DANCING IN THE DARK
A/N: Hi there, I'm VampAngel79
*waves shyly at everyone*
I just wanted to say a few things before we start.
First I want to thank my incredible and incredibly supportive and talented betaFarDareisMai2. She is AWESOME. She's like Buffy awesome, ok? She offered to beta me and told me I should publish my silly attempt at a ficlet that I postedin the Sookieverse Forum,onNorthman's Original Recipe: Finger Lickin' Good!She seemed sure I would be able to pull it off and since she is an amazing writer I wanted to believe in what she was telling me. So I did. I kept writing my little chapters and she liked! Funny how sometimes when someone you just met shows she has faith in you, you start having faith in yourself. I feel it's also important to add that she did not beta this note. So all the mistakes I'm sure we'll find are mine alone. All mistakes made in the actual story are also mine. I may be too dumb to correctly alter my text after she sends me her edited version. She is perfect. She misses nothing. She's a goddess. Are we clear?
*hands FarDareisMai2 a brownie*
I also would like to say thanks to the sweetest woman ever, the adorable S. Meadows. She was the very first person who welcomed to the Forum. I have just one word to describe her: WOW. Even AS agrees. Happy Birthday Sweetie!
*hands S. Meadows a cupcake with a candle*
Last, but not least I'd like to give a shout out toall the ladiesinNorthman's Original Recipe: Finger Lickin' Good!They are a very welcoming and very hilarious bunch. Plus, they're all very accomplished writers and I have great pleasure in reading their stories. They made me feel at home on my first day there. They are gracious. They are a gracious plenty.
*starts distributing lollipops around*
Disclamer 1: English is not my first language, so go easy on me.
Disclaimer 2: Please no death threats. Ask nicely and you shall be heard.
Disclaimer 3: It's my very first time writing anything, so it's safe to assume it's my first fanfic. My chapters are short. Please review, I'll be happy! I'm sure it will be most helpful too since I have no idea what I'm doing. If you feel any rage after reading my story, please refer to Disclaimer 2.
Disclaimer 4: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris. Yes, she is Queen of The World. Even this website is hers, ok? Not really but you all get the point, right? Moving along.
PROLOGUE
Sookie:
I guess I should start at the first time I saw him, but at that time I didn't know he would be him. I'll just start at the very beginning of how it all came to be.
CHAPTER 1 – BALLET CLASS
When I was 8 years-old my mother enrolled me in a ballet class. I was very excited. It was two blocks away from my house, but my mom would walk me there and back twice a week. The owner was a very famous Swedish ballerina that had stopped dancing because of an injury. She was middle-aged now, but still lovely and I truly loved being in her class. I studied there for two years. I would walk in very proudly in my baby blue tutu and twirl around in class joyously, that is until my second year there.
It all started innocently enough. We moved from the little room we used for that first year, into the main one. It was a great ballet room. It was big and it had a great balcony, with wall to wall glass doors, so we had a lot of natural light and the mothers used to sit outside in the sun watching their little girls during class. The balcony had cute round tables and plenty of chairs. The vending machines inside provided them with refreshments, and they would gossip or watch us for the whole hour happily. I've never been shy, so the little audience we had wouldn't bother me. My mom loved to see me dancing since she had two left feet, her words not mine. The first day was great. The class was fun and I left feeling ecstatic about that large space, and the fact that my mother told me she was proud of my dancing skills.
That happiness wouldn't last. Two days later when I returned to my next class, my mom dropped me off and said she would run some errands before picking me up after class. I was putting my ballet shoes on when Ms. Northman called the class to order and I went to take my place on the second row. When I looked to my right I could see the balcony, and the other mothers taking their places. I was about to return my attention to our routine when I had to do a double take. There was a boy there. A boy,and not just any boy. He looked to be about fourteen years old and he was gorgeous. At that time I may have used the word cute, but I was ten. I'm more articulate now, or so I like to think. He had long blond hair, and mesmerizing blue-eyes. He was tall and lean, and looked like a poster boy for the surf magazine I used to read. Although I was only ten, I spent all my afternoons on the beach body-boarding. I wasn't any good, but I loved the water and I'd always been fascinated by the surfers. I guess being born and raised in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, had something to do with that.
His presence took me by surprise, and I just couldn't concentrate on my moves. I was completely embarrassed. A boy was watching me twirl around in my tutu, and that would not do. Plus, he looked utterly bored. Who could blame him? He would alternate between reading his comic book and watching the class. I just kept looking to my right and messing up my dance steps. I felt awkward and shy. I mean how could I not. He was a boy. A surfer looking teenager. The kind that belonged in the magazines I loved. Finally, I managed to screw up some move so badly that I fell on my ass. That's when I heard him for the first time. He was snickering. I frowned and got up wanting to die. I would never be ballerina material, but I wasn't that clumsy. Damn him. He was ruining my class.
I tried not to look over to him for the rest of the hour. I was feeling like a total dork, but I was fascinated by him at the same time. I might have stolen a glance a couple of times, but he was back to his comic. When we finished, my mom was already there so I quickly asked my classmate if she knew who the mysterious boy was. She told me he was Ms. Northman's only son, and that's when I noticed the resemblance. His name was Eric. I left quietly with my mom and tried to get him out of my head. I didn't succeed though.
After that day he would be there for every class, always with a different comic and always looking superior and bored. I was entranced, but I never talked to him. My concentration in class was never the same again, and eventually I decided that ballet was not for me. Six months after that fateful day I quit. I would only see him again almost ten years later.