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At the time, I thought that that week was one of the longest of my whole life. Every waking hour...

...and every hour as I lay in bed trying to sleep...and every hour of my dreams; every hour of every day and night, my mind was seeing dance. I only needed to shut my eyes to see unturned out legs or sickled feet or stiff fingers.

And when I opened my eyes – well, then I'd see them in front of me instead, because I would almost inevitably be in a studio.

My classes, once dreaded beyond anything else, seemed to blur into the endless times alone or with Jacob in the studio. Since I was skipping technique, Pointe was my first class of the day. I would walk in already exhausted to the snide comments from the five other girls, led by Leah. They didn't like the fact that for some reason I was still in their class.

I still wasn't good enough. I still couldn't keep up. The combinations we were given were so complex in comparison to the ones Jacob had been giving me, which were at the level Madame Cox had been teaching my class.

"Be patient," Jacob had had to repeat on several occasions. It was hard, though; how could I be so tired and still not be any closer to keeping up with the Royals?

My frustration, though, was greatest in Repertoire and Pas de Deux. In Rep we were learning Juliet's variation from the first act, when they're all at the Capulet party and she's just a young and carefree girl. It was hardly over a minute long and yet I still had trouble staying en pointe. It didn't look like such a hard combination when I watched Adela do it, and yet I knew I was bound to muck it up as soon as I stepped onto the floor.

Partnering was worse; I couldn't do it. Jacob said I wasn't ready to dance with him yet, and Seth was still 'worried' about his 'injured' knee. So, we both just sat in opposite corners at the front of the class, Seth staring at Amanda and Gerry like a lost puppy whilst I just sat there and watched. I almost felt thankful that Seth refused to dance with me, though; I didn't want to do this pas de deux – it was the balcony scene.

Those same steps Master Carlisle had spent hours teaching to Edward and me in the musty, high-ceilinged studio at Force were now being taught to all the Royals in Mister York's boring tone and being performed en mass, everyone behind one another, trying not to kick anyone else. The piece used the whole stage – learning it in a studio with five partnerships all trying to make it look professional didn't work.

Somehow, though, Jacob and Leah looked fine. Well, Jacob did; he was strong enough to perform the complex lifts and steps and still look fluid and unstressed. Leah was a little stiff and she spent most of her time joking around. I notice Jacob getting a little irritated. When he did, though, he just looked at me, reminding both of us that sometime soon I would be dancing this pas de deux with him.

But that thought made me feel sick. It was the one time I couldn't fend off Edward. This had been our pas de deux; our dance. Watching everyone do the steps that we had sweated and argued over...it felt wrong.

In Tuesday's partnering class, everyone was working on the same section I had struggled over – the arabesque into the guy's arms. But they weren't struggling; within ten minutes, it was sorted and they were onto the next step. My nails dug into my shins as tried to block out the thoughts I so desperately didn't want to hear.

Jacob casually crouched down next to me to get his water bottle, "Go to the back of the class and fix up the first few steps."

I glanced at him, "What help will that be without a partner?"

He took a swig of water, "Better than nothing. Now go."

I quickly learned that I should always obey Jacob. Not because he was threatening, but because he always seemed to be right; fixing the first few steps took my mind completely away from Edward and instead I sunk into the same mindset that I had had the day before – total focus. Even though they were the same steps I had had to perform with Edward, they seemed completely different when I used the technique Jacob had taught me. The breakdown of the movement gave me a different story to the step than just simply doing it had given.

It was the same for everything I did in those long hours alone in the studio; I relearnt ballet.

Every plié, every arabesque, every ronde de jambe and battement – they all took on a new meaning. I felt almost as if I was learning their secrets.

And as I fixed my pliés on the Wednesday morning, my ninth lesson, I realized that Jacob had been right again; I shouldn't have worried about the time this technique would take.

"Five minutes," he said with a grin, taking a sip of coffee – I swear, the coffee sellers at the Space Needle must have been making a fortune off us – "That's a long way from half an hour, Swan."

I didn't talk back as I had two days ago; I just smiled and kept going, intent on keeping my knees in the right position. It was almost addictive, the small pleasure you got when you fixed part of a movement. When you saw it correct, it was the same feeling as a traffic light going green or catching a ball; a tiny satisfaction which you didn't even notice, but it was still there.

