Chapter 11
"Five, six, seven, eight!"
When Luna counted them off, Clarke and the rest of the girls strode forward with long, exaggerated steps. It was a packed studio, with everyone, Ontari included, having shown up for the Halloween rehearsal. The song they were dancing to had an eerie, seductive vibe, and Ontari was clearly in her element. Harper stood right next to her, though, keeping up, matching her move for move and earning some approving nods from Anya.
Clarke tried not to look overwhelmed as she walked around her pole, dipping and swiveling whenever she was supposed to, trying to stay on the same beat as the rest of the girls. At last minute today, Luna had completely altered their routine, and while the other girls were making the adjustments just fine, Clarke's head was spinning.
She was late doing one of those V kicks, and Anya noticed it. "Pick it up, Clarke!" she barked.
Clarke stumbled a bit on her high heel, but she regained her balance and got back on count when it came time to fan her legs. But on the floor work part, she accidentally kicked Roma in the head.
"Ow!" Roma yelped.
"Sorry," Clarke apologized, but they both kept going. Like students racing during a rope climb in gym class, they all quickly climbed up the pole before gracefully spinning downward. Luna's choreography called for something called a corkscrew spin, which Clarke wished she knew how to do, because it was such a beautiful move that basically had their entire bodies coiled around the pole, and all the other girls could do it. The more advanced ones like Ontari and Harper could even do it without holding onto the pole, using only the crook of their arm to maintain their position. Since Clarke couldn't yet do that spin, she had to fake her way through that part with a hook spin instead.
Luna stopped the music at the end of the choreography she'd taught them today, and she and Anya nodded their heads in approval. "Good," Anya said, and then she motioned for Luna to follow her back into the office.
While they waited, a few of the girls played around on the poles, showing off tricks that Clarke couldn't wait to learn. Ontari sat down in the corner by herself and got on her phone, and Clarke kept practicing with Harper. "I don't know how to do the corkscrew," she admitted.
"It's a little more advanced," Harper said. "Just really kick your outside leg when you swing into it. Like a karate kick. Send the energy out through your toes." She demonstrated, making it look so easy, and when Clarke tried, she kind of chickened out and ended up swinging right into the pole instead of around it. "You'll get it," Harper assured her, always the cheerleader.
When Anya and Luna returned, they dropped a bomb on all the girls. This year's Halloween routine, they had decided, would only showcase seven of the twelve girls. That sparked some ominous buzzing from all of them until Anya cleared her throat and announced which ones had earned a spot.
"Harper," was the first name she called.
Everyone clapped kindly, and Harper smiled appreciatively. Not that there'd ever been a doubt she would get a spot.
"Vivian," Anya went on.
More nervous but respectful applause.
Anya ran through the list of names, and Clarke noticed that all but one of the girls she was picking were girls who had gone to the photo shoot. When it came time for the last name, she wondered if that might bode well for her, too, but . . . there was still Ontari. Saving the best for last or something like that.
"And our final girl who will be in this year's Halloween show . . ." Anya paused dramatically, drawing out the suspense, before she revealed, "Clarke."
She gasped, truly surprised, and the applause was a little more subdued this time.
"What?!" Ontari shrieked, finally, joining the group. She'd stayed in the corner that whole time, stayed on her phone, acting completely unconcerned. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Congratulations," Anya said, ignoring her.
"No!" Ontari yelled, storming right up to her superiors. "Are you seriously gonna put that little newbie bitch in over me? She hasn't earned it! I've been doing this for two years."
"The decision is final," Anya said. "We can discuss it privately if you'd like."
"No, let's discuss it here!" Ontari roared, in the middle of a tirade now. "Oh, watch out girls, because this . . ." She squeezed her sides. "This is what we call fat now. Better not eat anything, because they might bench you."
"Ontari, please stop," Luna pleaded.
"No, this is bullshit!" The scorned brunette grabbed her bag, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, and stormed out, still shouting, still complaining about how unfair it was.
Too bad, so sad, Clarke thought. If the girl really did feel like she was being scrutinized so heavily for gaining just a couple of pounds, then she empathized, but there was such a thing as being a gracious loser, and Ontari definitely was not that.
"Well, I think that's enough rehearsal for one day," Anya decided. "You're free to go."
Harper turned to Clarke and squeezed her hands excitedly. "You slayed the dragon," she said.
