Dang. This is like my third one-shot this week. Anyway, I'm doing the DeviantArt 100 Theme Challenge, so here's the first one: Introduction.
Disclaimer: I love how we're pretending I actually have a chance at owning it.
Jesse St. James was very good at introductions—and he certainly knows it. That cocky, melodramatic pride when he sticks out his hand. "Jesse St. James." If it was to his peers, they would quickly realize that this was a boy not to be messed with and scurry back to their friends, intimidated. If it was to his teachers, they would raise their brow, automatically assuming he was a challenge, which is for the most part true. If he did it to his parents' friends, they would just give his father a congratulatory slap on the back. "Now there's a boy who knows how to present himself!"
So, yes, he was very good at introductions.
After learning the beauty of the introduction, Jesse only failed once. And what a once it was.
He had 'borrowed' his father's sports car and grabbed his fake license. With that, twelve—soon—to—be—thirteen—year—old Jesse took off towards Carmel High. He fully intended for this to be his high school solely for the performing arts curriculum. Sure, the academics were crap and the athletics could only beat the Lima Losers, but the show choir had already won their first national championship—unheard of in the state and the states nearby—and weren't on any track to slow down.
But the only students that can get in are winners and winners always try to get what they want as soon as possible, Jesse knew. He had to prepare himself for his future.
What he hadn't prepared for was meeting Shelby Corcoran.
He snuck in through the back exit he found on Google Maps and waited on the final row. He watched, impressed, as Vocal Adrenaline killed Bon Jovi's 'Living On A Prayer'. It was magnificent, with amazing, complicated choreography and Broadway-worthy vocals. The performance ends with a flourish, the female lead falling into a split. They stay, frozen, until the coach nods, then, with a wave of her hand, sends them offstage.
Now, Jesse had done a small amount of background research. He knew that the coach has been there for two years and was named Shelby Corcoran. He had laughed when he saw the picture of her. She was beautiful, no doubt, but he's not afraid of her. He'll never fear a woman.
So, with that information tucked in his mind, he sauntered up to her, holding his hand out and aggressively taking hers. "Jesse St…"
The words die and the grip loosens.
Holy.
Crap.
The picture online—what is this bullshit? This person and that person—surely, there must be two of them. Maybe one twin does all the publicity and another does the actual work, because this was not the woman he saw in the picture. Not by a long shot. Well, physically, they look the same, both being stunning, stunning women that he'll have erotic dreams about for weeks, but the Shelby Corcoran in the picture was a gentle, easy looking soul. A typical woman. The Shelby Corcoran in front of him was intimidating, forceful, impressive, strong, but at the same time being majestic in some royal sort of sense. He felt as if he was standing a foot away from a tigress, both captivating and dangerous at the same time.
She glared at him, a glare that was like a laser going through him. "Are you going to finish your sentence, Mr. Jesse Saint? Or is Saint your last name?"
He nervously shook his head. "N—no, ma'am. It's James. Jesse St. James."
She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him over. "And is there a particular reason you are crashing my rehearsal, Mr. St. James."
The way she said his name sent a chill down him. "Um, yeah. I, uh, I wanted to introduce myself. I am planning on—"
"Auditioning for Vocal Adrenaline next year and you wanted to put your best foot forward. I've heard it before. A lot."
He swallowed hard. "Actually, yes, but no. I'm in seventh grade right now. I wanted to know of anything I can do to, you know, better my chances of getting in."
She raised her eyebrows and made a little humming noise. Jesse didn't know if he should've taken it as a purr or a growl. "Seventh grade, huh? You go to Carver?"
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She smirked. "You know what St. James? You're the first seventh grader I've had. I don't know whether to take that as you're a well prepared young man or a pompous little boy."
He shrugged, lowering his gaze in submission. "It might just be a little of both."
She laughed, her demeanor going softer, more like the online photo. "I like you. Listen, you have a full year to prepare your performance skills. I'd suggest going for dancing and singing classes—acting classes couldn't hurt either; they teach you great stage presence—get as much stage experience as you can, don't get into any trouble—I don't take in delinquents—and be sure to keep your grades up. I watch my kids' grades. If anything falls below a B they're suspended. Got it?"
He nodded eagerly.
"Good. Now get out of my auditorium before I call the guard."
He scurried off, more afraid of her than any security guard. He hopped in his—well, his dad's—car and took off for home.
As soon as he was in the garage, he flew out, dashing up to his room. He pulled up Google Image pictures of Shelby Corcoran, found two—one like the one online, where she's pretty and posed and gentle, another with her oblivious to the photographer, looking fierce, determined. He framed the two pictures and set them on his nightstand for inspiration. He wanted to work with this woman.
He spent the rest of the night reading anything he could find about one Shelby Corcoran.
I hope you enjoyed it! Please, review!