The big satisfaction came, though, on Thursday in Contemporary, which was now my one and only time to kind of rest in a day, aside from the few minutes I had for eating and coffee. We were performing another weird combination with a lot of bending and stretching. Mark, as usual, was getting into it, "Stretch! Like there's nothing keeping you from spiralling your back right around!"

"That gives me the creepiest images," Leah muttered. Gerry and Jacob both sniggered.

"Leah, be quiet. And now reach! Reach like you could take off! And jump!"

Contemporary leaps could be weird – bent legs and random twists – but they were kind of fun. I launched up into the air, not getting anywhere near as much height as Amanda, who was next to me. But I landed softly.

The music came to an end. Mark was looking at me, arms folded, with that twinkle-eyed grin on his face, "Very nice plié, Bella. Very controlled."

Every looked at me, only for a second. I blushed. It wasn't much of a compliment; everyone else got snaps for their tour jetés or fouettes. Still...it was something.

I felt a small pat on my back as we went to the back of the studio for the next combination. I saw Jacob walking away, a little smile on his face.

I felt a thrill run up my spine. Hell yeah!

I hadn't even had to think about it – I had just been doing so many damned pliés that when I'd looked in the mirror during the combination, I had fixed every body part in a split second.

After dinner that night, though, the euphoria over Mark's compliment had worn off, "It was just a plié," I said to Jacob.

"Yes, Bella," he said, pushing a needle through the sole of his ballet shoes. "But think of what you'll be looking like when you're doing what you did for that plié in every single step. In your leaps, in your turns..." he waved the needle at me. "That's what we're aiming for. But for now, getting you back up to First Year is our goal, so hurry up and do the combos."

"Will you knit me a scarf if I get there?" I teased as I went to the centre.

He laughed, "Just dance, Swan."

First Year. It was so hard to gauge where I was when I was using such a different technique to just normal learning. It was like using a different map. But gradually, I felt my combinations get easier. I didn't fall off my pointe. I kept my posture. I was getting there...

\*\*/*/

Thursday night. I hardly made it up the stairs to my room. A second after opening the door, I had collapsed onto my bed.

My whole body ached. It ached like it never had before. All those repeated movements, day after day; my muscles were not prepared for them, nor was my endurance. I was so tired. I felt like I could have slept for a week and still wouldn't have been well rested.

But even now, my day wasn't over. Get up, Bella, I coerced myself.

Groaning, I rolled off the bed and onto the floor, where I set about stretching and massaging my muscles. Otherwise it'll be even worse in the morning, I tried to argue.

Four days of this; seven weeks and three days to go. Of this...

Seven weeks to get Juliet, I thought conversely. That was what I was doing this for. To not fail.

But tomorrow night was the deadline for the penche and I still wasn't anywhere near. I could hit the one-eighty for a millisecond, but then I would fall off my pointe and that would be it.

Why could I do it before? I asked myself as I crawled my upper body forward from the splits, stretching out my back.

I remembered that night; the night I had first hit the penche.

Edward had just forced me into going to Doctor Hill about my concussion – he'd banned me from doing the Review. And I had been so angry.

I had gone to an empty studio, determined to practise in secret. But when I'd gotten there, I had been awful, falling off my pointe and landing sloppily...just like now! I realized.

Quickly, I sat up, pulling my legs back in so they were just crossed. How had I fixed it? How had I gotten my penche then?

I remembered – I had been listening to the music and it had just happened.

I forced my pointe shoes back onto my aching feet, not bothering with the lambs' wool. Then I grabbed my iPod from my bag and plugged it into Leah's stereo, not exactly caring that she would mind.

All of Me.

I stood up, getting in position for the penche, and pressed play.

Those first ascending notes came.

And I was back in the grand theatre of Force de la Beauté, the blinding white and blue lights on me and me alone. But this time I knew Edward was here, standing in the wings, watching me.

"God, I was hypnotised, Bella..."

I lifted up onto pointe, into an ordinary arabesque. It was just me, just me on the black stage in my glimmering blue and gold tutu. Bella Swan. The dancer.

"You were like a prima ballerina...as if you were the dancer of my mind's eye."

I felt my heart soar with the memory of his words. The piano twinkled down. Exhaling, the feeling too much to bear, I lowered, my back leg rising high above me, straight and pointed.

"Like my own personal perfection..."

The stage lights warmed my bare arms, made my reaching, elegant fingers look like marble.

I felt like perfection.

"You were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Bella. Ever."

