Hey guys! Hope you like my newest story – I decided it'd be something different, the boarding school, Performing Arts Academy thing. I also decided to experiment with the tense, so let me know how the current-tense thing is working for you. Don't forget to review!

Disclaimer: As if!

'Ok! From the top, everyone! Here we go! And 5-6-7-8-and!' Mrs Dantine shouts,

her voice booming elegantly throughout the wooden studio. 'That's it…yes, Angela! No! It's not a crouch! You need to ball up. Afraid!' By now, we have all stopped moving. 'And again! From the Top!' she shouts, frustrated, before counting us in for at least the tenth time. 'Twist-twirl-leap-down-ball-spring-arm-clutch-kick-' she keeps going, shouting all the movements out to us as we complete the thing from memory.

Everyone holds their positions when the music stops, absolutely shocked that she hadn't called us to a half halfway through. I feel sorry for the girls who are being held above the guys' heads, and even sorrier for the guys who are holding them there. We are all panting heavily, but are forced to hold our positions as Mrs Dantine ponders over us. It's just as Eric's arms began to quiver under the weight of Jessica that she says we can release the stance.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, shaking their muscles and stretching. As the bell signaling next lesson rings, she calls to us all, 'Okay, everyone don't forget to run through that between now and tomorrow.' We all begin to file out, but a call stops me. 'Oh, and Isabella?' Everyone turns to see why she was calling my name, but then they continue moving out, until they're all gone. 'Isabella, I saw you twist that ankle. Go to sick bay for some ice.'

'Kay, I will,' I tell her, grumbling. I'd hoped she hadn't noticed.

'Oh, and great dancing,' she shouts, just before the door closes. It has to be the first sentimental thing she's ever said to me. maybe, after five and a half years, she realizes that she's not scary to us anymore, and she may as well get on our good side. I don't know, and it's always things like this that let me down in class. I ponder and think over insignificant things too much.

When I arrive in Contemporary, ten minutes late due to all the paperwork dramas at sickbay, Lilith is just finishing warming up. 'Ah, Bella - nice that you could join us,' she says welcomingly. Lilith is an exuberant character, and can project her voice throughout the entire auditorium with out trouble. She's only about 30, and she wears knee-length swishy, patterned skirts and dresses; tight, vibrant T-shirts; and bright red Mary Jane's. In winter, she wears fishnets, and in summer, she wears short socks with rainbow stripes and crosshatched patterns. She always wears her flaming ringlet hair in intricate knots and swirls on the top of her head. She is also the most talented dancer and improviser I have ever met, and ever since year 7, she has been the most motherly figure this school has had to offer me.

'I'm sorry. I had to get some ice.' I point to the icepack in my hand, and after I sit down in the circle, I put it on my foot.

'Oh, that's a shame. At least, for you, we won't be doing much dancing today. I have news.' She addresses the entire class now. 'So, we all know that it's your last term. Your last term of being together as a group, before all going your own ways. Now, who can tell me what that means?' Our enthusiastic teacher receives dead looks from the class. 'The concert! Of course! Now, who knows what that means?'

Alice, trying to be helpful and accommodate Lilith's gusto, raises her hand slightly, and says, 'The solos?'

'Yes! Well done, Miss Alice!' A hiss of excitement shaves through the room. Every year, the Year 12 solos are amazing. The academy would sometimes spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on costumes, props and lighting, if they believed that the performance could get that particular student a signing.

Each year, multiple contractors sit on a balcony in the auditorium, murmuring to each other and jotting down official notes in leather-bound books, the possibility of the next big thing at their fingertips. Usually, two, possibly three of four, students get an offer. And, whatever you plan to do with your life, if you got an offer, you take it. Regardless.

Lilith continues, 'Now, as you know, this year's graduating class is ridiculously over packed, and we have almost double the students that we normally do. And so, this year, you'll be dancing in pairs.'

'Will they be mixed sex pairs?' Mike Newton, by far the most hormonal guy in the group calls out.

'Yes,' Lilith answers hesitantly. 'The girls will have the pleasure of drawing a boys' name out of a hat. That's your partner. No swapping or complaining. I'm actually quite surprised the numbers worked out,' she adds to herself, as a side-note. 'So! Boys, come and grab paper here. Write your names down. And don't be idiots. We'll be able to tell, surprisingly enough, that there are in fact not three Robbie Williams in the classroom.'

