Their apartment is freezing – they can't afford to keep the heating on overnight - but Rachel still feels feverish, tossing and turning beneath her comforter. Her head is spinning, and she doesn't know if it's the after-effects of the alcohol or the live-action replay of tonight's events whirling through her mind. Either way, she's too wired to sleep. Reliving her altercation with that perverted jerk makes her break out in a panicky sweat, but she wills herself not to think about the what-ifs. Instead, she focuses on the events that culminated in her running out of the club in the first place; Miss July invading her personal space, leaning close to her to be heard over the music, straddling her lap and performing a dance that was purposefully designed to provoke her. Rachel tried to keep her cool, but there was no escaping the obvious. She was so blinded with lust, she practically had tunnel vision, and she couldn't have averted her eyes even if she'd wanted to.
She'd only stumbled to the restroom with the intention of splashing some cold water on her face and hastily reapplying her make-up. She'd only locked herself in a stall so she could claw back some semblance of composure. She'd never expected to get caught with her tights around her ankles and her hand between her thighs, desperately trying to relieve that all-consuming ache and, even now, she can still feel the bitter sting of shame.
She buries her head in her pillow, allowing the cool fabric to soothe her burning cheeks, and tries not to think about Miss July making some kind of faintly-veiled reference to her indiscretion in class. She would never survive the humiliation. That's why she couldn't get out of that bathroom quickly enough - she had to flee from the mocking intensity in Cassandra's eyes as she regarded her in the mirror; from the desire that was still thrumming through her veins. It made her feel weak-kneed and light-headed and impulsive enough to shove her teacher into the nearest stall and kiss that smug smirk off her face. It had taken all of her self-restraint not to.
Rachel's never wanted someone this much, and she hates the way Cassandra effortlessly toys with her emotions. With Finn, there was always a sense of contentment and security, but when Miss July walks into a room, Rachel's nerve endings ignite in a rush of anticipation, and it feels like she's poised to walk onto the stage at Nationals all over again. Her stomach starts fluttering, her heart starts pounding, and all she cares about is impressing her audience.
Rachel knows this isn't just wishful thinking on her part. There's something between them, something she can't really define, something that makes her feel starry-eyed and agitated at the same time. It frightens her, too, because if this is all a game – if Cassandra is just setting her up for another fall; reeling her in until she plunges off the precipice – she doesn't know if she'll be able to climb back up again. She could walk into the dance studio tomorrow and be hit by another wave of hostility, and she doesn't know if she can pretend to take it all in her stride. Not anymore. Not after the way Cassandra looked at her when she was poised to get out of the taxi; not after the way she held her until the last vestiges of embarrassment ebbed away.
Miss July may be callous and unpredictable, she may have a knack for tapping into Rachel's insecurities and pushing all of her buttons, but Rachel knows there's more to her than meets the eye. If Cassandra hadn't cared enough to come running after her tonight... Rachel shudders in revulsion as she considers the consequences, but then she remembers the spine-chilling look on Cassandra's face before she rushed to defend her honour. She remembers how it felt to be treated with concern instead of contempt, and it's...
Rachel finally gives in, and slips a hand between her legs to finish what she started in the restroom. She's never been very good at this. Usually, after ten minutes of awkward fumbling – which feels good, but never great - she tends to give up, but tonight, one stroke of her fingers and she can feel her entire body humming with expectation. She inches up her nightdress and lays her pillow across her chest, feeling the negligible weight of it settle against her breasts, and her nipples are hard and aching as she tentatively explores herself. Her lips move against the pillow in open-mouthed kisses, and her back arches off the bed as she delves determinedly into wet heat. She hits a spot that sends a jolt of white-hot warmth chorusing through her body, making her convulse in approval, and no, this doesn't feel clumsy and laboured at all. This feels a million times better than her tepid encounters with Finn and Brody.
"Miss July," Rachel whispers self-consciously into the night air, squeezing her eyes shut as she eases a finger inside of herself. She pictures her teacher writhing in her lap and singing obscene lyrics into her ear - so close her hair is falling into Rachel's face - and suddenly one finger isn't enough to stem the tide of arousal that's pooling between her thighs. Rachel adds another finger, and bucks her hips with an urgency she's never felt before, until the pillow is moving erratically against her breasts, stimulating her sensitized nipples and creating just the right amount of friction.
