[A/N: My apologies for getting this out a little late. I'd also like to give another apology for spelling mistakes and grammatical errors within the last chapter and this chapter. I was in a rush to get this out to you guys because I'm so thankful people are actually interested in my story, even if it does involve a crackship. You're all lovely, thank you so much! Lyrics are from Elton John's classic 'Tiny Dancer.']
"Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.
Count the headlights on the highway.
Lay me down in sheets of linen.
You had a busy day today."
Imogen Moreno was never a fan of Friday nights.
Friday nights meant madness. It meant hearing her mom rant on about how her dad was working late yet again. It meant feeling the weight of Monday already on her shoulders. It was a reminder of how alone she was, watching her classmates make plans as she made her way down the front steps of Degrassi. They all had wide smiles on their faces as they picked - movies or mall? Concert or road trip? Sleepover or house party? They had options. And with one last excited laugh, they'd remind their fellow friend to contact them just before the plans began. Imogen didn't have that.
Every Friday, she'd walk home from school, humming a familiar tune until she got to her front porch. Her mom wouldn't be home from a day of grocery shopping or an afternoon outing with a friend. Freely, she'd step inside, be greeted by her black cat, Jinx, before climbing up the stairs, going back to the humming. She seemed so ordinary, so painfully boring.
But Friday nights had one shining light - literally.
Her eyes opened to a silhouette audience as the spotlight hit her eyes harshly but adjusted quickly. The classical music started out as a soft hum and almost immediately, her body began responding less to her conscious mind and more to the C-Major scale. Her feet took no control; she was now en pointe, her hair in a strict bun, her eyes open and a smile on her face as her arms spread wide for the opening moves. The smell of caffeine was all around, but she was barely fazed by a single thing at this point. Her body has slipped away from her as her mind was emptied of any worry or negative thought.
That was what she loved about dancing. It was a few minutes of a rehearsed routine to some people. But to her, it was a few minutes of silence. She could be moving about while living in peace; these types of moments where she was actually awake but content came rarely. She praised dancing. Every time her body slipped into movements she had practiced before, she lost herself. It reminded her of how small she was. Imogen was always admiring things that made her realize her problems were only a mark on the surface of a 'grand scheme.'
There wasn't a care in the world as her routine went on, the classical music filled the room, and the audience watched in comfortable silence. She was the star with an honest show. All eyes were on her and she was giving them a genuine smile. She had their attention - all whilst remaining exactly who she was. Imogen Moreno, just a girl who couldn't seem to find her place offstage.
One last plie, she stuck the landing and her arms moved gracefully above her as her legs overlapped and her body stretched its length, the last chord of the song being strung out. A moment of dead silence, a spotlight went out and the crowd began cheering, clapping, all per usual. Every light in the coffee shop holding an 'Open Entertainment Friday Night' turned on and Imogen managed to take a bow. Still high off the buzz of happiness, she slipped off the stage with a smile, moving towards the table in the back where her dance bag was held underneath her jacket.
She was just passing by the front door, ready to change and enjoy the rest of the performances when a voice caught her completely unsuspecting - a voice her ears had become too accustomed to. "I knew it was you."
Her eyes swung from her personal items to those golden speckled green eyes. Her entire body froze as he rose his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets as he took a few steps towards her. What was Jake Martin doing at this coffee shop of all places on a Friday? And more importantly, why was he conversing with her? He had spent the past week shooting her death glares. Her favorite was the one she got after they got their quizzes passed back and his sported a big, red F and a sarcastic note from Dawes.
"What are you doing here, Martin?" Imogen snapped, her shocked exterior not helping her attitude. Her coffee shop was a place she chose to escape from Degrassi, not to be faced with it. Usually the kids at her school were out doing reckless activities. Not many spent their Friday nights at coffee shops and the ones who did kept to ones that weren't theater-themed. The Masked Cafe had posters from Phantom of the Opera to Footloose all around the walls and every mug had a printed Comedy Tragedy Mask on the porcelain. The owner was a lover of performing arts - maybe that's why he hosted the Entertainment Nights. Either way, it was practically Degrassi student-proof. Yet here she was, face to face with the last person she expected.
