Let's start this off with a bang shall we? READ and REVIEW! MAJOR thanks to The Bloodiest Rose, Popular Wannabe, alicemaybrandonjones and LuvLife113 for reviewing the intro! HUGS!
Ch 1: TOP OF THE WORLD
I'm ready for the pressure,
The drama and the pleasure,
Got my whole life here in front of me,
I'm taking over when I hit the streets.
"Ah-five, ah-six, ah-five, six, sev-uh, eight!" the heavily accented voice of the Russian ballerina instructor counted out as three girls in black leotards, pink tights and pointe shoes stepped forward and into a short combo across the dance floor of the Manhattan Dance Center. The Nutcracker's music floated out of the giant black boombox in the corner of the dance studio as the girls pirouetted, jetéd and twirled to the music.
Morning sunlight streamed through the skylights in the ceiling as the girls danced. It was seven am in the morning and earlier than the usual auditions. It was a bright Wednesday morning usually, the girls would have been prepping themselves for school – but this was the NYBA auditions. To see if a girl could make it into the biggest dance school in the world. New York Ballet Academy.
In the corner of the room, one woman and one man watched the girls with scrutinizing eyes. The woman was taking down notes on her white clipboard as her beady eyes followed every single movement of each girl. The man leaned forward in his seat with his chin in his hand as he watched the girls spin.
"Number 24's arabesque is satisfactory," he muttered as he leaned forward into the woman's ear.
"Look at number 19," the woman answered, with her eyes fixed on the girl in question.
With their hair up in perfectly tight buns, bodies wrapped in the classic black leo and legs encased in the standard pink tights, the girls all looked similar – except for a square piece of paper pinned to their stomachs. Each girl had a number printed on their paper in solid black font.
The man and woman turned their gazes towards number 19, a brunette with big dark eyes, an aristocratic nose, a lifted chin and a look of sheer determination on her face. She was pretty, that much was obvious, but the woman could hardly care what the girl's face looked like. Her body was toned and slim like many others but the tell-tale lean muscles on her arms were evidence that the girl had been training professionally for years.
"Her turnout is nearly perfect," murmured the man as his ice-blue eyes followed the girl as she pushed off the wooden floor and spun into a triple pirouette without breaking a sweat. She slid gracefully to a stop, lifted up into an arabesque before lowering her torso towards the ground until her leg was up in the air, forming a perfect 180 degree line while her arms remained at her side.
"Extraordinary flexibility and control," the woman agreed. "Perfect musicality and rhythm, too."
"A bit more emotion in her moves, though," the man commented.
"Agreed," the woman replied.
They watched the girl for the rest of the class as she took over the spotlight. Scanning the room briefly for any other potential dancers, the pair found none. They turned their attention back to number 19 as she waited patiently in a textbook perfect fifth position for her turn in another combo. Their decision was made. Number 19.
Annie Giordano suppressed her triumphant smirk as she walked out of the dance room. The two people in the corner, a man and woman would have made their decisions and a list of dancers – or just one dancer – would be posted in approximately five minutes. Stripping off in the girls' changing rooms, she changed out of her ballet attire into her school uniform. It might be the morning of her NYBA audition but her father would murder her if she missed a single day of school. After all, she had to keep up her "perfect student" reputation
She had taken off her pointe shoes earlier to reveal her red blistering toes and had changed into her standard Manhattan Prep school uniform. She shimmied into her navy blue and white plaid skirt, crisp white button down, blazer and gray over-the-knee suede boots. She quickly tied her black and navy tie with expertise and hooked her new hoop earrings through her ears. Yanking the pins out of her hair, Annie tugged off the hair elastic and unwrapped the dark brown hair net to let her long dark brown hair tumbled down out of its confining bun. She flipped her head upside down, shook out her silky tresses and finger-fluffed it to give it some volume. Swiping on a layer of gloss, she made the transformation from a professional ballerina to the prim and polished Upper East Side socialite schoolgirl.
Speed-walking out the door of the changing room, she shoved her way through the crowd that had already formed over the list. She needed to know – no, confirm – that she was going to NYBA. Scanning the bulletin board crowded with flyers, schedules and news, she found a sheet titled NEW YORK BALLET ACADEMY.
Only one name was listed.
Annie Celeste Giordano.
Yes!
Resisting the urge to punch the urge and scream with delight like an immature little girl, she merely smirked in triumph before waltzing out the door of the studio and towards Manhattan Prep for her first period of AP World History. After all, she shouldn't malinger. She had places to go, things to do and people to meet. Annie Giordano was a very busy girl.