The music had moved far ahead.

"Ever."

I opened my eyes...they had been closed?

I was still in a penche! Abruptly, I dropped my leg and was standing once more. I smile lit up my face. I'd done it! I had it! I had my penche!

"You really are Edward Masen's partner."

I looked up. Bridget stood in the doorway in her pyjamas, holding her hairbrush and toilet bag, her red hair in a long wet plait over one shoulder. She was staring at me.

I swallowed, "I was."

She frowned, her brow creasing, "Why don't you do that in class?"

"We don't do penches," I said. "Not in centre."

"Yeah," Bridget said slowly, coming in and putting her stuff on her desk. "And not en pointe. But the balance and strength it takes to do that...I mean, why don't you use it?"

I bit my lip, trying not to make my smile too pretentious. "I don't know..." I looked at her. "But I'm working on it."

"Hmm," she shrugged, her disbelief gone, getting into bed. "Well, maybe one day you'll do that outside this bedroom and stop looking like such a dork all the time."

I was too happy to take offence, "Thanks," I said, before hurrying out the door and down the corridor. I had to tell Jacob! I just hoped he hadn't gone to bed already. I sprung down the stairs, feeling light on my feet, even though two minutes ago I'd hardly been able to walk.

I was just about to charge into the lounge when I heard giggling.

I paused in the doorway to see Jacob and Leah on the couch, entangled in each other's arms in a full blown make out. I blinked. Somehow I felt...jealous? Jacob and I had spent so much time together recently, and in classes it felt like we had some private joke between us – everyone else thought I sucked, but we both knew...well, I hoped...that I didn't. He was my only friend here...we got coffee together...

But here he was making out with Leah like the world was going to end tomorrow, her hands running down his muscled back, his on her rib cage and butt.

"Stop gawping, Force." a voice whispered from behind me. I spun around to see Gerry strolling down the hallway in nothing but his pyjama pants.

I blinked, shook my head and followed him into the kitchen.

He laughed at the look on my face as he took out a bottle of orange juice from the fridge. "What? Did old Masen never kiss you like that?"

"That's none of your business," I said disgustedly.

Gerry just shrugged and scratched his beard, "Touchy."

I let out a breath and leaned against the kitchen island, "So...how long have Leah and Jacob been going out?"

He gave me a look as he poured, "They've never been 'going out'. They just enjoy each other's company."

I frowned, "So, like...friends with benefits?"

"Hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, sucking some orange juice off his finger. "Yeah, pretty much. Jacob hasn't had an actual girlfriend in, like, ever." He paused, looking distant, "Except that time on tour in London when he got seriously drunk and I think he ended up engaged to some pom..." Gerry cocked his head, "Or maybe that was Australia."

"You guys travel a lot," I observed.

"Sure thing, Force," he said. "We're Royals – it's our job to make everyone else know that we're better than them."

"So I've gathered," I said mildly, drumming my fingers on the worktop.

Gerry leaned forward, looking at me studiously, "What are you doing here, Force?" he said, like I was the dog who'd somehow gotten inside after dark. "Why aren't you back with your little First Years and Masen?"

"I got offered a scholarship," I said for the thousandth time.

"And you didn't ask Masen for help?" Gerry asked. "What'd you do? Jeté the wrong way and smack your foot into his precious little face?"

"Why do you guys have it in for him?" I asked, frustrated. "His friends never went on about Jacob."

"His friends?" Gerry repeated with a frown. "I'm pretty sure that Emmett guy is too busy taking steroids, those two Russians can hardly speak English and that midget girl's voice is probably too teeny to hear."

I scoffed incredulously, "Are you seriously that rude? I can't believe it!"

"No," Gerry shook his head seriously and looked me directly in the eye, "Believe it, Force. We're a family here; if someone's got an issue, we all do. Don't think for a minute that you belong here, and certainly don't think for a minute that we give a crap about your dancing or your screwed up love life. We've seen thirteen other dancers leave this house over the past six years and all of them were better dancers than you. So if you're going to continue to stay here then you need to accept that Jacob doesn't like your pretty little boyfriend, so none of us do. We'll say what we like, we'll do what we like, and you do not get to judge. Got it?"

I stared at him, not sure whether I wanted to cry or punch him where it hurts. But instead, I said quietly, "If you're all so close, then why don't you tell everyone about your crush on Seth?"

His jaw dropped.