"Got caught under a heavy storm," Jake shrugged, as if Imogen wasn't staring at the remaining droplets of rain that cascaded down his neck, soaking within the stitching of the collar of his shirt. He looked down at her, taking her in, in her entirety, a soft grin coming to his lips. His hand slipped out of his pocket and he tugged gently and unthreateningly at the bottom of her black leotard dress. "What are you doing in that?"
Imogen slapped his hand away quickly, a deep pink appearing on her cheeks as the lights turned off above them, the next act appearing on the stage. The audience fell silent and Imogen knew Jake was still waiting on his answer. She huffed, taking his hand without a single thought and moving towards her stuff. He didn't seem the least bit fazed but retracted his hand after a moment. She didn't think much of it though, focusing on her stuff before heading towards the actual coffee shop where the bored barista leaned against the counter, waiting for people who wanted refills. Opening the door that separated the two rooms, she slipped through, knowing Jake was right on her heels and when they arrived at the familiar worn down blue couch she usually sat on, she dropped her stuff, turning around and narrowing her eyes at the boy.
"You still haven't answered my question," He said in a low voice, smirking down at her.
She scoffed. As if he hadn't seen her on stage. She was embarrassed, to say the least. Dancing was something she liked to do within the privacy of strangers who didn't know her name. She liked being carefree but in solidarity, without people knowing her business. Jake, on the other hand, was sadly neither a stranger, nor was he oblivious to the problems in her life. As a matter of fact, he had once been tangled within the same mess she'd been in; false hope and unrequited feelings.
"If you speak a single word of this at school, I will make sure orienteering club's event in the gym next week is pushed aside by Drama club," Imogen sneered. She didn't actually mean that. Actually, she had pushed Degrassi theater aside after the whole fiasco earlier that year. She just didn't have any other empty threats to dangle above Jake's head. He had probably caught onto this, because with a slight eye roll and never even a small falter of that half smile, Jake pulled his hands from his pockets, running them through his wet hair. He moved around Imogen, sitting down on the couch as the girl turned again to face him.
"Darn. And I was so excited to see the different types of compasses the president of the club was going to bring," Jake snipped sarcastically, looking up at Imogen as he rested his body against the armrest. His eyes remained calm as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was having fun with this, watching her fidget under the pressures of being found out, untangling at the seams before him. He was still a mystery while she was giving away precious clues.
Imogen rolled her eyes, not wanting to play the game anymore. She went to her bag, grabbing her wallet and left Jake on the couch as she walked towards the counter. She wasn't going to let him ruin her peaceful Friday night. The first step to getting past Jake Martin in the Mask Cafe was getting her usual coffee before she could grab the Scarlet Letter and read on, forgetting about the devious boys beside her and she had every intention of doing just that.
"Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand.
Now she's in me, always with me;
Tiny Dancer, in my hand."
Jake Martin loved Friday nights.
Friday nights meant slipping away from the pressures of school. He didn't have to worry about what was assigned, what was due, what he had to study for. All he had to focus on what was he wanted to do; he drown himself in the shallow desires of what ever high school teenager was interested in on Friday nights - companionship. Drew Torres had invited him to a house party, a few friends from orienteering club had extended an invitation to a movie night and the extras from 'Love Roulette' were wondering if he'd be interested in a small show for an underground band. Jake had options, but he didn't get the privilege of choosing. A text from his dad had done the decision making for him.
'There's a storm coming in and we forgot to put something over the hole in the roof. Need you home ASAP.'