"Cassandra...Cassie," she moans experimentally - louder, this time – fisting a hand in the bedsheets as she focuses on prolonging the rush of sensation. Her pulse is throbbing so hard, she can hear her heartbeat in her ears, and when her body finally quivers and shudders in gratification, it's so powerful - so intense - that she feels tears pricking at the back of her eyes. She slumps bonelessly onto the bed, and it takes her several moments to regain her equilibrium. Then she feels embarrassed all over again, because now she knows what an orgasm really feels like, she realises the pleasurable ache in the pit of her stomach that resulted from Finn's inadequate ministrations doesn't even come close. She starts to laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth so she doesn't wake Kurt, and wonders what all of this means.
In the cold light of day, the events of last night seem almost surreal. Even still, Rachel tiptoes her way around the apartment, because she's not ready to face Kurt and his endless stream of questions just yet. A part of her likes the idea of keeping her clandestine encounter with Cassandra a secret, but another part of her is longing for some perspective on the situation.
She takes another long, hot shower, and feels her cheeks flush as she lathers the soap between her thighs. Just thinking about seeing Miss July again makes her hands sweat and her stomach roil, because she doesn't know what to expect from her in the wake of last night. She inwardly vows that if Cassandra says so much as a word about what happened in that restroom, she'll tell the whole class that their teacher likes to fornicate with strippers in her spare time.
Struggling her way through a bowl of cereal, Rachel checks her Dance 101 schedule, and feels a kernel of hope when she sees that they're moving on from Ballet and Ballroom to Tap and Jazz. She hastily dusts off her well-worn tap shoes, struck by a pang of nostalgia for her teacher back in Ohio; a kindly old lady who frequently told Rachel she was the best dancer she'd ever seen. Miss July didn't waste any time in shattering those illusions.
Preparing for dance class used to involve throwing whatever was clean into a gym bag, but now Rachel casts a critical eye over her closet, forsaking the demure ballet skirts in favour of a sleek black leotard and a pair of fish-net tights. She's hoping the high-cut leg and sleeveless bodice will go some way to proving that she's not ashamed of her own body, and that she doesn't need to be treated with kid gloves after her breakdown last night, but something tells her pity isn't in Cassandra's repertoire anyway.
Rachel holds her head high in an attempt to belie her trepidation as she walks into the studio, but she can't resist casting a furtive glance at her teacher. Miss July's eyes rove over her toned thighs and sheer tights, but the cutting gibe that Rachel's expecting never comes. Instead, Cassandra shoots her a lascivious smile that's straight out of Rachel's late-night fantasies, and Rachel ducks her head to hide her visceral reaction.
It takes her a moment to realise that Miss July is wearing fingerless gloves – no doubt to cover the bruises on her hands – and Rachel's eyes soften with concern when she realises that her teacher isn't brandishing her omnipresent cane, either - probably because she can't flex her hands enough to grip it.
When one of the guys jokingly asks Cassandra if she's taking fashion pointers from Madonna, she retaliates by saying that she's just worried their hopelessness might be contagious, and Rachel can't help but snort at her quick-witted response.
"You think that's funny?" Miss July demands, but Rachel knows the reproachful lilt to her tone is just for show.
Rachel continues the charade, shaking her head submissively, and Cassandra holds her gaze for a moment, with the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips. She makes a show of walking around the room, critically appraising her students as they undertake their warm-up exercises, and then she stops directly in front of Rachel.
"I swear your posture's getting progressively worse, Schwimmer," she laments, but her eyes tell a different story as she reaches out to straighten Rachel's already perfectly-aligned shoulders. Rachel's used to being ruthlessly poked and prodded by her teacher, but this time, Cassandra's touch feels unnervingly intimate.
"You OK?" Miss July murmurs, softly enough so that only Rachel can hear her, and Rachel's insides melt in the face of her obvious concern.
She nods her assent, and then casts a quick glance around the room, letting her fingers brush fleetingly against Cassandra's hand. "I got home last night and realised that I didn't even get to say a proper 'thank you' - "
Cassandra rolls her eyes, putting a little distance between them. "You can spare me the 'Did You Ever Know That You're My Hero?' speech, OK?"