The guys all write their names down, while the girls get into line. I end up somewhere in the last couple of people, but I don't really care who I get placed with. It's not like it matters. They're all complete bastards.

One by one, the girls pick out their partners at random. The list keeps growing longer, and the range of guys left keeps getting smaller. By the end, Lilith's list reads:

Jessica Stanley & Craig Mc Lachlan

Maggie Roberts & Adrian Elkins

Olive Peterson & Gale de Henderson

Rosalie Hale & Michael Newton

Lauren Mallory & Sebastian Hawthorn

Alice Brandon & Tyler Greggory

Carmen Jasons & Jace Nicholson

Angela Webber & Edward Cullen

Isabella Swan & Eric Matthews

Louise Cummings & Emmett Mc Carthy

Libby Rose Miller & Jasper Whitlock

I look at Eric: a guy with a strong build, which means we can incorporate lots of lifts and jumps – something that always impressed the executives.

'Now, you and your partner may go to a part of the room, and brainstorm some ideas. I'll put on some music to help you. I also have paper here, if you need it…' she trails, browsing through her vast collection of CDs. She finally puts one on, as we all get a couple of sheets of paper, and a pen off her cluttered desk. All of the dance teachers have their own rooms – it had been decided it would make their lives a lot easier, not having to deal with changes in the size and shape of a room.

She puts on some classical, and I recognize the tune, faintly, but have trouble naming it. Eric and I sit down in a corner, and lightly brainstorm while making small talk and mucking about. He tells me how he admired my precision in the technique assessment at the conclusion of last semester, which makes me flush with embarrassment.

I ask him if he knows the piece of music playing, when the disc returns to the start, playing the initial song.

'No, no idea. I haven't heard it before,' he says, after pausing to listen to it carefully.

By the end of the period, we have sparse ideas, and the only things written on our pages are different themes, like whether we're going classical or modern, and possible inspirations, which includes a couple of books. We're not too keen on doing the romance thing, although neither of us says exactly that, but it's obvious by the way we both steer clear of the subject. Along with a couple of rough sketches of lifts, we seem to be a long way from a comfortable starting point.

As we file out, I glance at everyone else's paper – they, too, have little written down. We'd been told that we had four and a half weeks to perfect our routine, and we would work on different aspects of it in Contemporary, Ballet and Technique classes. This isn't just a performance, Lilith had told us. It's going to be the final method of assessment, and determines our overall results, which determines our chances of getting into our preferred collage, which, in turn, could determine what we do with our lives.

Apparently – or rather, frighteningly – this is a very, very big deal.

'You're with Tyler, yeah?' I ask Alice as we walk down the winding corridors to our room. We'd been roommates ever since Year 7, when we'd both come to the school not knowing anyone, coming from families that were almost disadvantaged, compared with those whose children attended here. We were both on a scholarship, and both in the run down residential hall that is now home. It's populated with kids who were as ordinary as we are, and whose parents can't afford one of the 'deluxe' or 'premium' rooms. Of course, the academy isn't allowed to say which halls are best, but it is known by all that the scholarship kids live in the residential hall – or the 'rezzie' – and the snobs and bitches live in the Fitzpatrick d'Albert hall.

Over the years, Alice and I had gained position in the rezzie, and now that we're at the top of the food chain, Year 12, we pretty much lead the population of it, along with Angela Webber and Olive Peterson, and Henry Scanlon and Jared Lees, from the other Year 12 stream.

We hold the meetings, about little things like out of order showers, and getting people to 'fess up for leaving the basement laundry taps on. It's not as if it's entirely pointless – for doing it, we get the three best rooms in the place. Basically, these only have a little kitchenette instead of a minibar, guaranteed hot water and extra space in the lounge area.

'Yeah.' Alice replies my inquiry. 'He's an okay dancer, but a bit buff for me. And, very absent-minded,' She sighs. Just like me, she is going to be doing most of the work in her partnership.

I grin at her. 'You wanted Jasper, didn't you?!'

'No,' she grumbles, embarrassed. 'So not.' Jasper Whitlock lives in the Fitzpatrick d'Albert hall, and once gave Alice flowers and chocolate for Kris Kringle. They've never been out, but a few years ago we caught them kissing behind the groundskeepers' shed. Since then, they've been very weary of each other: they avoid the others' glances, and blush when directly talked to by the other. But, when they're alone – or think they are, with me listening through the dorm door – they get along like Jake and I used to. They're not very romantic anymore, but we all know what's on their minds.