"We have to practice that corkscrew." They still had a few weeks to go, but those weeks would fly by, and she had to have her dancing at a higher level by then. She couldn't very well be doing easy spins when the other girls were doing the more advanced ones. Anya and Luna believed in her enough to give her this chance. She couldn't let them down.
"Congratulations," Roma said, coming up to her to offer her a hug.
"Thanks," Clarke said. It was no secret that, even as the longest-running dancer at the club, Roma hadn't gotten a spot this year. But she wasn't chewing Clarke out for it or throwing a fit; she was acting like an adult.
"This is, like, a really big deal for you," Harper said. "People are gonna be hanging out the door trying to get in that night."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, it's gonna be packed. And the money . . ." Her eyes lit up eagerly. "How much did you make last year, Roma?"
"Three grand, easily," Roma replied.
Clarke's eyes widened at the prospect. Three-thousand dollars for one night of dancing? She could get used to that.
"Congrats again," Roma said, giving Clarke's shoulder a squeeze as she walked past.
"Thank you so much." It was good to know that not everyone there shared Ontari's disdain for her.
"This is amazing," Harper raved, unable to stop bouncing around. "I'm so stoked. We have to celebrate."
Clarke wasn't sure whether they were celebrating getting the gig, the money they would make, or just the fact that Ontari had been taken down a peg or two. But it really didn't matter. Any chance to let loose right now sounded good to her.
...
The club cleared out quickly, as it usually did once the girls were done dancing. There were always a few stragglers, and sometimes Bellamy had to call cab for those stragglers. That was the case tonight with the guy who lived down the hallway, Dale. Bellamy felt bad about even serving him, because it was clear the guy had a drinking problem. He sat at the bar now, hunched over, head pressed against his arms, eyes shut.
Bellamy nudged him and said, "I think that's your cab," when a yellow vehicle came to a stop out front.
Groggily, Dale lifted his head and struggled to open his eyes. "Yeah," he said, sliding off the stool. He staggered towards the door, waving over his shoulder. "See ya, Bellamy."
"Get home safe," Bellamy said. It wouldn't surprise him if he got home and found Dale passed out in the stairwell again. It was a common occurrence these days.
He was just about to wipe down the counter and call it a night when in from the dance club stumbled his Taylor Swift-loving neighbor. Clarke's hair was half in and half out of a ponytail, her blue sequined dress was falling off her shoulders a bit, and she looked like actual death. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked her.
Groaning, she stumbled towards the counter. "Harper and I danced all night. Now I'm tired."
"And drunk," he added, not as a question because . . . there was no question about it.
She burped quietly and mumbled, "A little bit."
Just a little bit, yeah, he thought, barely able to wipe down any of the counter before, all of a sudden, she was climbing up on top of it. "I need a ride home," she said.
"I'll give you one." There was no way he was going to let her drive when she was like this. "Just let me finish up here."
She made it impossible to clean anything off when she lay down on her side, curling her legs and arms in towards her chest. "Comfy," she said dazedly. "Comfy couch."
Oh, Clarke . . . She was three sheets to the wind. No wonder she couldn't stand anymore. "Who served you?" he questioned.
"Niylah."
"Oh, figures." Niylah had the hots for her, so all it probably took was one flirty smile from Clarke, and she was putty in her hands.
"Guess what?" Clarke turned over onto her stomach, and he noticed that the back of her dress was becoming unzipped. "They're only using seven girls in the Halloween show, and I got picked."
"Oh, yeah?" He zipped her back up again, his fingers accidentally grazing her smooth skin as he did so. "Let me guess: you, Harper, Ontari . . ."
"Nope, not Ontari. I took her spot. Isn't that great?"
Well damn. The Halloween show was a big deal. For Ontari to not be in it was shocking in and of itself, but for them to replace her with Clarke . . .
Holy shit, they were promoting the hell out of her.
"Isn't that great, Bellamy?" she repeated, louder now.
"That's one word for it."
Kicking her legs up behind her, she said, "I wonder what my parents would think if they knew how much money I'm gonna make off of that."
"They'd probably be mortified by how you're making it," he pointed out.
"True." Turning over, she settled in on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and she fell silent for a moment as she thought about something. He wiped down any open counter space around her, figuring it was better than nothing.
"You know, me and my parents . . . we used to be, like, the perfect family," she recalled, sounding wistful. "We had the nicest things and the nicest house. Vacations every summer."
Hell, he'd never had any of that. "Sounds cushy."
