Chapter One
~Armonia School for the Exceptional Youth~
Turning.
Keep turning.
Eyes on that one tiny crack in the mirror from when Kenton did a jete battu smack into her own reflection.
Don't laugh at your friend's antics.
Focus.
Grande Battement into a series of pirouettes that spiral into graceful fouettes.
I feel alive as the music's frantic beats match my racing heart. I lose myself as I often do as I push off the ground. Harder. Faster. The block of my point shoes will have to be replaced as it's been worn out and beaten.
The debauched music came to a close as I ended with my feet in a wide fourth position, one arm curved in front of my belly button and the other curved behind my head as I tilted my head to the side and leaned back.
My chest was heaving as applause erupted from the crowd that had gathered during my practice.
"Morgan. You get better and better e'ryday," an all too familiar French accent collected the silent awed expressions of my peers and they started to chatter to themselves again.
I broke from my pose, pulling some of the loose wisps of hair out of my face that had managed to get out of my tight bun of dirty blond hair.
"Thanks, Miss Jacques… but I still need to work on that last fouette because-"
"Ay," she interrupts, "why zero of you no dancing? Just 'cause the girl finishes don't give you excuse to gossip like bonch of teenage lassies!" she shouts to the rest of the underclassmen girls who were sitting huddled under the warm-up bars next to the mirrors.
The veins in her neck disappear from sight and I sigh with relief at knowing she didn't just have a coronary.
Gina Jacques turns back to me with her sweet smile and says, "Now, deary, thanks for showing these ungrateful gals how it's really done. Dey just needed to be inspired by the Cameron Morgan; mon jeune prodige," she pinches my cheeks, a habit I've become used to from this ballet crazed lady that I've come to admire over the past six years of my life.
Miss Jacques was in her early fifties, you could tell my the strands of white hair that stood out among her pitch black strands; her natural color. She had some wrinkles that she admitted to covering up with stage make up and told all of us that "grace doesn't come with youth, but youth comes with grace. That is what I have come here to teach you-through the blood, sweat, and many tears."
She was a famous French dancer, her career ending when she tore her ACL but was offered a job at the most prestigious school of the arts in the good ole U.S. of A.
She was strict when she had to be. She's eccentric on and off the dance floor. She's kind and humorous if you're not on her bad side. If you're on her bad side?
Well…good luck surviving at Armonia School of Arts.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X
Armonia means Harmony in Italian.
Yeah, I don't get why our school of the arts is called that either.
Our lovely school resides in Chicago, where we get three kinds of weather: cold, snow, and August.
Not so great when you have to rush to your next class in tights.
But the guys don't mind.
Armonia is co-ed for the exceptional people in the world who either have talent and guts, or money and Botox. The grade levels range from seventh grade to senior year in high school, making this my home for nearly six years.
We live in dorms on campus, going by gender and grade. I guess we've had so many rich donors that we're able to have houses for each grade and gender.
Each house is either two or three stories. There's a kitchen, dining room, and common room area that we all hang out in during our free time. There used to be a rule where you were only able to room with someone that was in the same division as you.
There are three divisions: musicians, dancers, and artists. Basically, the three most popular art forms that we specialize here at Armonia. They were separated in the dorm rooms when I was in seventh grade up until ninth grade when others protested that it was unfair that they were unable to room with their friends. The Armonia Board (a group of old people who founded Armonia in the seventies) argued that it would make students focused on their Art Major and not interfere with other's time schedules (dancers get up every morning at 4:00 for warm-ups, artists stay at the studio up until very late).
But, after months of convincing, they passed the rule that now enabled freedom to choose your roommates.
That didn't mean there weren't still cliques.
Practically no one strayed out of his or her cliques. Dancers were known to be the highest in social popularity (despite myself), then artists were next (because they could make you a mini fridge to sneak into your dorm room), and then musicians (because most people here believe it's the easiest thing to learn). You can't just learn how to put emotions and grace into movement to convey a story. You can't just scribble on paper and convey the mystery the Mona Lisa has inspired. Playing a couple chords was the easiest to people who weren't the lowly musicians.
