She grabbed her black bag and headed into the school. She was proud of herself – she'd wanted this for as long as she could remember. She'd wanted the scuffed floors and wall to wall mirrors, the late nights and sore muscles, the most prestigious performing arts institution in the country.
In she went after registration, up with her chatty new "friend" who showed her where the rec room and bathrooms were, and finally her room.
Thankfully, she was alone. After much work, her side was tidy and ready for wear. She sat on the bed and prepared for a nap. She would start working tomorrow.
...
She hung up the phone and threw it back into her bag. How dare he? Damn him. It was time to find the studio.
…
Finding the studio was a bad idea. It was dark outside, and she hadn't been paying much attention during the tour. But then, there it was. Hidden away from the theater and music rooms, all alone at the very edge of the campus.
She flipped the lights on, shocked at the brightness. But it smelled like home.
After a few stretches she got to work. For hours. She was sweaty and tired and mad, but she kept going. She had to prove to herself, to the teachers, to her father, but especially to him that she belonged to be here.
She worked until her legs fell out from underneath her. She went back to her dorm and slept in her pointe shoes.
…
By lunch time Saturday, her roommate had arrived. She was a short tap dancer with spiky black hair and too energy. Her name was Alice and she couldn't stand her.
…
He didn't want to understand what she was doing, why. She decided they were done. Until he called three hours later, begging for forgiveness. And just like that, they were back together.
…
Classes were easy, dancing was hard, Alice was annoying. She sat with no one at lunch, went out with no one for dinner, and waited until the studio was empty to practice. Her instructor was frustrated with her already, and the other dancers gave her looks.
"Don't think you'll do well just because of your mother's legacy." She was so tired of hearing that.
…
It was two in the morning, and he shouldn't have been awake, let alone out. But he was, and he was in the studio – her studio. He was going away furiously at the small piano tucked into the corner. She wanted to be mad at him for invading her space, but his playing was beautiful.
Every night he was there. She stopped minding after awhile. He would play, she would dance. They never spoke. He came first, she turned out the lights while leaving. Once, he even brought an extra bottle of water after a particularly frustrating night in which she'd forgotten her own.
…
He came to visit in the middle of November. By the end of the night he was headed back home, leaving a hole in her dorm room wall, and tears on her face. Alice offered to take her out. She reluctantly accepted.
…
His name was Edward and he was a music professor. He told her right before New Years Eve as she was tying up her hair.
Edward was meeting her at her dorm to walk her to the studio. It was…risky. But it was nice. He talked and she listened. He helped her stretch – it turned out Alice was his sister, and he'd been emerged in the dance world for a while. Some nights, when he was being nice and she was being accepting, he played especially for her.
Edward thought she was beautiful. He knew she didn't see it, not in the way she hid behind sweats and hair, but she was. In the studio, under the lights, twirling and leaping, she was everything he never thought he wanted.
…
She ran into her father at her mother's grave site. He asked her about school, about friends and him. He didn't ask her about dance. That was okay. She didn't want to tell him. But she did tell her mother. She told her everything – even about the bronze haired man that smelled nice and played like a god.
…
They needed to come up with a piece for their final. Original music, original costume, and of course original dance.
Two weeks in, and she finally decided to ask.
"Will you play for me?" The question was music to his ears.
…
They'd been working at it for a month. She was shy at first and he was easily frustrated. Sometimes she yelled at him, and he yelled at her. It was alright as long as he came to walk her to the studio, as long as he grabbed her hand or kissed her goodnight while dropping her off at her room.
…
"Fuck you," she whispered it quietly into the phone, tears streaming down her face. She was curled into a ball in a corner of the studio, twenty minutes into practice. Edward was staring at her from across the bright room, concerned, but not moving.
Edward knew all about him, the dirt bag boyfriend from her home up north.
She collected herself and restarted her dance.
…
With James it was a chore. He was too experienced to be so clumsy, so inattentive.
With Edward it was peaceful. It was a blur of gasps and shivers, of open mouth kisses and trails of fire all across her body.
It had to be kept a secret. For so many reasons that her head began to hurt and her eyes began to water.
…
In the green room, a dancer named Lauren got hold of her pointe shoes, and promptly hid them away. She didn't know what to do. Her performance was in an hour – definitely not enough time to break in new shoes. She didn't even have the money to buy new shoes.
But Edward did, and he loved her enough to awkwardly buy them at the campus dance store.
Her feet bled terribly during the few minutes of practice she could sneak in. She hated Lauren. She hated these shoes. She hated that her father wasn't coming to see her, and that James was.
...
When she was eight years old, she quit ballet. She despised it. Not only was she a bit heavy set, but she couldn't do leaps and her turns were pitiful. When she put her hair up, it never stayed like the other girls. She was too pale and too short and too bad.
.
When her mother died two weeks later, she made her father take her back to the studio.
…
This was painful. She hoped that it looked graceful to the audience.
One two three four. Two two three four. Three two three four. Deboule. Don't forget to breathe.
One two three four. Two two three four. Feel the music. Feel the music. What would mother think? Grand jete. Could have been higher. Keep going.
Graceful. Be graceful. One two three four. Two two three four. Three two three four. Go. Go. Go! Entrechat– land, land, land, land. Good enough.
She bowed and it was loud. She was crying and tired. Her feet needed ice and some tender loving care. Edward was holding her hand in front of so many people. They bowed together.
…
James slapped her in the lobby. In front of everyone, because how dare she hold that mans hand on stage? How dare she make a fool out of him?
Edward punched James in the lobby. In front of everyone, because how dare he slap his Isabella?
Alice assisted her outside, where she promptly broke down in tears, sloppy in the grass, still in full costume, smelling of sweat and hairspray and feeling completely embarrassed.
…
He didn't call her for three months.
When he did, she was in a dark room, only half awake, in an extra large faculty shirt and underwear. Edward handed her the phone and she answered without looking at the screen.
He wanted her to know some waitress in Florida was having his child, wanted to make sure she was okay with sharing him.
She laughed. Didn't he know they hadn't been a couple in forever? Silly asshole. She clicked 'end' and snuggled back into Edward's chest.
The End.