"It was." She burped again, then went on, "My mom's a doctor, and my dad owned his own business. But then everything just changed, and now . . . we're not even a family anymore."
He frowned, putting his towel away, wondering what the story was here. With her being as tipsy as she was, it seemed like the ideal time to ask. "What's the deal with you and your parents?"
"They ruined my life," she said dramatically.
"Exaggerate much?"
"They did, though." She closed her eyes momentarily, like she might fall asleep.
"So you hate 'em?" he concluded. Wasn't uncommon. Lots of girls in this town hated their parents.
"No, I still love them," she said. "Deep down. But . . ." She hesitated, glaring up at the ceiling almost resentfully. "I don't like them anymore."
Interesting distinction, he thought, feeling like he could relate. "Why are you so vague, Clarke?"
"Well, what-" She turned back over again, and her dress rode up pretty far on her thighs. "What about you, huh? You don't tell me much about yourself. What do I know about you? Actor, alligator meat, little sister. Master in the sack."
His eyebrows shot upward.
"Those were Roma's words, not mine."
He laughed a bit, glad to hear that that was the reputation she was spreading about him. "Well, what do you wanna know?"
"Anything. I feel like you're just . . . sssskimming the ssssurface."
God, what a slur that was. Clarke had either had way too much to drink, or she wasn't accustomed to drinking and couldn't hold her liquor. Peering down at her, he said, "You're drunk. Anything I tell you, you won't remember anyway."
"Yes, I will." She turned onto her back again, kicking both legs in the air. "Wait, where's . . . Bellamy, where are my shoes?" she whimpered helplessly.
"They're on your feet."
"Oh." She cringed, groaning.
"Come on. Let's get you home." He held out his hands, willing to help her up off the counter, but she pushed him away, wanting to do it all herself. She practically fell off, though, and he had to catch her to hold her upright.
"Oh!" she yelped as she clung to him for support.
"I got you," he assured her, putting one arm around her waist. "Come on."
She leaned against him, barely able to put one foot in front of the other, and he figured he might have to carry her up to her apartment. There was no way she could do all those stairs like this, and the elevators barely ever worked.
Clarke couldn't find her keys, so he had to wait five minutes while she looked around her purse. Finally, he got fed up with it and just grabbed her purse from her, looking through it himself. He found them right away, started up the car, and drove her home. She fell asleep, slumped over in the passenger's seat, and when they got home, he wasn't sure he'd be able to wake her up.
"Come on, Clarke," he said, practically lifting her out of the car.
"No," she groaned, her whole body little limp in his arms.
He was just about to hoist her up and carry her when she started walking on her own again—meandering, really; there was no possibility of going in a straight line for her. Somehow, with his help, she got up the stairs, and they walked together down the hallway slowly. She drooled on him a little bit, but he'd dealt with worse.
He knocked on the door to her apartment, and Finn came to answer it, looking like he'd been asleep. When he saw Clarke looking the way she did, he rubbed his eyes and asked, "Is she okay?"
"Yeah, she just drank too much," Bellamy told him, handing Clarke off. "Lay her on her side, move a trash can in beside the bed."
"Yeah," Finn said. "Thanks, man."
Clarke sort of just moaned as her boyfriend shut the door.
Take care of her, Bellamy thought, trudging a little further down the hall to his own apartment. She's gonna feel it in the morning.
...
Thank God for the trash can next to the bed. Clarke needed it from the moment she woke up. She lurched over the side of the bed, practically regurgitating her whole body. It was disgusting, smelled gross, and all in all, she felt horrible.
"Oh god," she groaned, wishing it would stop. Just when she thought it was over, it seemed to start back up again. That trash can was a goner.
"Are you gonna be alright today?" Finn asked her as he came to stand in the doorway. It was almost as if he didn't want to get any closer.
"Yeah, I just gotta . . . do this," she said, feeling bad for him. It wasn't fun to listen to somebody throwing up, and she probably looked like such a wreck right now.
"I haven't seen you drink so much since junior year. Dax's party."
"Oh, Dax's party," she recalled hazily. "Yeah."
"You were a mess."
"That was bad," she agreed. "My parents didn't know what was wrong with me the next morning. They thought I was either hung-over or pregnant. Either way, they weren't happy."
Finn chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, be careful about how hard you go," he cautioned. "You shouldn't drink that much unless you're out with me."
He was probably right, but she and Harper had started doing shots, and she'd sort of just lost track of how many she'd taken.