So, despite the rule made three years ago, no one really segregated outside of his or her Art Major. If anyone even tried…Victoria Walters would have a lot to say about it.
Victoria was also a dancer in my year. She was supposedly my friend, but I knew better. I was only a follower, a puppet, a minion. Ever since the competition in eighth grade that earned me first place in my division, Victoria had befriended me-or recruited. I guess it was to 'raise her social status', as corny as hell as that sounds. Why not befriend the highest-ranking dancer in the school?
I'm not conceited. It's a fact.
To put it frankly, Victoria Walters is a bitch.
If she ever looks down at any lower social class dancer, or worse, a lower class artist or musician, it's to boss their asses around. Why do I put up with Victoria? Because then I could get through high school without drama of being picked on like I was in the sixth grade at public school or how I feared and shied away in the beginning of seventh. I just wanted to use my full scholarship to my advantage. Do what I love and know best: Dance.
When I can, I try to leave when Victoria starts to get all high and mighty. I go to a happy place: Northside Studio B.
Northside Studio B was the six-sided mirrored room-a perfect 360 degree angle that you could watch every movement you make, every mistake. The floor and ceiling was a type of waxed glass that was made especially for point shoes-so the room was safe for any kind of dancing besides tap. The ceiling was made of glass so that natural light could shine through and give off a majestic feeling as one would dance. Plus, it was easy for the boys dancers to hear the beat and not hurt their heads as much on the glass floor than the cement floor when they did poses or 360 spins-on their heads.
As I thought of the hardest type of fouettes on point-Italian fouettes-and how I needed to practice it for my solo, I didn't notice the Jazz Band carrying large instruments outside towards Masen Theater on the Southside until I ran smack into someone carrying a Bass guitar in one arm and a keyboard in the other.
"Shit!" a silky voice said as we both landed on our backsides on the damp grass and autumn leaves of this late September.
"My God, I'm so, so sorry. I was going to the Mess Hall and I didn't notice-" I tried to explain.
"Just, shut up, okay? You managed to bust a couple of strings on the Bass and get grass in-between some keys so just leave…" he finally looked up with angry eyes that widened when he realized it was me-Victoria's right-hand minion, highest ranking dancer in Armonia-and just when I was expecting the groveling, his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched.
"It was an accident. I was just apologizing, okay?" my own eyes narrowed. I wouldn't allow for anyone to talk to me like that. No one tells Cammie Morgan to shut up…well, maybe if I was singing I could understand…
"And I'm telling you to get the hell away from me!" he said seething now.
"You can't tell me what to do! What got your panties in a twist?" I snapped back. Now, I'm not usually sassy nor do I do well with confrontation, but something about this green-eyed, dark haired guy brought out the worst in me.
"Is there a problem here?" a voice behind us asked and my mood did a one-eighty when I caught sight of my boyfriend. "Huh, Zach? You gotta problem with my girl?"
The guy who was apparently named Zach, glared, his fist clenching as he said, "Not at all, Josh."
Josh was all sweaty, probably from his Group Intensive class with the guys dance team. I stood up beside him and let him wrap an arm around my shoulders and I melted into his familiar embrace.
Zach stood up the same time I did, looking from Josh's arm around me to my eyes and I flinched away as I felt his eyes burning through mine.
"Then pick up your little toys and be on your way," Josh mocked and I almost felt disgusted with him. Almost.
Zach looked like he was going to break Josh in half when his friends from Jazz Band called him from Masen Theater to 'move his ass'. He glanced back at me once more before he picked up both instruments and hauled his way through the crowd as the lunch bell rang throughout campus.
Josh squeezed my shoulder again and chuckled, "Stupid musician. He's just a loser, Cam. Don't let him get to you," he bent down and pecked me on the lips, something I used to get all tingly when I felt but suddenly was…empty.
Like he had to force himself to touch me.
"I'll see you later, babe, right?" he asked me, jogging backwards.
"Yeah, where are you going, though? I thought we could eat lunch together or something?" I asked, my eyebrows furrowing.
"I…um, have to go meet the guys for the Group Intensive," he said, but I knew he just had the Group Intensive.
