I'm literally surrounded by girls.
The final note of music sounded as Leaf Green landed in her concluding pose, her heartbeat quick and breath short.
"Not too bad today," Louis declared, stepping away from the counter from where he'd been observing her. "Watch your control on the split." Leaf rolled her eyes at his verdict and allowed herself a liberal sip of water before retaliating.
"And I suppose you could do better?" she said, but it was a total bluff. Even with a decade and a half of experience already under her own belt, Louis Hardy could still dance circles around her. She ran her fingers through her loosened ponytail.
But he was still not one to back down from a challenge as he strode to the middle of the floor in time for the next song.
Sometimes Leaf thought that Louis Hardy was irrevocable proof of reincarnation. She looked at him as he danced and she saw Bob Fosse. There was something else in there, too, though, something completely his own that mesmerised her every time she watched him.
She could certainly admire Louis Hardy's physique as he twirled and leapt across the floor, but there was nothing sexual about the way she looked at him. Perhaps it was because she'd known him for the past seven years, since she was but a string bean eleven-year-old, and she'd simply never had the opportunity to see him past the mentor and friend he had become to her.
The song finally faded to an end, three and a half minutes of no-less-than-impressive improvised choreography, and Leaf gave him the satisfaction of a slow clap, at which he bowed comically deeply.
"You've been looking at colleges yet?" Louis asked later, leaning against the wooden door frame to Room 1 as Leaf gathered her belongings from the lobby of the Pallet Town Studio of Dance.
Leaf never seemed to hear the end of that question from every appropriately-concerned adult in her vicinity. In the tail end of her senior year of high school, yes, she had been looking, thanks for asking.
"I've been considering going abroad," she said, her spiel memorised from reciting it dozens of times, "but I've already applied to Viridian, Celadon, and Blackthorn-"
"Blackthorn?" Louis interrupted, and Leaf almost gave him a stink eye for breaking her momentum.
"Yes," she said, "and I've been offered partial scholarships for their chemistry programmes-"
"Speaking of Blackthorn," the incorrigible blond spoke over her again, "have you heard of Whittaker Academy there?" The name seemed vaguely familiar.
"Might have," Leaf said glibly. "Anyway, as I was saying-"
"I really think it'd be a good idea for you to check it out," he said, and he met Leaf's glare with a cheeky smile. Yes, he was interrupting her yet again, and yes, it was rude, and yes, he totally knew it. "It's an exceptional dance school, and you can get a teaching degree there. I think you're pretty eligible for a scholarship. Not to mention yours truly is an alumnus." Louis followed her out of the studio into the bright June sunlight that made his hair shine like gold.
Since she'd begun classes with him, they'd established a system of walking home together — his house, after all, was a mere coincidental two streets down from hers. Today was no different, though he was still pestering her about the school.
"I mentioned Whittaker to your mom, too," Louis said from beside Leaf as they strolled along the pavement. "She said it would be a good idea."
"Oh, did she," Leaf said with feigned disinterest.
"Seriously. Consider it," he insisted. "You've only got a bit of time left. What's the harm in applying for one more school?"
"Fine," she said, throwing her hands up in exasperation, just to appease him. There was no way she would even bother.
oOo
So maybe she'd taken a small peek at the site of the Whittaker Academy of Dance, as formal as its name. But just to check it out. She had no intention of, oh golly, applying or something crazy like that.
The main page of the site boasted a slideshow of photographs taken of the campus, classes, and performances, but there was a distinct lack of any kind of candid pictures of the students. After some tab manoeuvring, Leaf found the admissions page where she could apply.
She scrolled through the requirements, but halfway down she realised this was ridiculous. With a transcript like hers, she was guaranteed a spot in the universities to which she'd already applied. Dancing was just a hobby.
What's the harm in applying for one more school? Louis's words echoed in her head as her cursor hovered over the little "x" to close the tab.
"Damn you, Louis," she muttered, but she cracked a smile. Dancing wasn't just a hobby. It was a habit.
A stutter had taken up residence in her chest by the time she clicked "Submit Application" after, of course, triple checking that every space had been filled to perfection. Rather than record a totally new video of her dancing, Leaf had shuffled through her routines from within the past few months to find the best one, which, upon careful deliberation, came down to a flashy little number to "You Can't Stop the Beat" and a smoother one, though slightly risqué (naturally), to "All That Jazz".
