ASIN: B00L0NVH2G
Publication Date: June 26, 2014
Appearance:
Summary:
When seventeen-year-old Natalya’s dreams of being a ballerina are killed in a car accident along with her father, she must choose: shut down—like her mother—or open up to love.
Last year,seventeen-year-old Natalya Pushkaya was attending the School of Performing Arts in New York City. Last year, she was well on her way to becoming a professional ballerina. Last year, her father was still alive.But a car crash changed all that—and Natalya can’t stop blaming herself. Now, she goes to a regular high school in New Jersey; lives with her onetime prima ballerina, now alcoholic mother; and has no hope of a dance career.
At her new school, however, sexy soccer player Antonio sees a brighter future for Natalya, or at least a more pleasant present. Keeping him an arabesque away proves to be a challenge for Natalya and his patient charms eventually draw her out of her shell.
When upsetting secrets come to light and Tonio’s own problems draw her in, Natalya shuts down again, this time turning to alcohol herself.
Can Natalya learn to trust Antonio before she loses him—and destroys herself?
EXCERPT
The shortcut to the
lake from our home is a dirt road that isn’t well lit, but I know the way by
heart. I hurry down the path, tuning my iPod to Chopin’s happier music. But I
can’t drown out Mama’s voice. It resonates in my head. It’s my fault! I know she’s wrong because she’s not the one who
killed him. I did. If only I didn’t get into an argument with him in the car.
If only I had warned him about the truck. I bite back a sob and rip off my knee
brace to walk even faster. At first, my knee is stiff, but at least I can
extend my leg much better now.
Seeing the lake calms
me down, soothes me. This place is always crowded in the summer, but on this
crisp September night, there’s no one. The lights surrounding the area flicker,
the tall trees leave interesting shadows on the ground, and a discarded pink
umbrella stands next to the bench by the grilling area. I turn up the volume of
my iPod even more, settle on the bench, and search through my backpack. My
pointes show the wear and tear of the last years, and no matter how much I
scrub, there’s one smudge that doesn’t want to go away.
Memories flash back
when I slip them on: my father handing me a bouquet of lilies after each of my
recitals, the crew from the School of Performing Arts sneaking out to get ice
cream, the summers I spent on the raft at the lake with Becca and my babushka,
the hours at the barre.
Everything’s gone.
Dancing’s always been
my escape from reality: from the fights my parents had more and more often,
from my babushka passing away all alone at the hospital because no one told me
she was sick, from my fears of letting anyone get really close.
Dancing’s always been
my future.
Dancing’s always been
who I am. So even if I can’t dance like I used to, even if I can’t put too much
pressure on my knee, I’m convinced I’ll train my way back to the top, that I’ll
show Dr. Gibson and the rest of them that they got it wrong, when they said it
was very unlikely I would ever go back on stage. Juilliard
postponed my audition and the director of the School of Performing Arts said he
was holding a spot for me if I wanted to come back. If I could come back.
I use the bench as my
own personal barre, slowly bend my knees, keeping them over my toes. Grounding
my heels on the ground, I stretch down as much as I can, but I don’t make it
past a demi-plié. I warm up for ten
minutes, losing myself in the familiar movements. The stars reflect on the
water; it could be the perfect backdrop for a production of Swan Lake. I wish I could position
myself for a grand jeté, feel the
wind surround me as I fly into the air, but I know better than to jeopardize
the progress I’ve made. The last time I tried, my kneecap almost snapped again.
Both my knees were smashed in the car crash, but my pivot leg suffered the
most.
I angle my feet for
some small pas de bourrée. I go
faster and faster, until I bump into a rock. Fear steals my breath away. I
avoid landing on my leg and instead fall on my ass.
Little
facts about One, Two, Three & Elodie Nowodazkij
- Little
fact: I wrote this book (mostly in the train) in 6 months back in 2012.
And it has gone through several revisions since.
- Little
fact: Like Natalya, I love pelmeni - but my favorite Russian dish is
stuffed blinchiki (mostly with mushroom and mashed potatoes) yum!
- Little
fact: I got the inspiration of my main character's name - Natalya - from
my mother-in-law
- Little
fact: Like Natalya’s father, my favorite composer is Chopin.
- Little
fact: My book is officially coming out on June 26th 2014 because it's my
parents' 40th wedding anniversary
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