Making a quick stop at her penthouse on Fifth Avenue, she dumped her dance bag by the door and quickly grabbed her new black Prada messenger bag before leaving her room that was fit for a princess.
"Byee, Snowdrop," she sang out as she blew a quick kiss to her pure white little terrier who napped on the silken couch. He whined a soft "bye" as he looked up from his comfortable seat and went back to dozing lazily.
She danced through the tall Annie-sized glass vases filled with rare flowers in the hallways with her kitten-heeled boots clicking on the reflective marble floor and let herself out the heavy white and gold door. Stepping into the luxurious elevator, she pressed the G button with her red Russian Roulette painted nail. She smiled to herself as the elevator descended. She hailed a cab with a with snap of her fingers and let herself in.
Here on the Upper East Side, everyone knew who the Giordanos were – and everyone knew their only daughter – Annie Giordano. The best ballerina of the city, the prettiest girl at school, the perfect grades, the highest test scores and the picture-perfect socialite in the fancy parties thrown by her mother. With grandparents as the equivalent of Italian royalty back in Italy, her parents were literally bursting with wealth, and all of that was lavished on Annie. Her mother was Belladonna Massimo, the eldest daughter of Italy's wealthiest family – literally descended from royalty – while her father, was Angelo Giordano, the eldest son of the country's most renowned doctor. Their marriage was every socialite mother's dream and it was widely publicized, even when Annie was born.
And why wouldn't it be publicized? She was the first child of Belladonna Massimo and Angelo Giordano. She was literally of royal descent – and she played the part well. She was pretty, gracious, charming and held the title as the Queen Bee of Manhattan Prep as well as the prima ballerina of the city. Annie Giordano had the perfect exterior. The "perfect girl" of the city.
Stepping out the cab and tossing a few twentys over to the driver, Annie slung her bag over her shoulder and headed towards the steps that led straight to her new school, Manhattan Prep. She sway-strutted towards a group of girls who were currently sitting on the highest steps while looking down in disdain at the rest of the student population.
Currently, her little entourage was made up of the four prettiest, richest and snobbiest girls of the city. And she was the prettiest, richest and most snobby of them all. Cecilia, Megan, Isadora and Laurelle followed her every move, her every smile and every new outfit like robots.
"Heyyyy," Annie smile-waved at the girls as she moved up to her rightful place at the top step. Cecilia Marlow, her beta and best friend scooted down one step to sit on the right lower step besides her. Cecilia Marlow had been Annie's best friend since middle school, when Cecilia's traitor of a friend, Summer Williams, had snatched Cecilia's part in a school play as well as crush on the same boy as Cecilia. Annie personally thought that the Summer girl was nothing more than a girl with zero personality and a sweet voice. She had no idea what Cecilia ever saw in that girl. Thank god Miss Summer had moved off to Shira Brazille's Alpha Academy. Not that Annie cared much. She would have applied to Alpha Academy herself if her father hadn't considered the whole thing a scam.
"Shira Brazille won't just take in 100 girls to make them the best. Shira always has an ulterior motive. Don't trust her, you're not going to that school."
Her father had immediately distrusted Shira Brazille and forbid Annie from going while her mother had considered the "no contact" part of Alpha Academy ridiculous.
She was brought out of her thoughts and into the present with a question from Cecilia.
"How was your audition?" Cecilia asked flipping her pale blonde hair over her shoulder coyly as a hot lacrosse player swaggered by. She leaned in and smiled.
Cecilia was pretty, Annie would admit that. Just not as pretty as herself. Cecilia could act, sing and dance decently but Annie seriously doubted if Cecilia would work herself up to a professional level. Annie had lived and breathed ballet before she could walk and had sat in middle splits before she could crawl. Ballet was her life. Cecilia had never been that serious about anything, unlike Annie.
The other girls leaned in. Megan's green eyes widened eagerly, Laurelle looked at Annie with complete attention and Isadora's manicured fingers were poised over the keyboard of her newest iPhone, ready to shoot off the latest update on the elite socialite's lives – or more importantly, Annie's life. Being the Queen Bee of Manhattan Prep, her life was practically everyone's business. Her latest outfit were posted on blogs and websites, a new hairstyle would be copied the very next day and the news that their Queen Bee was moving to another school so early in the school year was MAJOR news. After all, who would take up her throne?
