Dream Chaser by Angie Stanton Page A

if I had the guts to do this. It was a lift. A toe dipped back into the water I feared most: midair. He could drop me. I could get hurt.
    Was I willing to do this? Or maybe the question was could I? I couldn’t make myself do a toss that day in practice. I might freeze up again. A shiver ran through my body and I shuddered.
    How could I get out of this.
    He cocked his head to the side and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. I can lift you. The question is can you jump high enough? Oh. That’s right! You’re a cheerleader. Of course, you can jump really high.”
    “I’m not a cheerleader anymore,” I snapped back in a loud whisper.
    “That’s right. You quit. What happened? Your partner get a little too close for comfort?” This time, when I really wanted him to look away, he kept his eyes glued to mine.
    I wanted to slug him, but Tyson watched, intrigued by our exchange. Miss Ginny looked ready to blow. Everyone was waiting for me. Irritation stiffened my spine, and I made my decision.
    What the heck! A lift was nothing like a toss in cheerleading. I would never be airborne or free falling. Eli’s hands would always be on me. Of course that was another problem, but one worry at a time...
    “Whenever you’re ready,” Tyson called.
    “Yes, sir. I’m ready if he is,” I said through clenched teeth to Eli.
    I moved into first arabesque, standing on my right foot with my left leg lifted high, foot pointed, and arms extended in first position. Eli stepped behind me, placed one hand under my thigh and the other on my waist. He lifted me straight up with ease, his arms extended over his head.
    His effortless strength surprised me, but h is confident hold brought back memories of years together when we would rehearse together for hours on end. Eli had always made me feel safe when we danced. We were inseparable best friends. While still the lean dancer of our youth, Eli now possessed strong muscles hidden well beneath his T-shirt. After holding the position for a couple of beats, he returned me back to the floor with gentle grace.
      “Good. Now an overhead lift,” Tyson prompted.
    This one would be harder. I’d be over his head, with my back arched, facing the ceiling. I glanced at Eli. He cocked his head in annoyance. Eli stepped behind me his hands on my hips. I could feel his breath on the little hairs of my neck. His familiar scent reminded me of days long past.
    A light squeeze of his hands on my hips told me he was ready. I took a breath, pli é d , and leaped. He lifted me straight up and over his head, his body braced beneath me. With my arms extended and toes pointed, I held my body taut. He balanced me with ease.
    Tyson nodded approval. “Very nice.”
    We’d hit to post perfect, and I readied myself for Eli to release his arms and swing me down. But he didn’t.
    I held my body taut and waited for his transition, which continued not to come. What the heck was he trying to prove? In cheer, my positions were always upright, which was much easier for the lifter and the liftee . Holding this position was much harder than it looked, but I refused to break it before he did.
    Eli’s arms gave the slightest of twitches, and I knew he was getting tired. His damned ego had stepped into the middle of my tryout.
    “You can let me down anytime,” I seethed.
    “What, you tired?” He shot back. Eli lowered me to the floor with care.
    I sneered.
    Tyson chuckled. “Ah, not only do we have history, apparently we have chemistry too.”
    “What. Ever.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked away. Eli turned and faced the opposite direction.
    As I glanced to the side of the stage, I was horrified to discover half the cast. Curiosity shone in some of their eyes, while others glared at me with blatant hostility.
    Oh crap!
    How long had they been there? My eyes darted away to avoid making eye contact. Would they welcome me if I made the show? I’d be the new kid, an outsider.
    Tyson faced away from the stage,