Was it really his fault that his father had decided their new home's rooftop needed new tiling in the middle of May? It didn't matter anyhow. Either way, he was expected to bring home a tarp from the local hardware store, preferably the biggest size held so that his dad could use it again for his bigger construction projects. Jake was forced to cancel on Drew, the orienteer clubbers and the extras all at once and each one of them said the same thing. "Bummer, dude. Hit up my phone if your schedule clears afterwards."
And Jake honestly did have every intention of getting the tarp, placing it down on the roof and heading out. The small voice in the back of his head nagged, 'What teenager spends their Friday night doing house chores?' And of course, Jake was always one to listen to his superficial side if it seemed logical in the moment. But of course, his superficial mind always forgot the important details; like, for example, asking his dad for directions to the hardware store. He didn't know the streets of Toronto as well as the regular licensed teen in the city. But when time was put on the line, Jake didn't seem to care.
Which was probably why he was now sitting in his car as a torrential downpour made its way through Toronto, the clock turning to eight, his phone without service as he stared at the building of what seemed to be a crowded coffee shop, 'The Mask Cafe.' He shoulders slumped; when he got home, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. But in the moment, he was tarp-less, hungry and not too sure of where he was. The seemingly theater-themed coffee shop seemed like his safest bet.
But it wasn't just his safest bet, it actually held an interesting surprise. And as Imogen sauntered over to the counter, Jake couldn't wipe the grin off his face. His eyes watched as she moved freely in her small little leotard dress, the material showing off her every curve, her legs in soft nylons as her ballet flats moved noiselessly against the tiled floor. Without her glasses, a touch of weird jewelry, even her combat boots and awkward hairstyles, Jake could honestly say Imogen looked rather normal - appealing even.
Shaking the thought from his head and getting up from the overused couch, he came up behind her, allowing her to finish her order for some soy, extra-caffeinated drink before butting in. "And a regular, black coffee for me," He added on, pulling his wallet from his jacket's pocket. Imogen looked over her shoulder at him and he noticed how close she really was. He also seemed to notice how soft her skin looked, the smooth complexion and light curve of her small nose and pretty lips. He managed to pull his eyes away though, paying for their beverages over Imogen's shoulder.
Imogen narrowed her eyes at him, turning her body to face his as the barista began their cups of coffee. Chest to chest, Jake merely stared down at her, his eyes looking strongly disinterested but remaining exactly where he was as she placed her arms over her chest. She didn't seem at all fazed by his mellow surface though. "What are you doing?"
"Being a gentleman," Jake countered quickly, brushing the question off his shoulder. He knew she wasn't looking for obvious answer so why hand her one? He moved from the girl and walked down to the other end of the counter, waiting for his drink but Imogen didn't give up - and it wasn't like he was really expecting her to.
"Why are you being a gentleman?" Imogen asked as she moved to stand in front of him again. Jake slipped his hands back into his pockets, looking over the girl's head and watched the barista's hands move to make the drinks. Relentlessly, Imogen stood in front of him, though, gazing up at him and expecting her answer. And really, Jake didn't have one. Why was he being a gentleman? A voice in the back of his head nagged that it was because he had seen this entire new side of her that had him captivated. Seeing her move so freely on the stage, without the rumors about her buzzing around in the background like at school, had somewhat taken a toll on him. His opinion of Imogen had changed; at least in this building. He wasn't sure how he'd feel once they were back in English, but currently, he was curious. Not that he'd tell her.
"Because, unlike you, I was taught manners. Didn't your parents ever tell you that staring and interrogating are frowned down upon when making new friends?" Jake questioned, his eyes still not meeting hers. The barista finished making their drinks and set them down on the counter, giving a forced, polite smile to the bickering customers before turning back to the register. The boy mouthed a small 'thank you' before grabbing the mug filled with his black coffee. Turning around, he ignored whatever the girl had on the tip of her tongue, moving back to the couch as he blew on the hot beverage, the warm mug already gnawing away at his cold hands.