"Oh…okay," I waved goodbye to him and watched him head into the direction of Westside Studio A when he made a turn suddenly towards his dorm building.
I sighed, shaking my head, and pulled my dance bag back over my shoulder since it landed on the damp ground when I bumped into Zach.
"Why do you put up with him, Cam?" a British voice said behind me.
I turned and tried not to laugh at the mishap that was my best friend, Bex Baxter. Her beautiful black hair was in a messy bun by the nape of her neck, she had an apron on and was completely covered in paint splatter.
"What happened to you?" I asked with a guffaw.
"Shut it. The compressed cans of paint exploded in my face when this bloody freshman named Jacob punctured it with a charcoal pencil. Dumbass…" she rolled her eyes and wiped some purple paint off of her caramel skin colored cheek.
I tried to suck in breath through my laughter and said, "Oh, GOD, that's priceless!"
She smacked my arm and said, "Yeah, yeah, now answer the question. Why do you put up with Josh?"
My laughter stopped abruptly and I took her by the elbow towards a hidden bench that was hidden my overgrown foliage in the garden we were just currently in.
I led her over and sat down, placing my hands to cover my face as I spoke.
"The same reasons I put up with Victoria. I used to really like him in sophomore year, you know, the year after he and Victoria broke up at the end of freshman year?"
Bex-Rebecca Baxter-nodded her head. She's been my real friend since she transferred here in the eighth grade. Although, I could never sit with her at lunch, or ask her to be my roommate since Victoria had threatened me with her social status to make my life Hell if I were to abandon her. Bex understood. And so did my roommate who let Bex secretly hang out with us in our dorm room.
Macey was pretty cool.
The only other one that knew about our friendship was a musician named Liz. She was my piano player during competitions, as well as one of my best friends since we were paired often to work together for productions as well as Chemistry AP partners.
Yeah, we still had to do regular classes every other day.
My schedule was always morning warm-ups, then on A days, I would go to the studio to work on whatever dance genre for that day for the next two and a half hours, then lunch, afterwards, solo training with Miss Jacques. On B days, my schedule would have me go to regular school classes: Chemistry AP, English-Lit AP, Econ and Government, French AP, and Calculus BC.
If my GPA slipped below a 3.5, I would lose my scholarship.
And I would be sent home to my mother.
I didn't want that to happen.
So, my GPA has never slipped and like every other senior at Armonia, I was excited for the talent scouts from Julliard and other colleges abroad to be visiting. I already had seven colleges visiting to come see my performance in December and in February.
"But, I know he's cheating on me. I know. but I'm scared to break up with him because of what he could…do…remember what happened when that guy broke up with Victoria?" I asked.
Bex grimaced and nodded again, choosing to be silent and listen before she comments. That's why she's one of my best friends.
"Well, Josh could probably do the same, they are pretty much the most popular and I'm just a follower or else I'm maimed," I say, rolling my eyes even though I'm not joking in the slightest. Victoria and Josh could be that bad.
"But, you know, if you broke up with him, it would give him more freedom to hookup with other girls, right? So why would he care?" Bex asks.
"Because he's only with me for his image," I say solemnly, "he's just using me and he will make my life Hell if I ruin it for him."
We both sit in silence for a moment when a rustle of the branches alert us.
We immediately calm down when we realize it's the rest of our secret friendship group thing.
It sounds so middle school.
Or like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.
Hah! Or the Secret Garden.
Whatever.
"Hey, guys! So, Camz I just finished the demo for that song you wanted to use to teach the eighth graders," Liz said. Her blond hair was in a ponytail and she wore jeans and her Texas Longhorns sweater.
"Eighth graders? Why are you teaching the eighth graders?" Macey asked in disgust. She never did like kids.
"For community service hours," I shrugged. Everyone needed to do a minimum of twenty five hours of community service before they could graduate, and I needed to exceed the minimum because of my scholarship.
"Oh." All of them said at the same time which made me smile.
"Yeah," I rubbed my arm that was still sore from my run in earlier. I rolled up the sleeve to my sweater to reveal a bruise that looked kind of like a snake... I obviously shouldn't have done that because that arose more questions.
