mid-calf and proceeded to pick at the tape to get a piece off.

Justin shifted in his chair, inconspicuously to see what she was doing. He saw her begin to wrap the medical tape tightly around her right ankle. She reached up to brush her cheek with the inside of her wrist. Was she crying? He couldn’t tell. She could have just as easily been brushing away a stray hair as a tear. What he could tell was that whatever was wrong with her ankles was more serious than she was letting on. For a moment he felt a flash of empathy. He thought of what it would be like if something were wrong with his vocal chords. Would he necessarily want everyone to know? The prospect of that happening scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t imagine the fear if it were an actuality.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and tried to concentrate on the page in front of him.

For a long time I used to go to bed early. Sometimes, when I had put out my candle, my eyes would close so quickly that I had not even time to say to myself: “I’m falling asleep.”

He read the opening passage to Swann’s Way with thoughts of Regan taping her ailing ankles on the floor nagging his consciousness to come into the light. What was it about her that he couldn’t just ignore her? The girl was a walking tribute to insanity. Not only did she almost get herself killed not an hour before but she was also endangering her health, pretending that she was fine when she so clearly wasn’t.

He didn’t need to be worrying about someone else right now. His life was complicated enough. There was no reason he should even care about this person but something tugged at him every time he looked at her. Every time he saw her wince in pain when she stood. It was nothing but compassion he was feeling certainly. Here was another artist, passionate about her dream, struggling with the possibility that the tools of her craft may be giving out on her. It was truly pitiful.

Meanwhile on the floor, Regan had finished wrapping her ankles. She pulled down her tights and pant legs, and pulled on her sneakers. She stood with a little more comfort, feeling the snug wrap support the weak spots. She sighed, glancing over at Justin who seemed to be knee deep in Proust. She smiled slightly, somehow knowing it would be something he could get into. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head as the others came bounding down the stairs from the third floor.

“Are we ready?” she asked, a bright smile on her face.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lance answered, his southern drawl coming through.

“I’ll go grab Dave,” JC offered, walking around Regan and towards the kitchen.

“You sure you don’t want to come, J?” Joey asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Joe,” he said not taking his eyes off the page in front of him.

JC came in on the heels of Justin’s reply, followed by both Dave and Mark. “Ready?”

“If we were anymore ready, we’d be gone right now,” Chris offered, leaning against the wall.

“Ok, well you two don’t have any wild parties or anything while were gone,” Regan laughed, regarding Justin and Mark with a playful glare. Neither looked up, and both grunted their response.

“That’s jet-lag speak for ‘Get the hell out of here, already,’” Chris said flinging an arm around Regan’s shoulders and escorting her to the door.

Justin heard the door click shut and let out a sigh of relief. Ever since he’d seen the girl step off the bus, it was like the air got heavy. There was tension and not the pleasant kind. He thought that what he’d been feeling was just an itch to get back on the road but in Regan’s presence it was magnified ten times. It was probably just the fact that he recognized something in her. She had the same passion for her dreams he had and with the threat of their extinction for her, it brought his own insecurities about the end of his own. Surely that was all there was to this ‘thing’ with this girl he didn’t know from any other in the faceless crowd he’d become accustomed to. Pitiful.

Again, Mark’s knowing glances went unseen.

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