She closed her eyes, muttered a quick prayer to her father, and jabbed at the screen, finding her finger about two inches away from "YCSTB" but only one inch away from "All That Jazz".
oOo
Murmurs rippled through the well-air-conditioned meeting room as Scott Abraham stepped in, though he estimated only one out of twenty conversations was about his entrance. Probably Tom Barkal making his ears burn again. Hypercritical and holier-than-thou Clair Christiansen, closest advisor to the mayor of Blackthorn City, deigned to greet him.
"How nice of you to come out of retirement for this," she said, and he expected she was suppressing a particularly mocking sneer to keep up appearances.
In lieu of an easy riposte, Scott merely said, "How do you do, Clair" and passed by her and her head of blue hair to find a seat near the good mayor, Cecil Dunn, a portly man with a salt-and-pepper beard who preferred to sit only when lying down was out of the question.
"Ah, Scott Abraham," he said in that booming bureaucrat voice. "Good to see you again. Whittaker is holding up well, I take it?"
"So I've heard from Theodore."
The council covered several topics that nearly made Scott fall asleep, including the uncertain future of the late Mrs Ethel Callaway's six cats and the wording of a notice that had been recently tacked up by the public library (under intense debate was the use of the subjunctive mood).
Of all people, it was Clair who commenced the conversation on the state of the Whittaker Academy of Dance and snapped Scott awake.
"It has come to our attention," she announced, somewhat smugly if he were not mistaken, "that the current headmaster of Whittaker Academy, Theodore Locke, has decided to resign from his position with no replacement in his stead." She cast a gaze over all of the meeting attendees to make certain she had all of their attention. "Now, we are aware of the issues plaguing this school, which is supported by town subsidies and some student tuitions. There have been attempts to shut it down in years earlier, none of which have come to fruition-"
Scott cleared his throat loudly and stood from his seat, and Clair stopped with a thinly-veiled glare at him.
"Now," she continued, "our very own Scott Abraham has taken it upon himself to become the next headmaster of this dying school."
"Clair," he abruptly said in that stern way that still made even her cower, if only internally. "Whittaker makes dreams and careers possible for the future of Johto. It takes exceptional natural talent and hones it into a marketable skill for its students. This school is what Blackthorn needs. I refuse to let it die."
"And the problems with students? Eating disorders were rampant, last I heard."
Clair had been the one to speak, but Scott Abraham addressed Mayor Dunn in his careful answer. "They were, sir, several years ago. We've since taken great care to keep the health of our students in mind. Every student is required to sign in for three meals a day, and we've established a buddy system of sorts so that the students can help each other."
Clair, apparently finished, lowered herself to her seat with a thoughtful frown as the mayor spoke. "And you believe you can take Theodore Locke's place as the new headmaster?"
"Absolutely, sir," Scott assured him. "As an acquaintance of Mr Locke and a former teacher, I am familiar with the workings of the school and expect that I might be qualified to take this position."
"Well, good to see that's all sorted out," Mayor Dunn said with a smile from behind his bushy beard. "Next topic of discussion, Clair?"
"Actually," she said, patronising, "I don't believe we're quite done with the topic at hand." Then, to Scott, "And how do you expect the people of this city to believe that you've provided not only empty statements about the importance of this school? Perhaps your talent is not as impressive as you insist it is."
Just as Scott Abraham was about to speak, the mayor suddenly cut in with a clap of his hands that made Clair blink in surprise. "Aha! A recital! A show! What do you call them?" Scott assured him that recital was appropriate enough. "Open to public viewing."
"We'll restore the faith that appears to be lacking in some quarters of the town," Scott said. He wasn't outright looking at Clair at this, but she still got that eerie feeling he was watching her. "A showcase, performed by the students of the Whittaker Academy of Dance of Blackthorn City and open to the public, to display their talents and represent the importance of the school for its students and its community. Are there any objections?"
Here he nailed Clair with that teacher look, that one, daring her to say something, and it was partly because of that she did not put forth any protestations. The rest of the meeting attendees accepted without demur, but one man, Barkal, damn it, stood and asked in that nasal voice, "Do we have a date in mind for this...recital?"