"I got in," Annie smirked with a flip of her hair. "Guess, I won't see you guys much this year,"
The school year at Manhattan Prep had already started but at New York Ballet Academy, there were no such thing as summer vacation. Girls trained at the academy nonstop and only had brief spring and fall breaks. In the winter, girls trained for their winter showcase and gala while in the spring, the top ballerinas were chosen to perform in the spring showcase. Annie would be moving into a dorm room the very next day at NYBA.
"Lucky," envy-sighed Laurelle. "I wish I was going with you."
Annie rolled her eyes on the inside. There was no way Laurelle would have even made it through the audition. Laurelle was just another dancer who dreamed big but never worked hard enough for it. But that wasn't Annie. Annie knew what was expected of her, she knew what she wanted and she was going to get it. There was no way she wouldn't.
Isadora frowned at that. "I heard that Karen wanted to go for your Queen Bee spot,"
"Like we'd ever even look at her," sneered Cecilia with a contemptuous look. "She's not even an Elite, for gawd's sake!"
Here at Manhattan Prep, there was an unspoken ranking system among the students. The Elites – though not an official name – were a group of girls and boys who had class, money, looks and popularity all rolled into one perfect human being. They ruled the school with the utmost authority and Annie Giordano was the self-established alpha girl of the female Elites. Karen Wilcox, however, had would never become an Elite. There was a saying at Manhattan Prep – Once an Elite, always an Elite. You were born into the world of glamour, riches and popularity.
Annie narrowed her brown eyes at the thought of Karen taking over her spot. Karen Wilcox was a girl who had been vying for the Queen Bee spot since the beginning of time. She wasn't as rich as Annie, wasn't as pretty as Annie or Cecilia yet she continuously made outrageous acts to get herself some attention. She had ambition, Annie would give her that. Karen had literally done everything to boost her popularity. But if she wasn't there to keep the social order at Manhattan Prep, Karen might take a leaf out of the French people's book and start her very own revolution.
"Cecilia's right," said Annie finally. "Karen's always going be just what she is – a wannabe."
She thought about it. In the world, there were people who were naturally talented and people who were born losers. She would fit in the first one – but so would Cecilia. But then, there were always the people who worked for what they wanted, pushing their talents to the limits to become the top. And that was Annie. She had the talent, yet she worked herself twice as hard just because she did – and because she could. That was what separated her from Cecilia. Cecilia was naturally talented, yet she never worked for anything. Annie wasn't like that. She was determined to be the best at NYBA tomorrow. And she would. Because whatever Annie Giordano wanted, Annie Giordano got – and this time, she wanted the top spot at New York Ballet Academy.
Glamor, glitter, gold,
Nothing is stopping you, nothing is stopping me,
In this frenzy out of control,
I'ma stay in pursuit, do what I gotta do.
Miles away from New York and Paris, a young teenage girl flipped her long golden-blonde hair as she spun around in a triple pirouette on nine-inch clear stilettos. She shook her butt in a new body-roll move she came up with and flicked her hair over her shoulder as she danced to the beat blasting in the background. She was tall and leggy, with slim hips, a tiny waist and a full chest. Her long hair was tawny golden that gleamed like spun-gold in the burning sun of Las Vegas.
"Give me those shoes!" another girl cried. Her fire-engine red hair was mussed and rumpled to give her perfect bed-hair and her eyes were covered with dramatic smoky makeup and her lips were smeared in red. She wore a rather revealing outfit. It was black, lacy and belonged in a strip club at vegas – which was exactly where she was. Her torso was squeezed into a ridiculously tight corset with a mini skirt that barely covered her butt.
"Not until you give me your eyeliner," the blonde teenage girl said playfully, skipping right out of the redhead's reach easily. She grabbed a chair from the dressing table and hooked a leg over it, leaning back with a taunting smile.
"Just give her f*cking eyeliner, Ivy," another girl sighed in slight exasperation as she flipped her silky curtain of midnight-black hair over her shoulder. She rotated herself a full 360 degrees in the three-way mirror of the strip club's dressing room as she checked out her new ensemble.
Angel Carmichael smirked slightly as she leaned back gracefully in the chair. She sat patiently in the dressing room of the strip club, Pulse, and had helped her two best friends – Ivy and Raine – dress for their first dance for the night. Angel was fourteen and completely underage while Ivy and Raine were both 23. The two older girls had started working at the club as strippers – or exotic dancers – the second they hit 21 and had been Angel's BFFs since day one. She twirled a strand of her golden-blonde hair around her pinky and watched Ivy and Raine bicker in amusement.