I gave him a dry smile, "You see a lot of things when no one talks to you."

I took that as my exit and hurried back upstairs. I felt a mean thrill of satisfaction; it had been a fifty-fifty chance, I really hadn't been sure...but just the way always seemed to glance at Seth after making one of his stupid jokes to Amanda. And the way he'd run so fast to get an icepack for Seth's knee. And he was always so teasing – like he had something to hide. Still, it had kind of been a long shot.

My nastiness only lasted me a minute before I started to feel bad; that hadn't been fair.

Well, I thought, at least now it's been spelt out clearly; I don't belong here.

\*\*/*/

"Bella! Focus!" Jacob ordered. It was Friday night. The deadline for the penche.

Gerry had been oddly quiet this morning as everyone tried to move around each other in the corridor and bathrooms. As we'd passed on the stairs, he had given me a nervous look, but didn't say anything with Robbie behind him. My guilt worsened – that had not been fair.

"Bella!" Jacob exclaimed again. "Come on."

I blinked and dropped my bag to the floor. "Sorry," I muttered, sitting down to put on my pointe shoes. I was going to need new ones soon – the amount of dancing I had been doing was wearing them out too quickly. "It's been kind of a long week, you know?"

He smirked, "Don't worry; you have another seven to get used to it."

"Ugh," I groaned and pulled myself to my feet.

"You ready?" he asked, standing at the front barre in a scarlet wife beater and sweatpants.

I nodded smugly, going to the centre, "I had it for way over five seconds last night."

"Impressive," he said, folding his arms and giving me a challenging look. "Bring it."

I took a deep breath. Okay.

I stepped up onto pointe, feeling the toe box secure on the ground. My back leg lifted.

It's so quiet, I thought distractedly.

I lifted it higher, up, up. I glanced in the mirror. One-fifty...

And my toes left their pointe and I was standing again. "Damn it," I muttered, pushing a stray hair behind my ear. I looked at Jacob, feeling intensely embarrassed.

He just cocked his head to one side, "Wasn't quite it, was it?"

"I can do it with the Review music," I said frustratedly. "It was perfect, I swear." I went to my bag, "Let me show you..."

"No, Bella," Jacob said, stepping forward.

I turned around, my iPod in my hands, "But I can – "

He shook his head, "You're not doing it with music. Your skills can't be situational, Bella; that's why we are going through everything in so much detail – so that no matter what happens, you will be able to perform. You think they're going to let you switch from Prokofiev to Jon Schmidt so you can perform a penche?"

"No but – "

"Bella," he gave me the you-know-I'm-right look. "Come on. You don't need music; you can do this, just use your technique."

He gestured for me to come back to the centre. I sighed and did as I was told.

"But I can't see myself to fix it without falling off pointe."

"I'll do it for you," he said. He stood in front of me, "Put your hands on my shoulders."

I hesitantly put my palms on his hard muscle, his bare skin hot to mine.

"Step by step," Jacob said quietly, keeping his eyes on mine.

I stepped forward onto pointe, my hands clutching his shoulders.

"Remember your turn out," he said. "Open your hip, keep your leg straight." His eyes scanned my body, "Supporting leg still needs turning out. That's it." I felt a finger on my chin, gentle pulling my eyes back to his. He was calm, focussed, "Face up. Okay, go higher."

I lifted my leg, and as I lifted, he slowly lowered to one knee. "Keep your chest up or you'll lose your balance. Supporting leg still needs strengthening, Bella. Feel the strength from the floor – connect with it. Higher."

He was fully on one knee now, like a danseur, toes pointed.

"Crap," I muttered as I wobbled. Quickly, he put his hands to my waist, steadying me.

"Why did that happened?" he asked patiently.

"Uh," I swallowed, trying to get used to the feeling of his hands gently holding my waist. "I got distracted, lost the height in my chest."

"Good," he nodded. I looked at him. Our faces were so close, staring directly into each other's eyes. I could hear his every breath, though I knew mine were far more abrupt and obvious.

I remembered the last time I had been like this – with Edward. When he'd suddenly appeared in that circle on the stage and I'd been in so much pain...and he wouldn't let me dance alone; he would dance with me. And just before the others were about to part and reveal us, I'd asked him if I meant anything to him...but then they'd parted and we'd danced forward...and he'd knelt before me, and I had lifted my leg high into the air, leaning down and coming face to face with him, so close. It had been like we were the only ones in that theatre...