"What happened to your arm, Cam?" Bex asked suddenly.
"Oh, I just accidently bumped into this guy, earlier before you showed up," I said wincing at how sore my arm felt that I didn't notice before.
"What guy?" Macey asked curiously and wiggled her brows.
"Jeez, does it matter Mace? Cam already has a boyfriend!" Liz tries to reason with her.
"Uh, yeah it does, cause Josh is a douche," Macey chuckles and pats my knee as if it would comfort me more.
"Thanks Mace," I sigh and lie down on the bench as Bex slides down to sit on the floor with Liz and Macey.
I drown out their voices as they contemplate which guy I might've been with.
Zach.
I tried to remember the earlier events as I closed my eyes.
He was tall, strong biceps, but not overbearing. Nor was he gangly. No. Far from it.
But then I remembered the anger in his eyes and cringed against the cold stone of the bench.
I knew some-maybe most-of his anger was directed towards me, but it went further than that. He seemed in agony, so much pain.
Then I wondered why it worried me so much? The guy was a jerk! I try to apologize and am sincere and forthcoming about it…but, he dismisses me in disgust.
Am I that…repulsive?
My chest tightened and my palms turned clammy against the cold stone. I focused back on my friends on the floor to listen as they decided to go get lunch. We would have to separate to our own groups. If anyone saw us hanging out or…just being friendly…people would talk. There would be consequences.
It was as if our loyalties were supposed to lie with our Art Major. If we were to show disloyalty we would be reprimanded, as crazy as it sounds. There have instances of others trying to stand up to Victoria Walters and her other minions besides myself.
It is surprising what the wrath of a dancer could bestow upon others…especially when dancing the Swan Lake choreography.
The young eighth grader was bruised head to toe to the point where she was withheld from dance practice for two months, making her lose a full ride scholarship because her family was not financially able to afford medical insurance.
They could not prove Victoria or others were involved in the injuries, though I know it was them. I had witnessed it. So, they were unable to press charges.
Dance can be gentle, graceful. But it can be cruel and evil. Sun and moon. Heaven and Hell. White Swan and Black Swan.
To dance is to tell a story. To dance is a way of breathing and a way of life.
Not all stories have a happy ending. Life can flash before your eyes.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
"Cammie!" the voice sent chills up and down my spine but I couldn't ignore it any longer. If I did there would be consequences.
One more year.
I thought to myself as I tied my pointe shoes on and pulled on leg warmers. Moving over to the rosin box to rub the bottoms of my shoes against it, it turned to see her.
Her translucent blond hair was pulled up into a tight bun-Miss Jacques hated flyaway hairs during practice-stage make-up donned her face and a sly smile graced her lips.
She looked thinner.
I knew she was on a diet by choice, one that wasn't healthy. But I couldn't argue with her, I'm on a strict diet too.
Except that my mother is the one who believes I should be thinner. The thinner the less weight to carry on my toes.
"Hey, Victoria," I say with false friendliness.
Just one year left.
Northside Studio C never felt so small. There were other girls stretching while chatting quietly in the other corner, but they felt miles away as Victoria confronted me. Usually she would have me follow her around after class, sit with her in the Mess Hall during meals, go to social gatherings. This was odd, conversing with me here. The dance studio is where I shine. Victoria was a decent dancer, I couldn't complain about that, but I couldn't be bothered when I was in my element. For I was the only one that existed as my body moved in fluid movements that have been imprinted in my mind ever since I was little. Ever since my mother dragged me to a dance class and watched me throughout that painful first hour. Scrutinizing my every move.
I shake my head at where my thoughts had wandered as Victoria replied, "I need you to talk to your composer for me."
Ah, she was using me.
"What for?" I ask as I step out of the Rosin box for her to step in.
"My composer graduated last year and I don't have enough time to deal with composer interviews before the homecoming performances," she says as she fixes the spaghetti strap of her black leotard.
I wanted to go invisible, but my red leotard made that virtually impossible to do as I contemplated an answer.
She wanted to work with Liz. If Liz made a…a mistake? No. I wouldn't be able to stand back and let innocent, petite Liz get picked on.
