ONE DREAM ONLY

Available as ebook (FREE), paperback and audiobook. Links to stores and digital libraries below.

ONE DREAM ONLY (Natalya’s story #0.5)

She thought she was on her way to the top… 

Sixteen-year-old Natalya Pushkaya has one dream and one dream only: becoming the best ballerina ever. Dancing’s always been who she is and she’s working her hardest to land the main role of the School of Performing Arts’ end-of-the-year showcase. But…will she make it?

Within a week, Natalya’s life will be changed forever. 

Prequel novelette of One, Two, Three

Available as ebook (FREE), paperback and audiobook. Links to stores and digital libraries below.

AVAILABLE AS EBOOK (FREE!) 

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is available-at-amazon-3.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is apple-1.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is kobo-1.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is googleplay-1.png
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is scribd-2.jpgThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is indigo-1.jpgThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is nook-1.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is playster-1.png
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is 24s-1.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is angus.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is overdrive.png

AVAILABLE AS PAPERBACK

Coming soon to Bookshop.org

AVAILABLE AS AUDIOBOOK

START YOUR AUDIBLE FREE TRIAL…

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is available-at-amazon-4.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is audible_logo_2c_rgb-1.pngThis image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is apple-1.png

Three days after the audition

March 21st, 6 p.m.

BLOOD.

The blood is everywhere. On the snow. On my hands. Dripping down my left eyebrow. In my mouth. The metallic taste is on my tongue, overwhelming and overpowering. Stabbing pain shoots through my neck right to my head, and my body is numb from the cold. I shiver without being able to control it. Snow flurries fall steadily on my face, wetting my lips. My throat burns as if I spent hours screaming or crying. The shadows of the trees close in on me.

My breathing accelerates.

How did I wind up here? I close my eyes but I get dizzy, as if I turned in a fast pirouette without having a steady point to anchor me. I open my eyes again, my brain searching for answers, but the memory takes too long to come to me.

Oh.

Papa and I were on the way to the airport.

That’s right. I hadn’t wanted to leave the house while Papa looked so sad, so lost. I hadn’t wanted to go back to school in New York. So what if the School of Performing Arts where I have been a student for the past two years has a very strict attendance policy?

But despite my protests, he’d simply looked at me with a frown I’d never seen on him before and insisted I get my suitcase. He’d said that my staying in Maine with him and Mama wouldn’t help them sort out their issues.

Snow and ice covered most of the little road we took to the interstate. Papa tuned in to NPR, probably hoping this would quiet me. The car slid once, but Papa straightened it without much of a problem. Then it slid a second time, only slightly, and he muttered under his breath in Russian. I waited a few seconds and then pressed him, asking more questions he didn’t want to answer. I changed the radio station, knowing full well that it would get a rise out of him. His favorite show was about to come on and Papa’s rules were clear: never touch the radio if his favorite show was on or if he was listening to Chopin.

The memories get blurry. There was a truck and then loud honking, tires screeching and Papa yelling for me to hold on tight.

Papa.

My breath catches in my throat. Why hasn’t Papa said anything yet? I turn my head, wincing at the pain, but I have to see. I have to make sure he’s okay.

“Papa?” I call out, fighting against the dizziness taking over me. My heart skips a beat. I can’t move anything. I can’t move my legs.

I need to move my legs.

My arm’s stuck, and pain radiates all over my body. I breathe in shuddering gasps, and my eyes dance frantically over the wreckage, trying to see where Papa is. There’s only broken glass, the debris of our gray Honda, snow, and blood.

He probably went to get help. I can almost hear him with a laugh in his voice, telling me, Everything will be fine, Natoushka. You worry too much.  But why would he leave me alone like this? He’d never leave me alone. My heart pounds fast and loud.

“Papoushka?” I call again, but my voice is thin.

Nothing.

Dread grips me, and I slowly turn my head to the other side and gasp. Papa.

His body’s contorted; his leg is sprawled at an unnatural angle and his arm is curled over his head. He’s knocked out, but his bright-blue eyes—so similar to mine—are wide open.

“Papoushka,” I whisper, but he doesn’t move. “Papoushka!” My voice cracks. Someone will come and help us. Someone will find us. Someone will make sure we’re okay.

I clench my teeth, and inch by painful inch, I slide my body closer to him. My hand touches his and I interlink our fingers.

His skin is warm. He’s fine. He has to be.

“You’re okay, Papoushka. You’re okay,” I say as if in a trance. “You’re okay,” I repeat until everything blurs around me.

Until the pain’s so strong that it engulfs me.

And I close my eyes.

GRAB YOUR COPY NOW…

FREE E-book! Amazon – Kobo – iTunes – B&N – Google PlayScribd

Paperback: Amazon

Audiobook: AmazonAudibleiTunes