"Yeah, listen to Raine, she's the smart one," teased the Angel dancing just out of the redhead's – Ivy's – reach.
"Raine smart?" Ivy scoffed. "Those two words do not belong together in a sentence Angel, dearie."
Raine, the girl with black hair, flipped Ivy off while prancing out the door. "C'mon Ives, Gina's going to yell if we're a second late for the opening dance,"
"Shoes," Ivy snapped her fingers together impatiently as she threw the eyeliner over to Angel.
"Did you just snap your fingers at me?" Angel asked incredulously. "I'm not a f*cking dog."
"Just give me the dang heels, Angel!" Ivy huffed. "You've got way too much attitude for a teenager."
"And you're way too f*cking sensible and prissy for an adult," Angel tossed back as she threw the clear stilettos over to Ivy.
"Too sensible for an adult?" Ivy asked. "You do know that you're not really making sense, right?"
Angel shrugged it off. "Sneak me a Cosmo?"
Angel smiled angelically at Ivy. Living in the attic of a strip club sucked for Angel. She couldn't drink, she couldn't dance on the dance floor with other guests and she couldn't do anything. The most she could do was beg Ivy or Raine to sneak her a Cosmo under her mother's watchful eye. Her mother, Gina, was the manager of the dancers at the strip club and forbid Angel to hang out with them – lest she pick up their bad habits. Too bad Angel already cussed like a sailor and downed alcohol like water. She could blame Raine for both of those habits.
"If your mother finds out….." Ivy sighed.
"She'll never need to know," Angel said sweetly as she flounced out the door of the dressing room. Her frayed and worn denim booty shorts barely covered her butt and she wore a yellow crop top that showed a silver of her tan, flat and smooth belly. The majority of her clothes were birthday presents from the girls at the club. The hallways always reeked of cigarette smoke alcohol from the main club room. She had long gotten accustomed to the smell and always felt out of place at school, with its spick-and-span hallways and brightly lit rooms. While she laughed at the girls who dressed like skanks in an attempt to look "sexy", she sometimes wished that she would have a real friend, one that wouldn't say "Oh look at Angel, she's, like, a total slut and, like, she lives at a strip club!"
Her world was composed of drugs, alcohol, disco lights and thumping music that shook the entire building. Raine got drunk daily, cussed in a way that would put a sailor to shame and was the craziest, wildest and most shameless person Angel ever knew. Her mother often blamed Raine for Angel's rebellious attitude. While Angel never smoked, she had snuck a few drinks here and there under her mother's nose and drank tequila and Cosmos on a daily basis.
Yanking open a slightly hidden door, she climbed up the rickety staircase and up to the small attic of the strip club. While her home was the entire club, it was twelve at night, and the club was in full swing downstairs – a reason why she was forbidden to enter. She let herself into her small but cozy bedroom and threw herself on her purple bedspread. She picked up the letter from her desk and reread the entire thing again.
Dear Ms. Angel Giselle Carmichael,
We are delighted to say that you have been accepted to the New York Ballet Academy. A plane ticked is enclosed and we expect to see you on Monday, September 24.
Sincerely,
Desiree Hayle
Headmistress
It was short, brief and straight to the point. The paper was crinkled from all the times Angel had read and reread the letter. Tomorrow, she would be off to New York to dance in a ballet academy with hundreds of other ballerinas – except these would be rich, stuck-up and spoiled divas. Angel couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
She had first applied to NYBA on a slight whim, to see if she could actually get in. She hadn't really considered the odds of being accepted and the letter came as a strange surprise. She had danced a number that Ivy had choreographed. Mark, the tech guy, had set up the stage for her – removed the poles and let the stage do its work. Needless to say, her video audition looked way cooler and more professional than it really was. Angel wondered what Headmistress Hayle would think if she knew that it was taped in a stripped club.
But she had gotten accepted and would be off to NYBA the very next morning, saying goodbye to the sunny desert of Las Vegas and the glitzy casinos to a bustling city with a ballet academy filled with prim and proper divas. She wondered how that would work. She had never really fit in at school. It was a classic stereotypical school. She wasn't a girl who studied and got straight As, far from it. She was in danger of flunking her four core classes! She didn't fit into the jocks either, with zero love for volleyball or tennis. And the only thing she ever tried at school was the cheer team – and they hated her. She made it in, only because the captain grudging allowed her admission for "the good of the team". Yet, it didn't take long for the slut jokes, the snide comments and the cold glares to fester. Angel was sick and tired of it and immediately quit. She had no real friends at school and the second the bell rang, she was off to catch a cab towards home.