"Y-You want to…to work with Liz Sutton?" I ask.
"She's a geeky loser, but she's the best, I hear, at giving people what they want to hear in their compositions," she smirks and checks her make up in the mirror.
"She is brilliant at what she does. But she's not a loser, V," I say and she raises an eyebrow.
Turning from the mirror of the studio, she crosses her arms and makes a thud with one of the blocks of her pointe shoes.
I feel vulnerable and exposed as she laughs through her nose, turning into loud howls of laughter-making the other girls silence and turn towards us, eyes staring on in horror.
Where was Macey and why was she late for class again!
Macey was the only neutral friend I could hang out with in front of Victoria-her being a dance Art Major-but I guess Victoria felt intimidated by my kickass roommate, so, did not accept her into her group of minions.
"Whatever, Cam, I don't care. Just give her this demo to work on, and text me when she's finished.
I tilted my head to the side, "You're not gonna work with her yourself?" I ask confused.
"God no, I've got some stuff to do," she says, looking over to the window that connects Studio C and Studio A. I saw the boys group through the window and saw a guy named Jackson looking back at Victoria.
I chanced a glance back at Victoria to see her lick her Botox lips and turned back to me hastily, "Don't screw this up."
"Right, Lassies! Ready to begin practicing for solo auditions?" Miss Jacques walks into the room.
"Yes, Ma'am," all of us say in our best manners.
"5, 6, 7, 8," she recited and the music began for our early evening warm-ups.
In an instant, I was back in my element.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
The truth was, I liked playing music almost just as much as I loved dancing.
That's how I found myself playing the piano part for the demo Liz and I were working together.
Liz had already finished Victoria's demo and had begun another that we were just messing around with.
We were in the recording studio, popcorn and Peanut M&Ms littered the top of the piano and the rest were mixed in a bowl on top of the piano as I grabbed a handful. Liz held one of the headphones to one ear to check the sound pitch and adjust a couple of things.
She really was very good.
"How does it sound?" I asked over my mouthful of popcorn.
"Great…amazing actually," she put down the headphones and turned in her swivel chair to look at me, "I didn't know you could play piano!"
I blushed a bit and shrugged, "My, uh…um, my dad taught me. He played piano for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra before he passed."
"He played for one of the Big Five?" Liz exclaimed in excitement until it disappeared, "wait, did you say he passed?"
I nodded and shrugged again, feeling tears well in my eyes.
"Oh, Cam, I'm so sorry," she reached over to hug me through the soundproof glass but I shook my head and smiled a bit.
"No, it's okay. He's been gone for awhile now," she doesn't look convinced as I turn back to the piano and say, "Let's redo my part, I want to see if I can make a change with some of the sequences."
She nods and pressed the recording button.
My fingers move across the keys in reverence to each key, pressing only lightly to give an airy feel. The song is sad and expressive and the knot in my chest-that's grew ever since sitting on the stone bench-tightened considerably as I thought of my dreams.
I wanted to become a professional dancer, travel the world, dancing. I wanted to perform in the Russian National Ballet Theatre. Broadway. Train with the best in Europe. I would fulfill my mother's own dreams that..I've deprived her of.
It's your fault, Cammie.
I suck in a breath as my fingers press down on the ending chords and I look through the glass where Liz has her mouth open in awe on the other side. It makes me laugh a bit to see her petite figure behind all of the recording machines and her mouth hanging open.
Like a nerdy chipmunk on crack.
"Lizzy? How was that?" I ask and she grins.
"Parfaite, mon ami," she grins. But soon her brows furrow as she leans over the machines to adjust whatever it is she's doing.
"Hey, Cam, you see Victoria's disc?" she asks and I tense as I shake my head.
"Could you have left it in the other studio when we were microwaving the popcorn?" I ask and her eyes light up; looking hopeful.
"I'll go check!" she stands up, unplugs her headphones and runs out the door, leaving it wide open.
I forget that she left on the sound and unplugged her headphones, allowing anyone in the hall to hear me play as I let my fingers run along the keys.
I didn't really care though.
I remembered my dad sitting with me on the piano bench at home while mom was at physical therapy. He would play simple songs with me, at first. Chopsticks, Yankee doodle. The likes of that.