"Graduation will be on June fifteenth of next year, and the final day of studies will be June twelfth. I recommend setting it for the twelfth."
"June twelfth it is!" Mayor Dunn declared. "Whittaker Dance Academy-"
"Academy of Dance, sir," Scott coughed.
"-will provide a showcase of its very best talent to convince us of its importance and possibilities." The mayor banged his gavel on his raised desk. "Next topic of discussion?"
oOo
On the morning of July fifteenth, Leaf hopped down the stairs two at a time for some reason, probably because of the pleasant dream she'd had (barring the one moment her friend had yelled at her to brush her teeth). Or maybe it was the thought of making pancakes for breakfast with the mix she and her mother had bought the day before.
She skidded to a stop in the entryway to the kitchen when she saw her mother standing by the table, a piece of paper in her hand and a hand lifted to her mouth. An envelope, no doubt in which the paper had arrived, laid nearby, a creamy white to contrast with the red tablecloth.
When she recognised the stamp on the envelope (how could she forget?) and connected it to the forlorn expression on her mother's face, Leaf blanched. She could feel her hands grow numb, the uncomfortable cold that settled into her very core. Nothing to ruin an otherwise nice morning like being rejected from university.
"Leaf…" her mother said softly, her eyes downcast as her daughter stepped slowly toward her.
She knew it she knew it she knew it. She knew she should have picked Hairspray. Everybody loves Hairspray. Dammit Dad why did you-
Then Leaf realised her mother was laughing, actually laughing, for the first time in four years, and the sound was so foreign she almost didn't recognise it. She snatched the letter out of her hands and read it for herself, any chilling sense of disappointment melting away at the sight of those words, "Congratulations, Miss Leaf Green, on your acceptance to the Whittaker Academy of Dance of Blackthorn City". Of course, she pinched herself at that, ecstatic at the sharp pain that came.
Her mother, once she'd gotten over her laughing fit, gathered a still-somewhat-frozen-in-shock Leaf in her arms.
"Oh, baby, I'm so happy for you," she murmured into her hair. Leaf threw her arms around her mother in return, a smile growing wider and wider across her face.
Whittaker, here I come.
oOo
Gary adjusted his bag on his shoulder as he leaned over to peek at Drew's schedule on their way to the student resident hall. "Seriously?" he asked, the corner of his lips quirking up. "You're still going with ballet?" There was a half-joking accusation in there Drew was quick to deflect.
"It's not gay!" Drew jabbed a finger at smirking Gary to punctuate his words. "Think about it. I'm literally surrounded by girls. It's the best major."
It suddenly dawned on his friend that that was a perfectly serviceable point, and he nodded concedingly. "That's...actually genius."
"You pigs," deadpanned Paul Shinji from the other side of Drew. Three years ago, when he'd met the two, he might have scowled at them, too, but these days nothing they said really shocked him enough to merit more than a couple of flat words and, if he was feeling particularly generous, an eyeroll.
After all, the first day, when he'd met his new roommate, Gary Oak, the boy had been kind enough to give him a pair of earplugs. He swore there was a new girl every week, and he definitely steered clear of their room on Friday nights, which tended to be the worst, as he'd learned from bleach-worthy experience.
"Oh, Gary!"
How coincidental.
Gary slid the aviator sunglasses that had been sitting on the top of his head down over his eyes and grimaced, bracing himself for incorrigible Three Weeks Ago.
"I was wondering," she said once she'd caught up to him, "if you wanted to, you know, go out or something sometime soon." She twirled a lock of her ombre hair.
"Aw, gee...Jess-"
"Jillian."
"Jillian, yeah, I just...with classes starting and all, I'm going to be so busy. You know I'd love to, baby."
"Uh, that's fine! Oh my gosh, I'll be just the same." At the sound of another girl shouting her name, she glanced over to the centre courtyard, where a whole gaggle of girls had accumulated. She turned back to Gary, one last imploring look in her blue eyes, and said, "I'll see you around?" before jogging off with a wave.