"Good thing Bellamy was there," Finn said.
"Yeah," she agreed, but something about the way he said it . . . it was almost like he didn't really think it was a good thing.
...
Maybe I should grow my beard out, Bellamy pondered as he headed out for auditions that morning. So many of these commercials Pike had him auditioning for were for razors and shaving creams. It might help if he showed up with actual proof that he could grow facial hair.
He rubbed his chin as he veered through the parking lot towards his car, glad that he'd at least let his scruff grow out for a couple of days.
"Hey! Bellamy!"
He turned around when someone called his name. Clarke's boyfriend was roaming through the parking lot with a camera in his hand. What the hell had he been taking pictures of now, junker cars?
"Hey, Finn," he said, forcing himself to sound friendly, even though he was sort of in a rush. "How's Clarke?"
"Oh, she's . . . miserable," Finn replied. "Been pukin' all morning."
"Yeah, I figured." He'd heard some of it earlier, and it hadn't been pleasant.
"She doesn't really drink a whole lot," Finn went on. "You know, a beer here and there, but . . . she's kind of a lightweight."
"I noticed." Bellamy checked his watch, knowing he had to leave now if he wanted to get to the audition in time. "Hey, listen, I really gotta go," he said, "but-"
Obliviously, Finn just kept talking. "You didn't get her drunk, right?"
Bellamy frowned. "What?"
"Well, I know you bartend at the club, and I just wanted to make sure . . . you didn't, like, force her to drink anything. Did you?"
Finn was trying to sound all calm and friendly when he asked that, but it wasn't a friendly question; it was an accusatory one. He thought he may have taken advantage of Clarke last night. If the guy knew anything about him at all, he'd know that Bellamy would have rather gotten hit by a bus than act like such a fucking creep. "I would never do anything like that to Clarke," he told Finn sternly. "To anyone."
"Right," Finn said. "Sorry. I just had to ask. I didn't mean to . . . offend you or anything."
"Well, you did," Bellamy informed him. He didn't bother to assure him that it was alright, because it wasn't. Hell, he'd been the one to bring Finn's girlfriend home to him last night, safe and sound.
He turned and walked away coldly, not caring if there was animosity between them now. Clarke's boyfriend . . . Bellamy just didn't understand what she saw in him. Based on everything he'd seen so far, the guy wasn't all that great.
...
"Thrift store, thrift store . . ." Clarke sang as she and Bellamy strolled up to what looked like a very large garage sale outside a very large building. They'd just finished another mile-run, and she was tired, but not so tired that she had to go home just yet. Bellamy had told her they could get some great deals today. He'd seen fliers up advertising this gigantic sale, because apparently the thrift store actually had a surplus and needed to make room. Worked for her. Finn had yet to see the first paycheck from his job, so they were living off of what she'd been earning. Bargain shopping was very welcomed.
"You can actually find some pretty good shit here," Bellamy said, picking up a new lighter off of a table of odds and ends. He set it down quickly, though, and assured her, "I haven't fallen off the wagon."
"Good." It was nice not to smell that smoke smell on his clothes. He probably didn't realize it, but not smoking made him even more attractive.
"So Finn said he talked to you the other morning," she said as they casually strolled through the tables of items up for grabs.
"Yep," Bellamy muttered.
Just because she was nosy, Clarke inquired, "What'd you guys talk about?"
He sighed, grumbling, "It doesn't matter."
She frowned, because the way he said that . . . made it seem like it did matter. "What?" she asked.
His back to her as he surveyed a pair of tennis shoes, Bellamy shrugged. "He wondered if I took advantage of you the other night."
"What?" She blinked rapidly, trying to understand what would have possessed Finn to even think for one second that the guy she went running with every other morning would do something like that to her.
"It kinda pissed me off," Bellamy admitted, setting the shoes back down.
"I'm sorry," she said, walking along beside him. "Finn's just . . . protective."
Bellamy grunted. "Since when? He lets you get up on a pole and dance. How protective can he be?"
"Well, this one time, at a basketball game . . ."
"Oh, one time at a basketball game," he mimicked.
"No, seriously, this guy from another school tried to look up my cheerleading skirt. And Finn just came up and knocked him right out. It was great. I mean, he got suspended for a couple days, but other than that, it was great."
"Totally worth the sexual harassment, huh?" he joked darkly.