He would teach me different key signatures and various chords. I remember his hands, rough and warm from years of playing. His fingers were strong and I remembered teasing him, saying, "I bet you could kill a man, with dis thumb!" I would hold up his thumb and he would laugh at my terrible French accent and poor use of a Ratatouille reference.
I smiled at my childhood antics with my loving father, but reflected how my life had changed without him…with only mother.
Tears flowed as I played with all of my emotions. I started to play and excerpt from Schubert's Sonata in D.
I didn't notice the way the door shut suddenly. I didn't notice the way my tears stained my red Armonia sweater and my black washed jeans. I didn't notice when my dirty blond hair fell as a curtain around my face as I played-my back to the sound proof glass that separated me from the recording studio's machines.
I didn't notice when someone put on a set of headphones to listen to my playing exclusively to themselves.
However, when I finished the piece, I did notice the throat clearing that sounded throughout the sound proof room and a male voice speak in awe.
"That was brilliant. You must be the new freshman."
I didn't know whether to be pissed off that he would mistake me as a FRESHMAN or the fact that it was him.
I turned slowly on the bench to glance at him and say, "Thanks, Zach."
Maybe if I started off polite...
He looked at me as if I spoke an alien language. His smile dropped from his lips and the anger in his eyes…oh that anger…reappeared at the mere sight of me.
Definitely repulsive.
"What are you doing here!" he banged his fist on the equipment, making a small dent and threw his headphones off and it smashed against the wall. His long legs only took two steps to reach the door and thrust it open and slammed it close.
And that was how I found myself: small, shaking, vulnerable in a sound proof room with an infuriated Zach…whatever his last name is.
That's sad, considering I had found out from Liz-discreetly-that he was also a senior.
I've never seen him before throughout my six years here…
I had knocked over the piano bench and sank into the corner of the room. It only took him three strides to reach me, towering high above me as I realized just how tall he really was.
"Well? Are you going to answer me?" he asked with his dark eyes burning into my head.
He has the same look she gets when…
"D-Don't…I-I'm s-sorry," I let out a sob and shielded my head with my arms locked around my head in the only defensive position I knew. I sunk to the floor, awaiting some sort of pain.
"Y-you…You told me not to p-play the piano! I w-won't play dad's p-piano again! D-Don't hurt me!" I cried out and tensed.
All I could see was red behind my eyes as my ears roared and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. I could remember the punches to my ribs, the hands gripping my arms and screamed.
When I realized it was merely a memory and I had not yet received my punishment, I glanced up to see Zach's petrified expression.
He slowly kneeled down to me, holding his hands up in the universal "WHOA THERE" sign.
He silently peered at me in concern, all of the anger had long dissipated and I squeezed my eyes shut in trepidation that it would appear again.
"D-Don't…hurt me…I swear…I w-won't play again!" I pulled my knees to my chest to try and shy away further into the corner.
"Why would I hurt you?" his voice came out unsteady and I glanced up at him, my tears drying but my breathing still rapid.
"I…" I stared at the door to the soundproof room and realized my mistake.
I wasn't home. This wasn't my mother.
I stood up quickly, my face flushed and pressed myself to the wall to try to turn invisible under his gaze.
I went to my happy place.
I was dancing, pique arabesque. Grande battement. Tour jete. Hands moving in fluid motions with my feet. My movements graceful, as I only know how.
Epitome of elegance, Miss Jacques would say.
I felt him move closer until we were inches apart.
"Where's your dorm?" he asks quietly until I here him snort and whisper, "never mind, I know."
I opened my eyes and whispered back-despite the soundproof room-and said, "Why…?"
He sighs, eyeing my bag right beside one of the piano legs and slides the strap over his shoulder and replies, "Let me take you back…you can…explain on the way."
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
We walk across campus in silence as I texted Liz a message.
Had to go back to dorm. C U tomoro. –C
I sighed as I put my cell back in my pocket and fiddled with my fingers. I wasn't used to this, talking with someone other than my usual three friends that weren't in Dance Major.
Or maybe I just wasn't used to talking to guys other than Josh.