'Oh, I see. And I think you were already planning on the dance you were going to do with him, too. What's with all the period romance novels lying around?'

'Shut up, Bella. You have no idea what you're talking about,' Alice says, in a tone that forces me not to continue. At this moment, Angela runs up behind us.

'Guys!' she calls out. We stop, and turn to face her. 'Friday night. We're going into town. It's last term and we've still all at least got five leave passes. We just have to be back before two. You've got to come with,' she says, her eyes pleading. Alice brightens immediately at the offer.

'Sure! Who's coming and where are we going?'

'Um, well, I've invited pretty much all of the year, except a couple, and like five can't come. We thought we'd go to Zest or whatever it's called. The 16+ place. Oh, and I've still got to go to the d'Albert hall, but there's only a couple people who I was thinking of.'

Sensing Alice is jittering at the chance of talking to Jasper, I try to make up for my comment earlier. 'We'll go. Save you the trip. And I've got to pick up my blazer from the dry cleaner in their basement, so that'll be perfect.'

'Oh,' replies Angela. 'Cool. Thanks. Um, how about we meet you there at ten? It's on the main street. Hard to miss.'

'Sweet, Ange. See you there. Thanks for the invite,' I call back to her, as she bounces down the hallway, and into the elevator.

'Thanks, Bells. Now, who should we ask?' She asks, as we dump our books and bag behind the office counter, and go down a couple of corridors to the exit.

'Jasper?' She glares. 'Okay, um, Jasper, Carmen, Maggie?'

'Jasper is not going to be the only guy we invite. How desperate would I look?'

'Okay, how about Emmett McCarthy? He's a laugh.'

'Yeah. Good. Who else?'

'Uh, I don't really know.'

'Well, there's the Elkins twins and de Henderson. And there's Cullen. He knows how to dance.' The mention of my year 7 crush made me a little uncomfortable.

'If Cullen goes, then Queen Bee'll go too.'

'Ugh. I'm tired of calling her that. Can't we just say Rosalie? I don't want to leave here with any grudges. And it's okay if she comes. It was ages ago, Bells. You're over it.'

'Sure.' Rosalie Hale is the Queen of the academy. She is like the school's Regina George, except less bitchy. Sort of. She does stuff for the community, gets into the papers on a regular basis, and is head of the SRC. It is my wonderful pleasure to be her beta.

She is also best friends with Edward Cullen, who has duxed our year since our arrival. Well, except for last year, when someone – me – got the best of him by three percent. Yeah, we tied in all the dance classes, and he blitzed me in Biology, but last year was our eighteenth century novel module in English, and he can't speak French for shit. Well, compared to Alice, who outscored us both by miles. Since then, he's always had a playful grudge against me, and we joke about it sometimes.

By now, Alice and I are inside the d'Albert hall, and once we reach the Year 12 floor, we split up, in search of the different peers. I end up with Carmen, Maggie, Edward and Emmett, while Alice takes Jasper, the Elkins, Gale de Henderson, and Rosalie. Of course, there will be many more than this coming – their roommates will be desperate for a chance to escape the confinements of the school, so we'll probably end up with almost the entire year going.

Ten minutes later, I've talked to Carmen and Emmett, and knock on Maggie's door. Her roommate answers, and says Maggs sick with the flu, down in the sickbay, and will be there overnight. She seems to sense that there is something happening tonight, so I invite her to come, regardless of the fact I have no idea of what her name is.

When I reach Edward's room, I hear the stereo playing loudly from the inside. Something I've noticed about Edward is that he always listens to music – on his iPod, on his laptop in class, and you can constantly hear his stereo pounding whenever you're on this part of the floor.

I recognize the song – a trippy one with a lot of synth and bass. I start singing along to the lyrics, right outside his door, and I get right to the end of the chorus when the door swings open, revealing an Edward with shaving foam covering half of his face.

'Oh. Hi. Come to steal my notes, hey? Afraid yours won't cut it and you'll loose dux?'

'Pretty sure your notes have nothing on mine,' I tell him, smiling.

'Oh, I see. Sure. Um, come in, if you'd like. I'm just gonna be a second.' He turns and leaves the door to his room open, inviting me in. He heads into the bathroom to wipe his face, with a, 'Make yourself comfortable!'

I find it strange that he is so welcoming, but go in and sit on his couch regardless. The pristine gray suede is far superior to the silly worn out printed cotton one in our dorm, but ours is more comforting and homey. He emerges just after I have flicked through the opening pages of a magazine on his coffee table.