I remembered the desperation I'd felt on my face; the need to know if he truly loved me...if I wasn't just some silly girl who'd gotten carried away. And his face had expressed a similar desperation; he wanted to tell me everything...

"What we have, no one could learn. It can only ever be you, Bella."

I felt a tear slip from my closed eyelid.

"Bella," Jacob said softly.

I opened my eyes. Now it was his face in front of me, not Edward's. "I'm sorry," I whispered, and tried to move back up. But Jacob kept his hands firmly on my waist.

"Bella, you're still on your pointe; keep going." Gently, he took one hand from my waist and brushed the tear from my cheek. His eyes were like brandy in the dimmed studio lights, staring at me with utter determination. "Stay focussed."

I took a deep breath, irritated by my distraction, and blinked away any lingering tears.

"Alright," he said. "One hand at a time."

He took his hand off my waist. Gently, one after the other, I placed my hands in his.

"Okay," he said. "Check your chest and supporting leg again and stay on your box."

I changed what he'd said.

"Better," Jacob said. "But you're leaning on my hands and you're still not focussed."

"I know," I said. My mind was hardly on this at all. "I don't know how..."

"Look at me," he commanded.

I looked nervously back into his eyes.

"This is no different to a plié, Bella. You can do this, easily. Focus. Just do it. Don't think, just focus. You know that mind frame now, you know what it feels like. Put yourself back there and I'll let you go."

Okay, Bella...I tried to imagine myself back in a plié. Immediately, the image of myself needed a hundred corrections – feet, knees, butt, hips, chest...

I applied it now to this. Every single problem I felt through my body I tweaked and altered, as if I was smoothing out the creases in a piece of cloth. My eyes left Jacob's and instead set themselves on a spot on the floor. I felt through my body again, from my toes high up in the air to my arched back and supporting leg.

I felt it when it clicked.

"Let go," I said, and took one hand out first, letting it stretch behind me. I fixed it up. "And the other."

Jacob's fingers loosened and then he was gone.

I stared at that spot on the floor. It was a slightly lighter shade of brown to the others – a speck in the wood, perhaps. Tiny, so very tiny.

I felt something drip from my face, but this time it wasn't a stupid tear – it was sweat.

The spot on the floor...the spot on the floor.

And gently, so gently, I let my fingers lift, followed by my torso, my leg slowly lowering, still perfectly en pointe, until my toes touched the ground once more. I gracefully let my arms float back down to my sides, my breath slowly letting out.

My eyes left the brown spot and I looked up.

Jacob stood shaking his head, arms folded, grinning.

"I did it!" I squealed, and threw my arms around his shoulders in a totally unexpected hug. The scent of his aftershave surrounded me. It was familiar now – and I associated it with victory. I did it!

He laughed and patted my back, "You did good, Swan. Now you just need to do it twenty more times and I'll give you tomorrow morning off."

I pulled away, smirking at him, "You're a slave driver."

He grinned and raised an eyebrow, "But you can't deny that it works."

I shook my head in disbelief, "Where did you learn this?"

Jacob smirked and went to his bag to get out his water bottle. "A very long time ago in Chicago," he said, taking a sip. "When I was only eight and not really sure I even wanted to dance, I got put with a new teacher; Monsieur Revin."

"I've never heard of him," I said, frowning.

Jacob nodded, "He wasn't exactly liked in the ballet community. His teaching method wasn't fun – it wasn't even logical. Like you said – how can you expect to get through anything when you're spending more than two hours on each move?" he smiled, chucking his water bottle back in his bag and zipping it up. "I guess people didn't like the idea of him making kids as young as me so hell bent on perfection – his motto was 'You will never achieve perfection, but you will spend your whole life trying.'"

"That does sound like a lot of pressure for an eight year old," I said.

Jacob shook his head, "It wasn't pressure; it was a challenge." He flicked me a grin, "Still is. But it's like that for every dancer, whether they know it or not; we are all striving for perfection. It's just that the two of us who were taught under Revin before his studio went bankrupt are closer to it than anyone else ever will be."

"Two of you?" I repeated, frowning.

He gazed at me, "Why do you think Edward and I are so evenly matched, Bella?"

Hmmm...interesting...

Sorry it took longer than twenty-four hours! Alas, I got pulled away from my laptop for the first decently cooked meal I've had in two weeks...(stranded without a car on the top of a hill...don't ask...)

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