As Jake sat down on the blue loveseat and took a small sip of his coffee, he saw Imogen walking up to him with a lucid look and her small hands holding her own Comedy Tragedy mask-dawning mug. She sneered a bit when she was finally close enough for Jake to listen without an escape, "I guess it slipped my parents' mind. Just like your parents managed to forget to teach you that smug attitudes and big egos aren't the least bit attractive either."
A small groan and a roll of the eyes managed to break through Jake's aloof exterior. Here was part two of the stupid line Imogen had snapped at him in English, just before the Scarlet Letter quiz. Those words had eaten away at him all week and just when he was beginning to find some piece and the upper hand between him and this girl, she managed to push him back down. Setting his mug down as Imogen found her spot beside him on the couch, he turned to her, shaking his head, "Okay, obviously you hold some kind of resentment towards me and I have no idea what for. So why don't you just let out all your feelings to clear the air? I'm kind of tired of hearing what a terrible person I am from someone who knows nothing about me."
"I never said you were a terrible person," Imogen scoffed, her eyes boring into Jake. He didn't respond though, just allowed himself to get comfortable, waiting for the words to fall from the girls' mouth. He watched her as she stared back at him, obviously under the impression that she'd be able to read into his body language. But Jake was leading a single thing on. He just sat there, arms crossed over his chest again as he waited. And finally, the girl broke under the pressure of the silent coffee shop, setting down her mug as she huffed. "Like you don't know! You walk around Degrassi like you're a prince who could put any girl under a spell. You think you're just better than everyone else and it shows in your stupid half smile and bored expression. Honestly, could you be anymore pretentious?"
Better than others? Pretentious? Stupid half smile? A light sneer was playing on Jake's lips. He thought Imogen's opinion would show underlying emotions of admiration for him. He had the idea that this was her cliché way of suppressing her feelings; boy and girl meet, girl puts boy in place, boy and girl work out in the end. But the more she spoke, the more he just heard disgust and shame. Usually, he wasn't one to even care about what people said of him. People liked to talk and he could deal. But the more Imogen went on, the more he found himself unable to not care until finally, he found himself looking for revenge.
"Maybe I come off that way to you because I actually have people who want to get to know me. I've spent a month at Degrassi and I've managed to make friends, people who like my company. That's more than I can say for you. You walk around the hallways like you don't care that you're being ignored and talked about, but I can tell you do. Maybe if you weren't so weird and rude, people would actually want to befriend you." Immediately after Jake let the last word slip from his mouth, the tension in his body escaping through his bitter tone, he regretted it. He though briefly that his words would be justified after Imogen's small rant, but he realized as soon as the hurt expression appeared on her face that he had asked for her opinion of him. He was just the asshole who couldn't handle a little criticism.
In a flash, the girl in the leotard dress got up, setting her mug down and gathering her stuff. Jake could idly hear himself saying her name, apologizing awkwardly as he stumbled over his words, but she didn't acknowledge him. She kept her head low, slipping on an oversized jacket before grabbing her dance bag and rushing out into the darkness of the performance room. He had gotten up in an attempt to run after her, but he stopped himself the moment the performance room's door came to a close. Why did it matter? If Imogen was the girl who got under his skin, he should be glad she was no longer going to be around to bother him.
Sitting back down, he stared at the two barely touched coffee mugs, his mind racing to compensate for his rude behavior. She had been asking for it, right? And this way, he could go on without the worry of one girl's words haunting him. It had never happened before; he never allowed anyone's assumption of him to really get to him. Still, no matter what he said to himself, the guilt was taking over and he found himself sitting in that coffee shop, wishing that the cold, careless front he put on wasn't all a show. Maybe that way he'd also stop allowing one meaningless girl's opinion of him nag away at his conscience already. Either way, as the audience erupted in a fit of claps, Jake was only sure of one thing.
Imogen Moreno seemed to have a hold on him and he really wasn't sure why.