'So,' I state, not sure where to begin.

'So,' he agrees, nodding.

'Well, we're all going into town, to the club there or something. We barely have any homework, and we're all want to let our hair down for a night. Ooh, I like that dress.'

He comes over from his bed, where he was rummaging in his schoolbag, and looks over my shoulder. 'Nice,' he comments.

'Anyway, Angela's organizing it, so you should come. Also, Alice says you can dance, so…'

'Me? Dance? No way.'

'Ugh. Not even funny.'

'It was worth a shot.' He smiles at me. 'Which club?'

'Zest, is it?'

'Ahh, yep. Rose knows one of the DJs there.'

'She would,' I say, for myself, and not him. Apparently, I'm not over it. He just laughs at me.

'So, what am I wearing?'

'Ah, a real dilemma. How about your mankini?' I stand up, and cross to the door. 'You're a big boy. You'll figure it out.' And with that, I leave.

A call down the hall makes me stop and look over my shoulder. 'Bella!'

'Yeah?'

'I'll see you there, right?'

I smile. 'Yeah, you will.'

He grins. 'Awesome.'

'Serious?' Alice asks, while she curls my hair with steaming tongs. 'Like, "Will I see you there? Awesome." Really? Oh my God!'

'Mm-hm,' I tell her.

''Kay,' she murmurs, putting down the tongs and unplugging them. She rushes to the shared closet, bringing out two dresses that have been worn once or twice. She hands one to me, and then strips off her T-shirt to her strapless bra, before sliding it on. She adjusts it a little, then strips her shorts off from underneath. The dress is strapless and a darkish blue. It has a silver sequined sash running just under the bustline, and thin pleats cascade out from under it. The last time she wore it was when the entire year went out to dinner for the 'WELCOME TO THE END' celebration at the end of Year 11. 'Pop yours on, too Bella,' she instructs me, so I do the same.

It is a bright red, and has ruffled panels running down the front and sides. The two thick straps join onto a bust that curves up and knots in the middle to make me look like I have much more in that department than I actually do. As well as chicken fillets, which Alice decided we both needed a pair of in year 10, I look like the other girls in my year.

We both adjust our dresses and hair for a moment, standing before the full length mirror, then pull on some jewellery. I choose a few little black and gold pieces – gold hoops, a black choker and some chunky bangles. Alice stacks on the filigree, and I have to remind her that it's a club, not a wedding. She just sneers at me and continues to put in the dangly earrings she's holding. Along with heels – simple, tall, fire-truck red ones for me, and shiny silver glittering ones for Alice – we are ready to leave, and we decide to grab some tea in town.

At reception, we sign out with our cards, while the attendants eye our glitzy costumes with criticizing, somewhat envious eyes. We giggle as we prance out, not bothering to conceal our joy at escaping the boundaries of school. We go to the Italian restaurant in the main street, just a couple doors down from Zest.

When we arrive at Zest, we spot Ange, Eric, Emmett, Rosalie and a few other people I don't have names for up on a balcony, waving to us to join them. The club is packed full of young people, and I can't see a single defined person in the crowded mess of bodies on the dance floor.

Heavy music plays, and within half an hour our group of couches is full, and people are hooking up and heading off to the dance floor. I chat to a couple of people, and soon enough, I find myself face to face with Edward. Our area is almost empty now – Ange and Eric are chatting cozily on a loveseat and a couple of girls are gossiping about who just made out, as well as a couple of guys, including Mike Newton, who are seeing who can drink the most shots before either puking of falling over. We talk for quite awhile, taking swigs of alcoholic drinks at irregular, frequent intervals, and I have completely lost my sense of time, and it could be eleven o'clock or four o'clock and I wouldn't know any better.

'Wanna dance?' he shouts into my ear, just loud enough for me to hear over the raging festivities. If the dance floor had looked surreal when I first arrived, now it was animalistic. Bodies entwined, pressed together by everyone else, dancing to the hard beat of the computerized song. I nod vigorously, deliriously, and he leads me down the flashing steps and into the core of the club.

It has to be at least 55 degrees in the centre of the floor, and I feel like I'm breathing in moist fire, but the effect it has on me is maddening. We dance for a long time – too long, as my face is now covered in sweat, and my make-up is smudged around my eyes – and he keeps getting closer. Edward now leans down to put his face next to mine. He, too, is saturated in sweat, but it doesn't stop him from pressing his lips to mine, wrapping his arms around my waist.