"Why? Would you prefer me to sing it to you instead?" Rachel ventures, tongue firmly in cheek, and Miss July shakes her head despairingly.
"I'm going now, Schwimmer. Far, far away," she says drolly, but she's smiling.
"OK, freshmen, gather around," Miss July proclaims, cringing at the sound of twenty pairs of tap shoes hitting the floor at once, "And I'd appreciate it if you walked on your tippy-toes, because I've got a pounding headache."
"More like a raging hangover," the girl who Cassandra christened 'Muffin Top' mutters under her breath, and Rachel fights the urge to glare at her.
"I think it's painfully obvious that none of you are destined for Swan Lake," Cassandra informs the class, with a pitying smile, "Hell, some of you can't even do a plié without looking like you're poised to take a dump."
She eyes them all contemptuously, and Rachel holds her breath, wondering if Miss July is going to single her out. She doesn't, and Rachel's shoulders sag with relief.
"If it was up to me, we wouldn't be moving on until every last one of you has mastered the basics, but as that's probably not going to happen in my lifetime, I'm going to have to lower my expectations. I have a syllabus to teach, and that means I get to watch you pathetic little runts butcher yet another discipline that I hold near and dear to my heart." Her eyes fall on Lydia. "And yes, Muffin Top, that would be my cold, dead heart."
The class snickers, and Rachel catches Cassandra's eye, smiling in spite of herself.
"Today, we're going to learn a little number called the Shim-Sham-Shimmy," Cassandra informs them, and Rachel can't stop herself from bouncing on the spot and letting out a muted exclamation of delight, because she mastered that routine in her intermediate Tap Class when she was twelve years old.
"And I can see that Schwimmer can barely contain her excitement," Miss July notes wryly, and Rachel wonders if she's imagining the way her teacher's eyes linger on her face for a little too long.
"You've done this before?" she asks Rachel, and Rachel nods eagerly.
"I know there are different variations, but - "
"I don't need a history lesson, Schwimmer, just give me a 'yes' or a 'no,'" Miss July interjects, and Rachel flinches a little, realising that she may have been lured into a false sense of security.
"Yes," she answers, more curtly than she intended.
"OK, then." Rachel notices the wince that briefly registers on Cassandra's features when she crooks a finger to beckon her over, "Little Miss Happy Feet over here is going to show you all how it's done."
Rachel's eyes widen, and she glances around at her classmates' suspenseful faces, slowly shaking her head. "I'm not – I mean, it's been a while, and I - "
"What's the matter, Schwimmer? I didn't think you were the type to shy away from the spotlight," Cassandra cajoles, and Rachel somehow senses that this is payback for last night, and the role she played in getting her teacher up on stage.
"We're waiting," Miss July reminds her, standing aside with a gallant sweep of her arm, and Rachel's eyes narrow into slits as she moves to the front of the room. Cassandra regards her expectantly, and Rachel can see that she's trying not to laugh.
"OK, well, you asked for it," she says, with a dismissive shrug, echoing Cassandra's words from last night. Miss July opens her mouth, and then abruptly closes it again, and Rachel feels a little thrill of excitement when she notices the dangerous glint in her teacher's eyes.
"Five, six, seven, eight."
Miss July counts her in, and Rachel launches into the routine, relaxing as the steps come flooding back to her. A couple of bars in, and she stops having to fake her smile. She taps out the familiar rhythm, trying to imagine that she's back at a seventh-grade dance recital and not standing in front of some of the most talented students in the country. It works, and for a moment, she just enjoys the performance, content in the knowledge that she's nailing it, but then she makes the mistake of looking at Cassandra, and the expression on her teacher's face – she actually seems impressed, and she's sporting what looks suspiciously like an indulgent smile - is enough to make her falter.
"Stamp, brush, step," Miss July reminds her, and Rachel hesitates, until Cassandra impulsively jogs over to join her, demonstrating the sequence. Rachel watches her for a second, and then picks up where she left off. They finish the routine together, matching each other step-for-step and keeping perfect time, and Rachel risks casting another glance at Miss July as they ball-change their way into the grand finale. She's expecting to see annoyance, or resentment, but instead she gets another glimpse of that heart-stopping smile. For one exhilarating moment, they grin at each other uninhibitedly, but then Cassandra seems to check herself, schooling her features into an impassive mask.