"Oh, come on, you know what I mean." She wasn't trying to make light of a situation that had, in fact, been serious. "I'm sorry he asked you about that, but . . . he and I have been together for two years now. It's really serious."
"Oh, is it now?"
"Yes." God, he seemed more than a little moody today. Maybe his latest auditions hadn't gone well or something.
"What's the story with you and Finn anyway?" Bellamy asked, stopping to examine some ceramic plates, most of which had at least a few chips in them. "How'd you guys get together?"
"Well . . . he didn't pay much attention to me for two years," she recalled. "But then junior year, I sort of . . . filled out a little bit more and-"
"He noticed you when you got breasts?" Bellamy cut in.
"Well, I always had breasts. They just got bigger. And we started hanging out after football games and stuff, and then it just . . . I don't know, continued from there, naturally. And now it's a love story."
"Hmm." That one little sound was all she got out of him as a response, but he just sounded sort of skeptical still. Which bothered her a bit, but . . . what could she do? Bellamy didn't strike her as the type of guy to have ever been in love before, so maybe he just didn't understand.
"Finn had plenty of offers, you know," she went on. "Every girl in school liked him."
"Why, because he played football?"
"And he was funny and nice. He had other girlfriends before me, but once he and I started up . . . it's just never been in doubt. He's the one for me."
"The one?" Bellamy echoed, cocking his head towards her as he put the plates down. "You believe in that crap?"
"It's not crap." She pouted, a bit miffed that he would be so dismissive of the notion. "Look, just because you haven't found the one . . ."
"I don't wanna find the one," he argued.
"Fine, then stick with your crusty cougars and kinky threesomes."
"Hey, I'll have you know, it takes skill to do a threesome."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Bellamy. I just don't know why you're so determined to cast doubt on the most important relationship I've ever had in my life."
"I'm not," he said, walking onward. "I just . . . I don't know, never mind."
Dropping it was probably a good idea, so she slinked along behind him, only halfheartedly looking over all the items on sale. There was a hand-held can opener. She really did need a can opener.
"Do you even have a winter hat?" Bellamy asked her suddenly, turning around with a black beanie in hand.
"Yes," she said. "I just didn't bring it with me."
He walked up to her and put the hat on her head, pulling it down over her ears. She smiled dopily, and he shook his head. "You look ridiculous."
"Gee, thanks." She took the hat off and checked the hand-marked price tag. Hey, three dollars. That wasn't bad at all. She could totally get this hat for three dollars.
"You need gloves, too," he said, snatching up a pair from the nearest table. "It's gonna start gettin' cold out."
"I'm from Kansas, Bellamy," she reminded him. "If I can survive a Midwest winter, I can deal with the cold here."
"You still need gloves," he said. "A coat. Do you have a coat?"
She didn't have a coat yet, but she wanted to get a nicer, warmer one, so she lied, "Yes."
"I don't believe you," he muttered, but when it came down to it, he let the coat idea go and just bought the hat and gloves for her. She didn't ask him to pay, didn't even think he was going to. But when they got up to the register, he just whipped his wallet out of his pocket and forked over some cash before she could stop him.
Where did this come from, she wondered, this care-taker instinct that seemed to be so deeply engrained in Bellamy Blake? Perhaps it had something to do with his little sister. Maybe he'd been the one to watch over her a lot growing up.
"So you'll talk about your boyfriend but not your parents," Bellamy noted as they walked back. They could have run, but neither one of them was in the mood for another mile. Plus, she had this plastic sack with her new hat and gloves in it now.
"I talked about my parents the other night," she reminded him.
"You didn't say much."
"Yes, I did."
"You don't remember."
Dammit, he had her there. She really didn't remember much. "It's easier to talk about Finn," she said, twirling her sack around. "He's been good for me. Without him, I never would've come here. I'd still be stuck in Arkadia, living with my mom and my future stepdad." She rolled her eyes, still pissed off about that.
"I thought you said it was a nice house, though," he reminded her.
"It is. Old, but nice."
"Nice house, nice car . . ." He shrugged. "Doesn't sound so dire to me."
"That's because you don't know . . ." She trailed off, sensing that he was doing this on purpose, trying to lure her into saying more, more than she wanted to.
"I don't know 'cause you don't tell me," he said. "That's alright, though. I'm sure you will. Someday." He smiled at her and broke into an easy jog, and reluctantly, she picked up the pace to stay close to him.
Someday, she thought as she trotted after him. Maybe.