I don't know how long we stand there, interlocked, swaying slowly to the beat of the music, but soon enough, and much too soon for my liking, an unkempt looking Alice is tugging at my arm, telling me we have to leave because we need to be back in fifteen minutes. Only then do I realize what I've done. How I've betrayed myself.

'Ugh, I'm sorry. That was a mistake,' I shout in his ear, Alice still pulling my arm frantically.

'What?!'

'I didn't mean to…yeah. Please, just, forget about that!' I shout back.

'Excuse me?'

'I have to go. Sorry. It never happened!' And with that, I leave. I'm drunk, that I know, and am delusional, so walking back to school takes longer than expected. We arrive five minutes late, and are given five detentions from an annoyed attendant who we have to wake up with the counter bell, and who's probably pissed she had to stay up in the office, waiting on partying eighteen year-olds. It appears that we are the first ones here, so we'll be getting off easy.

As we stagger down the halls and through the grounds and up the elevator to our room, we hear various parties arriving back. There's a big one of guys, another of girls and guys, then a lot of singles or pairs. As the elevator doors slide home, I catch a glimpse of Edward Cullen, walking in through the iron ornate gates. I check my watch: it's twelve past, so he'll be in DTs for two and a bit weeks.

He seems to catch my eye in the split second before the doors shut, and he looks horribly dejected and lonely. I want to go up to him and explain what happened and why it was a mistake and how I wish I could take it back to avoid hurting us both, but for one, Alice is in and even worse state than me, and if left alone could wake up later this morning in a janitors closet with an unknown, undressed year nine, and two, I know that if I do, it will bring back all the reasons I never really let myself like him in the first place. Because, if I do, he will tell Rosalie Hale, which would bring back every reason that she got the nickname Queen Bee, or Bitchzilla, as Alice and I used alone in the dorms, where no one could judge us for our crude, horrible remarks.

Hangovers suck.

Hangovers suck, especially when you're up at 7.30 the next morning. Hangovers suck, most of all when you're up at 7.30 the next morning, sitting in the Headmaster's office, sharing a couch with the guy you distinctly remember regretting kissing last night when you were drunk on vodka and dodgy cheap beer in the middle of a dance floor in a club named Zest.

However, hangovers suck a little less when you find out that the reason you're sitting in the Headmaster's office, sharing a couch with the guy you distinctly remember regretting kissing last night when you were drunk on vodka and dodgy cheap beer in the middle of a dance floor in a club named Zest, isn't in fact a result of your behavior last night, but someone else's.

'So, Mr Cullen; Ms Swan. The reason you're here is that your partners for the end of year performance are currently flying home to different parts of the country. Do you have any idea why this might be?'

Both Edward and I shake our heads at the headmaster: a short, plump, grey and aged man who's at least 65.

'It is because, last night they abused the schools' trust in them, and at one A.M. this morning, one of our chefs drove past a couple of teenagers on the side of the road, one bent over, fluid streaming from her mouth. Have you any ideas how this happened?'

More head-shaking.

'Angela Webber and her boyfriend Eric were apparently walking along the freeway, trying to hitch a ride back to the campus, when Miss Webber suddenly started retching. Neither student had a form of communication, and the road was empty, until Mrs Fry drove past and took them to the hospital. As soon as Angela was cleared, her parents were informed of the incident, and requested she return home, immediately. The same happened with Mr Matthews. Evidently, the cause of this was abuse of alcohol.'

Edward and I were silent for a minute, taking this in. It was so unlike Angela to get drunk during term. In fact, it was so unlike Angela to drink at all. Edward drove me out of my train of thought. 'Will they be dancing with us, then, in the performance?'

'I'm afraid not. They will both have the opportunity to show their solo routine to a panel, who will mark them accordingly, and they will return to the school during their final exams.'

'So, Bella and I will be doing solos, then, too?'

'No,' the old man answers shortly. 'You will be dancing together. Fantastic that it was you too, though, don't you think? Two of our best…' he trails, probably thinking of the funding the school could get out of a double signing. 'Well, off you two go. I'm sure you've got lots of arranging to do in regards of your item. Trot trot, go along.'

I leave, furious that I, along with my future, am now depending on a reckless boy who took my heart and decided not to give it back.

So that's the first chapter! Hope you like it, and please review – you have no idea just how much it inspires me. Stay tuned for the next one, Rose xxx

Also: check out my other 2 stories, 12 Down Under and Because He Said. They thrive on feedback. Have fun!