"Stay sexy!" he called after her, then turned back to his friends and complained, "I've got a nice system, and then some crazy girl tries to screw with it."
"Somehow I get the feeling it's not all their faults," Drew said, rolling his eyes.
oOo
"Did you get your course schedule, Dawn?"
"Yes," Dawn said into her mobile, tucked between her shoulder and her jaw, as she smoothed out said schedule on the teak desk in her one-student room.
"I've already spoken with your teachers." Of course she had. "You'll have your private lessons with Natalia on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays."
"Okay."
"I don't need a repeat of last year. I expect no less than the best. Work hard. Work smart."
"Okay."
And the line went silent with a click as Johanna Berlitz, mother extraordinaire, hung up a thousand miles away without so much as a goodbye. No surprise there.
"See you later, too," Dawn muttered to her mobile, tapping the screen to get to her list of contacts. What was taking May so long? It was already evening.
oOo
"Come on, you're just holding us up."
"That's impossible. I'm not that strong." May's parents cracked smiles at her joke, but Max, the twerp who'd complained, rolled his eyes as she stuffed an informational brochure for Whittaker back in her backpack. She'd brandished it in front of her younger brother's face, teasing him that he should come to dancing school instead of becoming an electrical engineer.
"I've got my own school to get to, if you don't mind," he droned, and May swallowed uncomfortably and stuck her hands in the pockets of her denim shorts.
Right.
Fifteen-year-old Super Fantastic Genius Maxwell Elliot Maple had been accepted to the University of Lumiose's engineering programme a month or so ago on the basis of academic excellence and incredible promise in the field. Apparently word had spread and even a school approximately one gazillion miles away wanted him.
And now, as her family's week-long holiday with her in Blackthorn drew to a close, this was essentially the last time she would be able to see him in the next five or eight years or however long he was going to hole himself up with his studies. May watched as he walked off to their car, a silver coupé they'd loaned for the week. Bless his heart.
So much for fond farewells.
Her parents were understanding enough to shake their heads disapprovingly at him and give May a last hug.
"You'll visit us on winter break," her mother insisted. "And spring break."
"Caroline," her father said, just a bit gruff. "Don't be suffocating her. You'll do great, kiddo." He ruffled her caramel hair like he'd always done, probably ever since she'd had hair.
"Keep your grades up!" her mother nagged, as she was obligated to by The Book of Parenting. "But we're proud of you. Our baby girl is going to college."
May rolled her eyes, feeling like Max, as her mother sighed. "I'm not a baby, Momma. And it won't feel any different. It's still the same school." She adjusted her backpack on her shoulder and glanced at the watch on her wrist, balking internally at the time. Dawn was probably getting impatient waiting for her.
Speak of the devil, she thought as her mobile buzzed in her pocket.
"Listen," May said quickly, throwing her arms around her parents one last time. "Uh, have a peachy trip back, love you lots, bye!" She started to jog off toward the student residence halls but faced back for a moment to wave and call, "Tell Max he's a dork!"
Just as she turned back to walk forward, she found herself crashing into someone not sturdy enough to halt her at jogging speed, and she ended on the ground, her limbs splayed out, half on top of an all-too-familiar guy with all-too-familiar green hair.
"You're really great with the whole greeting thing, aren't you, December?" Drew Hayden teased and flicked her in the forehead before she scrambled up totally, absolutely gracefully and dusted herself off. She harrumphed as he stood as well, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Schedule exchange?"
In a not entirely unanticipated response, May smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, fiddlesticks! See you later!"
"Fiddlesticks?" Drew muttered under his breath as he watched her sprint off toward the administrative building, and he shook his head. And she hadn't even corrected his intentional name mistake.
A/N: Look, I used someone else's name for a title instead of my own! Fuck me, right?
How's everyone doing tonight? That's lovely.
This is one of three high school/college AUs I've been working on simultaneously. What can I say, they're my guilty pleasure. But this time it's dancing instead of singing. I think I'm pretty unique, but feel free to refute that with textual evidence.
I also need more reading material.
In any case, I hope you enjoy.
In other news, you're welcome, I'm finally going to appease the ikari- and contestshippers. Took me long enough. Of course, in True Suzukeii Style, leafgreenshipping will still be the most prominent.