"Good," she says, matter-of-factly, and Rachel waits for the other shoe to drop. When it doesn't, it takes everything she has to contain the happiness that's bubbling up inside of her.
Then Cassandra makes the mistake of clapping to get the class' attention, and her face contorts with pain.
"Mother fucker," she curses, turning away from them, and Rachel can't stop herself from rushing forwards and laying a hand on her teacher's forearm.
"Are you OK?" she beseeches, and Cassandra looks at her like she's just sprouted two heads. She leans forward until there's barely an inch of space between them, and then lowers her voice.
"Schwimmer, as... touched... as I am by your concern, now really isn't the time," she hisses under her breath, and Rachel immediately lets go of her arm, suddenly aware of the way her classmates are staring at them.
"Schwimmer seems to think that she knows it all already, so she's going to be my honorary TA for the day," Cassandra announces, as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. Seeing the flabbergasted looks on her students' faces, her lips curl into an ironic smile. "I know you all pay extortionate tuition fees to learn from the best," she concludes, with no small measure of sarcasm. "Now go finish warming up."
She dismisses the class with a wave of her hand, but Rachel hangs back, regarding her warily.
"Are you serious? About me helping you to teach?" she demands quietly, and Cassandra turns to face her with a quirked eyebrow.
"Unless you'd prefer to go and practice your battements in the corner?" Her tone is sharp at first, but then her features noticeably soften. "Don't look so suspicious," she chastises, levelling Rachel with an amused smile, "I can be nice, you know?"
"The last time you were this 'nice' to me, you paid for me to fly home so you could screw the guy I was dating," Rachel reminds her, and Cassandra looks taken aback for a moment. Then she brushes past Rachel en route to the barre, and Rachel knows the whisper of a hand against her hip isn't accidental.
"I was pretty nice to you last night," Cassandra reminds her, glancing around to make sure that nobody's eavesdropping on their conversation, "And you know I only fooled around with Brody to get under your skin."
"So you did it to hurt me," Rachel acknowledges, and the realisation leaves her feeling raw all over again. For a fleeting second, Cassandra almost looks contrite, but then her expression hardens.
"No, I did you a favour," she shoots back. "This is college, Schwimmer, and you've only been here for a few months. You should keep your options open... experiment a little," she teases, turning come-hither eyes and a suggestive smirk in Rachel's direction. Then she bends over right in front of her, placing her palms gingerly against the floor, and Rachel has no option but to stare at her teacher's toned thighs and perfect ass, trying to fend off flashbacks of last night.
Rachel wills herself not to give Miss July the satisfaction of a response, but she can't do anything to hide the blush that's colouring her cheeks. Apparently, Cassandra is done pouring scorn on her dancing ability, and now she's waging war on her libido. Still, two can play that game, and Rachel sinks gracefully to the floor, spreading her legs in a supine groin stretch. She knows her leotard doesn't leave much to the imagination, and she turns a defiant smirk in Cassandra's direction when she sees her teacher do a double-take.
Of course, Cassandra has to turn this into a competition, and she splits the class in half, telling Rachel that she has an hour to teach ten of her peers the routine, and then they'll duel it out on the dance floor. While Cassandra plays Drill Sergeant across the room, Rachel throws herself into the task at hand, shooting a pointed look in her teacher's direction every time she says something supportive or complimentary to her classmates. She knows she doesn't have to motivate them to succeed, because the string of scathing remarks they're making about the opposing team – and in particular, Miss July - makes her fidget uncomfortably, but at least they seem amenable to her taking charge. They follow her instructions with relative ease, and she can't help but feel a surge of pride as she watches their routine take shape.
When the clock hits 11am, Miss July takes centre stage, and her group assembles behind her. Cassandra's confidence is intimidating, and it gives her an air of invincibility that Rachel can't help but find alluring. She tries to remain objective as she watches their competitors ace the routine, but her eyes keep roving back to Miss July. Cassandra, as always, is mesmerising to watch, and even though the tap dance only showcases a modicum of her talent, Rachel can see her teacher's relentless drive to succeed. She outshines everyone around her, and performs with a passion that none of them can match, no matter how fervently they try.