That's why I took a deep breath when he stopped in front of me halfway to my dorm and eyed me curiously.
"Why were you in the music studio," he asks, seemingly trying to keep his temper in check.
I narrow my eyes a bit, confidence seeping back into me, "Helping my composer with our demos," I tried to steady my voice but cringed out how weak I sounded. So much for confidence.
He nods in understanding and shoves his hands into his pockets, eyeing me suspiciously. I could see the lingering anger in his eyes and the pain. Though, there was something else I couldn't place.
"Why do you hate me?" I ask suddenly, catching us both off guard.
His eyes widen for a few moments before they return normal and he shakes his head, "I don't…hate you…necessarily," he grumbles and pulls on the strap of his guitar on one shoulder and my dance bag on the other.
I felt the tears well up in my eyes again, "What did I ever do to you?"
He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes and rakes a hand through his dark hair.
Everything about him is dark.
Like an emo-soul jazz musician.
Or a sad painting of a boy and his guitar with those dark eyes.
"I guess it's not you personally, but it's your whole group. Behind that innocent act you're playing up right now is a heartless slut," his words are like knives cutting into me and I feel the knots in my chest burst as my palm strikes the side of his face.
"ASSHOLE! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW ME!" I grab my dance bag off his shoulder and turn to leave.
I'm in front of my dorm building when I grip my bag to dig through it to retrieve my keys.
I stumble into my room, ignoring Macey's snores as I fall on my bed and instantly fall asleep to continuous nightmares filled with my past and now, Zach.
And those dark, pain filled eyes.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
I sit in Northside Studio B, the one place where all of my burdens slip away and I am able to focus on the one thing I love. The only thing I know.
I'm practicing my solo, my own piano playing from the previous night is playing on the stereo as I stare at my costume I will be wearing the day of the auditions.
It was the costume that the White Swan wore in Swan Lake from the previous year's performance.
It was a white, frayed tutu that was beaded with different fake jewels that trailed up the torso and the silver embroidery. The leotard flattered my chest and the silver material exposed my back. My hair was in a tight bun, I didn't bother putting anything other than my lucky hair clip on my hair while I practiced by myself in the empty studio.
I stood in the middle of the glass floor-which was waxed to prevent slipping-staring at myself as I stood poised and ready to begin.
My movements started timidly as my character would grow more familiar as time went on in the story. I turned in fouettes, gradually into an axel. I lifted my leg straight up until it touched my nose as my other foot was on full pointe, slowly turning until I faced the other direction. My leg shifted until it was out straight behind me, my torso leaned back as my other foot still stood on full pointe.
One arm was poised in front while the other leaned back, parallel to my leg.
Epitome of elegance.
My front arm slowly lowered as my back leg pointed to the glass ceiling and my fingers brushed the glass floor.
I didn't register how my fingers felt damp after they had grazed the glass floor. I didn't have time to contemplate as the beat in the music signaled for me to turn into the Italian Fouettes sequence.
I didn't register when my foot on full pointe buckled forward, searing pain shot through my calf as my turning momentum caused me to land with my other leg bent beneath my back, my once elegant arms tried to break my fall but landed behind me with a snap.
I was only conscious a few moments longer to see movement come from the window that connected Studio B to Studio C.
And that I felt broken.
My eyes looked at the mirrors, getting a 360 view of my broken body lying in a heap in the middle of the dance floor that was once my center of peace.
I looked up at the glass ceiling, letting the rays of the sun hit me before everything went black and my piano playing faded in the distance.
Shakespeare once said: "When you do dance, I wish you A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that."
But I could no longer move. I could no longer do what I love. And I realized what I was at that moment.
A broken swan.
And that is how my life started to crumble.
~X~X~X~x~x~x~x~X~X~X~
A.N. HEY GUYS! So, I got this idea from when I was reminiscing about my twelve years of dance, but I had to quit a year ago because of joint problems it caused. So, this story is a BIT darker than what I've done in the past, but it gets lighter later on, with a little angst.
Anyways, TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT, because I have two other stories I'm working on, and I will not update this if I don't get enough response.
Thanks, ~Akira