Oh f*ck this!
Angel slid off her bed, she was tired of thinking so hard about everything. She wanted to do something, dance, party, grind, whatever. She narrowed her eyes at her wardrobe and considered sneaking into the club. After all, she did look a lot older….but she only looked about seventeen – which was hardly legal. She scowled at her closet and slight frustration. There was nothing she could do! Throwing caution to the winds, she pushed aside some racks of clothes in her closet and hunted out a slinky black sequined dress she had gotten from Raine on her fourteenth birthday. She tossed off her shorts and top and slid the dress over her head. Grabbing a pair of nine-inch heels that gave her the height requirement needed, she moved over to her dresser. She plugged in her new curling iron and turned to her makeup.
Applying a ridiculous amount of smoky eyeshadow, dark and bold black eyeliner and gluing on her false eyelashes that somehow managed to looked natural, Angel could had passed for an eighteen year-old. She slicked on some pink lipstick, glossed it over and eyed her reflection in the mirror. She grabbed her hot curling iron and set to work on creating wide, loose, wavy curls in her hair. She flipped her hair upside down, shook it all over and let it fall around her shoulders in a rumpled, tousled and wild mess. Balancing expertly in the precarious heels, she pranced out the door and headed towards the main dance floor. It would be dark in the club and no one would notice a young fourteen year-old girl slipping through the crowd.
"One cosmo, please?" Angel asked sweetly as she danced through the grinding bodies to the bar.
The woman narrowed her eyes at Angel. "Angel Giselle Carmichael, what would your mother say?" she shook her head in mock disappointment.
"She'd say, 'Give my daughter her drink or you'll be fired for approximately 48 hours,'" Angel answered with a cheeky grin.
She perched herself on one of the barstools and leaned on the counter, ignoring the other patrons while, Mayella – the bartender – shook her head before throwing together Angel's drink.
"You'll be the death of every girl at the club, Angie," Mayella sighed dramatically. Mayella was only a few years older than Ivy and Raine. Angel knew that Mayella hated to dance in front of a rather wild audience, which was the reason why Gina – Angel's mother – had assigned Mayella to the bar. "You'll be giving Raine and Brianna some competition in the looks department once you hit eighteen, darling. If you look like this now…." Mayella trailed off shaking her head.
Angel smiled. She knew that she was gorgeous, there was no doubt. She already attracted whistles from the boys at her school – and occasionally a brave or idiotic one would try to ask her out. She sipped her Cosmo lazily and flicked a glace towards the stage. She wrinkled her nose in slight disgust and the raucous hoots and catcalls. But despite the wild, craziness of her home and the shady backgrounds of the dancers, it was home. Tonight was her last night here, and Angel was going to make the best of it. Throwing back the last of her drink, she headed out on the dance floor. It was dark, the disco lights flashed and no one could tell that the gorgeous blonde was a mere fourteen year-old.
She shimmied, grinded and danced her way over to find two other girls in the crowd. Brianna and Nikki, they weren't onstage tonight and only raised their eyebrows at Angel as she bumped hips with them playfully.
Angel felt herself smile, the night was barely starting and she was going to party the night away. Screw age limits, tonight was her last and she was going to live it to the fullest before heading off to clash with prissy prima donnas. She threw her head back and laughed freely. Angel Carmichael always did things her way, screw the rules. Tonight was about fun, tomorrow she could jump into NYBA and steal the show away. NYBA wouldn't know what hit them.
Gimme them bright lights, long nights, party 'til the sun is rising,
High rise, over time, working 'til the moon is shining,
Hot guys, fly girls, never thought that I'd say,
I feel on top of the world, I feel on top of the world, hey!
Likey? Yes? No? So…we meet Miss Annie Giordano and Miss Angel Carmichael! They seem pretty darn similar…..but pretty darn opposites too! So we're missing Corona eh? Don't worry! She's in the next chappie!
Song that inspired this chapter: Top of the World by Pussycat Dolls
(I think I'm going to start titling these chapters now…..)
Leave me some reviews? Please? Cyber hugs and virtual cookies to all who REVIEW!
I don't have a beta so all the mistakes are mine :)
-The Lovely Psyche