"Montez! You aren't supposed to be laughing or smiling! No smirking! In fact, no happiness at all! Drain all the happiness out of you! If you don't I will." I suppressed my laugh at the last one. "Please. Save me the drama. I can, what was it you said? Drain all the happiness out of me?" I paused as he comprehended what I had just said.

I then muttered this, quietly but well within his hearing. "Just being around you can do that Bolton." And I walked over to the left side of the studio ready to start from the top. His eyes widened and he let out a gasp that could only be taken as one of offence. He swore again in French, or I'm guessing he swore anyway. If his tone was anything to go by.

We were currently trying to make up our Gala audition in our lunchtime as we had no spare periods together today or tomorrow. Bolton liked the idea of 'forbidden lovers' very much and made me watch Moulin Rouge last night. Three times and without a break. I know all the songs by heart. It is slightly creepy me out. As is Bolton's dedication to dance.

I think Bolton has passion, like Madam Darbus's definition of passion. And I'm sort of regretting agreeing to be partners with him.

He is a perfectionist. I am not.

I try when needed. He tries hard at everything.

He can dance perfectly, even when just having come out of a two hour pointe class.

Obviously I can not; my muscles are sore and weak. I'm hungry, thirsty and my feet can kill with their stinky odour. Out of all the sweat glands, the feet have the most. That pretty much sucks for dancers, they make their living by their stinky, sweaty feet. Ugh. Off track. This is supposed to be a comparison of Bolton and I.

So, to cap it all off, he is the complete opposite to me. He can dance, perfectly. All the things Madam Darbus mentioned you needed, technique, stage presence, emotionally attachment to the music and passion. Bolton has all of those perfected to a tee. Damn lucky bugger. Except for one thing! He has to have a weakness!

"Bolton do you have a weakness? In your dancing I mean?" He closed his mouth and raised an eyebrow. I couldn't blame him. Really, I just insulted the poor bloke and now I ask for his weakness. Confusing much Gabriella?

"Everyone has their weaknesses Montez." He replied, sauntering over to the stereo. "Well, what's yours?" I don't know what was happening to me. I just had this impossible urge of incurable curiosity that just wouldn't go away! I should have noticed his tense jaw and stiff posture but no, I just had to keep on going didn't I? Frickin' urges of incurable curiosity. My mouth just doesn't listen to my brain or the electric messages from my brain telling my mouth to shut up.

"Montez. I don't think this is an appropriate time for having a mother's group meeting. Let's just get on with the dance. I want at least the ENTIRE dance planned and at least a quarter perfected by the end of lunch. We only have 13 days left."

"What if I'm hungry and can't dance without a bit of food?" I persisted. I think I got a thrill of annoying Bolton…

He rummaged through his sports bag and chucked me a chocolate bar. "Here." He said gruffly, "Can you dance now?" I nodded, half of the chocolate bar already digested. "Alright then, I'm pressing play…NOW!"

Did I ever tell you how much Bolton is a perfectionist?

A knock at the door interrupted my studying of the wonderful mathematic world of algebra. I really couldn't care what x and y represented anymore. "Come in. It's unlocked!" I shouted, closing my book and getting off up my comfy bed.

It was Bolton. "My legs and my whole body aches! No more dancing!" I moaned. He grinned, "Well I guess you aren't up for a tour of the grounds then… because I don't want to get lost in the forest and then you will surely suffer dramatically without my guidance in the field of your technique." I rolled my eyes, "The only thing dramatic around here is you."

He looked around my room, pausing at the photos stuck on the corner of my vanity mirror, held by Wiggly's chewing gum. He stepped closer to examine them in detail, "Don't look at them Bolton. They are of my life back home." He grinned again, "Who is that?" He said pointing to a younger but bigger me. I guessed I was about 6 or 7 but the weight of an average 14 year old.

I bit my lip, "Me." He looked up, obviously shocked at the change in appearance but then tactfully closed his mouth and moved to the next photo. I grabbed my EDA jumper from under my bed after checking the dark sky from my window and noting the trees swaying violently against the wind.

"Why isn't there a head on her?" I didn't even need to look at the photo. "My sister. That's the only photo I have of her that survived my mother's wrath." He kept his mouth shut again and for that I was grateful. Seeing that I was ready, he walked out into the hall and I locked my door, sticking my key in my jumper pocket.

"So what do you want to see?" I asked after we had come outside, the dormitory building growing fainter and fainter and the oval coming closer and closer to us. "Well actually this is a kidnapping attempt. So I would appreciate it if you could cooperate fully and no kicking, screaming or protests in general. It makes the job a lot harder."

I smirked, folding my arms across my chest and sighed loudly. "Can I at least send my mom a note explaining why I didn't get the lead for the Gala?" We stopped walking altogether and he looked at me, his face solemn. He made a 'pfft' sound, "And risk having you leaving a secret code in the letter? Good try Montez. I have had to deal with people like you before." He then picked me up and swung me over my shoulders easily. "God you are light and short. Makes the job very easy."

My legs were bouncing against his torso as he walked along to the oval, my bum was touching the side of his cheek (very awkward position), and my eyes were staring at the bottom of his back. I wasn't that tall to have my eyes looking at his bum and I was quite glad that I was short in this situation.

He walked for a few more minutes humming a cheerful tune and singing. He sat me on the ground gently and I looked around trying to find out exactly where I was. We were sitting in the middle of the oval and I lay back, looking at the stars and the crescent shaped moon that was out tonight.

"Saturday is our night from now on." He said and I looked at him blankly. "What?" He shrugged and lay next to me; he wiggled around a bit trying to get more comfortable. Our arms brushed quite a few times. He rolled his bright blue eyes, "Saturday is our night." He paused, giving me time to think of a response.

He obviously didn't want one as he continued on, "Every Saturday night. Me. You. A fun activity. Tonight we have a special presentation of stargazing." I clapped politely, not knowing what to think of this 'new' Bolton. He was normal and wasn't out partying every Saturday night like 'Hello!' reported last Monday.

Sharpay told me that bit. She was worried I was going to join in Bolton's crowd. I just laughed at her and she walked off in a huff. It was nice to know she cared through. In her unique, twisted way.

He whispered something. I strained my ears to hear it. I asked him to repeat it again. He did but this time quieter than last time. I caught one word.

'Baiser'. No idea what it means but I'm going to take a stab in dark here. Stupid French words.

"Baiser?" I questioned, wondering if Troy would tell me what it meant. He turned his head the other way and didn't respond. "Let's go back Montez. It's nearly 11:30. Curfew remember?"

Note to self: Get a French dictionary! Pronto!

Alright, I don't want to start this off with a complaint but I got 17 reviews for chapter 4 and I got 9 for chapter 5. So I don't know if my writing wasn't good in chapter 5 as it was in chapter 4 or you just didn't like chapter 5… Anyway, I appreciate the reviews, really I do. If you put this on your alerts or favourites could you at least review once?

So off with the complaint and on to the French word Troy used…

Go find out. :P

Cupcakes.xx