Rachel's pretty much lost all hope of winning, so her heart skips a beat when Simon suddenly stops mid-way through the routine, clearly drawing a blank when it comes to performing the next set of steps. In his hastiness to try and whitewash over his mistake, he loses his footing and collides with Nicole, sending her careering to the side. The group's seamless performance is in a shambles, and everyone looks aghast.
Cassandra's face sets in a stony mask, but she waits until the routine's over before she blows a gasket.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she practically screams at Simon. "Do you know what would happen if you pulled a stunt like that during a show? Your entire fucking cast would disown you."
Simon looks like he's about to ask Cassandra if she's speaking from experience, but then he clearly thinks better of it. He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, and Rachel holds her breath, hardly daring to move.
"OK, Schwimmer, let's see what you've got." Cassandra turns to face her, still glowering, and the knot in Rachel's stomach feels like a dead weight.
She hesitates, and suddenly she's faced with the old Cassandra; the Cassandra whose mouth is curled in a perpetual sneer; the Cassandra whose eyes cut like daggers.
"I said MOVE," she commands, and Rachel grits her teeth, clapping her hands to get her group's attention. The moment of reckoning has finally arrived.
"OK, let's do this," she urges, with a shaky smile, and then she sets about leading them by example. They dance the routine flawlessly, and even Lydia, who was half a beat behind during rehearsals, manages to keep up. When they're finished, Rachel jumps up and down and squeals along with the rest of her group, laughing when they engulf her in a jubilant bear-hug.
Then she sees the look on Cassandra's face, and her smile abruptly fades.
"Come on, Miss July, we beat you fair and square!" Frankie protests, and Cassandra dips her head in acknowledgement.
"You did," she concedes, with a tight-lipped smile, and then she mimics what Rachel assumes is supposed to be an effervescent kindergarten teacher, "So why don't you all give yourselves a big pat on the back?"
"Bitch," someone mutters under their breath, but Rachel can tell from the rigid set of Cassandra's shoulders that she heard them.
"You're dismissed. All of you; get out!" Miss July hollers, abruptly turning away from them, and the rest of Rachel's classmates don't waste any time in filtering out of the room. Against her better judgement, Rachel stays behind, regarding her teacher worriedly. It doesn't take Cassandra long to realise that she's being watched, and she whirls around, staring at Rachel with ferocious intensity.
"You're just so fucking perfect, aren't you, Schwimmer?" she proclaims, but she sounds more anguished than angry.
Rachel bites her lip. "I wasn't... I wasn't trying to undermine you," she says, earnestly, and Cassandra offers her a self-deprecating smile.
"No," she agrees, "I manage to do that all by myself."
She reaches for her gym bag, grimacing with pain as she rifles through it. When she emerges with a flask and starts hastily unscrewing the cap, Rachel crosses the room, placing her hand over Cassandra's to stop her from lifting it to her lips.
"Don't," she beseeches, gently prising the flask out of her teacher's hands. She's expecting Miss July to scream abuse at her, but Cassandra's shoulders slump in defeat, and she looks too exhausted - too apathetic - to care.
Feeling like she's about to defuse a bomb, Rachel reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her teacher's ear, stroking Cassandra's cheek with trembling fingertips. Cassandra looks at her sharply, but she doesn't pull away, and Rachel's heart is pounding so violently, it feels like it's going to explode.
"You're amazing, too," she tells her teacher, and it's obvious she means every word of it. Cassandra snorts, shaking her head at Rachel's sentimentality, but Rachel can tell there's a part of her that's genuinely moved by her words. It's that fleeting moment of vulnerability that spurs her on, and she closes the distance between them, pressing her lips against Cassandra's in a kiss that's a little too desperate, and a little too insistent. For one heart-stopping moment, Cassandra kisses her back, and Rachel feels the longing behind it. It's enough to make her whimper with need, but when she moves to thread a hand through her teacher's hair, Cassandra abruptly pulls away.
"Trust me, Schwimmer, I'm more baggage than you can handle," she says bitterly, and Rachel regards her in breathless confusion. Seeing the conflicted expression on her teacher's face, she reaches out to her again, but Cassandra pushes her away.
Rachel looks on in stunned silence as her teacher snatches the flask out of her hand and walks out of the room, leaving her to wonder if she just made the biggest mistake of her life.