That Summer

Evangeline felt like a slob.

No, she felt worse than a slob. There was no word in existence for whatever it was that could possibly define what was going on.

She hadn't danced for fourteen days. She hadn't even put toe shoes on in the last ten, much less gotten any exercise at all.

There were a few attempts on Evangeline's part at dancing on her own, but she had nowhere to go. Her entire house was carpet, save her garage, kitchen and bathrooms. Her shoes caught too much on the rough cement in the garage and slipped on the linoleum in front of her fridge. And Evangeline couldn't even bring herself to attempt dancing of any sort near a toilet.

Any form of exercise other than dance wouldn't be good for her body. Running and push ups would build all the wrong muscles for a dancer's body. She'd used that excuse to get out of gym every year since eighth grade.

Evangeline's body hadn't had such a break from daily strenuous physical activity since she was eleven. Her body didn't know how to react and Evangeline sure as hell didn't know what to do.

Without any form of stimulation, her legs felt like they didn't know how to support her anymore. Her body felt stagnant and lazy. Evangeline feared that if she even attempted to dance anymore her body would no longer remember the positions or endless eight counts she had once engrained in her every cell.

In the absence of dancing, Evangeline had taken to drawing in a sketch book she'd bought. She used to draw a lot when she was younger, but now the colored pencils and pastels felt like foreign instruments in her fingers. Her hands had not been trained as her feet had.
If Evangeline wasn't drawing, she was watching TV or movies. Sometimes she went shopping or just on a walk.

But something everyone couldn't help but notice was that while Evangeline had so much time off, while she wasn't constantly busy and barely home; while she spent much of her time cooped up in her room or in the family room of her house - Evangeline Donahue was increasingly alone.

Any friends she had were only her friends for the protection of a label that she provided them in high school. Now that high school was gone, so were Amber and Lauren. They didn't need Evangeline anymore and somewhere deep down; Evangeline knew that she didn't really care because she had always been well aware that they were never her real friends anyway.

And somewhere even deeper down, that terribly upset her.

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Paul hadn't seen much of Evangeline in the two weeks since Bryan had hurriedly left the recording studio to find his sister in the hospital. But what he did see did not sit well with him at all.

The few times Evangeline and Paul had come into contact, he hadn't really known how to react. She seemed so terribly stagnant now.

Usually, Evangeline was running around, getting ready for a dance class or just getting in from one. Now she was almost always huddled in front of the television or taking a nap in her room. The break from dancing seemed to have put a terrible damper on her spirits.
She was just as snappish to Paul as she'd ever been, when he'd come in and stare at her for too long or greet her too enthusiastically. Part of him knew she'd always have that side to her but another part of him hoped she'd grow out of it.

It's awfully hard to be in love with a girl if she refuses to be in love with you.

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"Hey, Ev," Paul smiled as he entered the Donahue home. Evangeline started and put something quickly under the pillow beside her.
"Paul. My name is Evangeline," she responded flatly without tearing her eyes from the rerun of Seinfeld playing on the screen.
"I know," he said whilst wrinkling his nose. Evangeline hated Seinfeld.

Evangeline said no more, instead keeping her full attention on Elaine and George who were fighting over something ridiculous on screen. That is, until she realized Paul was still watching from a distance.

"Why are you still here?"
"Why are you watching Seinfeld? You hate Seinfeld," Paul countered.
"It's on. I have nothing better to do with my time," she fiddled with the pillow beside her. Paul could've sworn he saw the corner of a turquoise book.
"When can you go back to dancing?"
"Two days."

And it was the first time he'd seen even a flicker of a smile on her face for almost fourteen days.