A/N: I rather shamefully set Blake and Alex up in the last chapter in perhaps a rather silly way. But I don't care. Especially since I get to put her in the awkward situation of meeting Momma Collins for the first time.

Chapter Eight – You Can Choose Your Friends

Alex slammed the door to her Dad's car she had borrowed and looked up at the house. The Collins' residence was fairly legendary, mostly for who lived inside it; the truth was it was hardly out of the ordinary from any of the other buildings in the street. True, the lawn was a little neater, the house a little whiter, and there was a general touch of money to the property that couldn't be found in the other houses in these suburbs. But the 'mansion' she'd heard the kids at school talking about when she first arrived, and then the reality – well, they weren't exactly one and the same.

It was two stories, with what looked like an attic room making a third and although she couldn't see it, she knew these houses had a balcony that came off of the master bedroom around the back. Two columns of an off white held up the porch area, which was well lit by lights either side of the red door, and along the mahogany decking, a love seat sat outside the front. Her eyes fell onto the curtains – drawn, a dark green – and she could hear people laughing inside.

Alex made her way up to the steps juggling her own bag and the folders in her arms and wondered what on earth she was doing at Blake's house. This was supposed to be purely professional, and though studying still came under that heading, she had to marvel at why she'd agreed to even go within three metres of his house. She could have waited until Monday, and then they could have studied at school. Instead, she was giving up her Friday evening to hang out with Blake Collins.

It was laughable, that's what it was.

The school library was an impossible place to get any work done – the librarian had little control over the students who insisted on treating it as an extension of the quad or the common room. Classrooms were a little better, when they weren't occupied. They'd come to the joint conclusion that it might be better to do it outside of school, and when Blake had suggested his house, Alex had been hesitant.

Lifting her hand to knock on the door, she spotted a doorbell, and pressed that instead. The murmurs of people stopped, she heard the sound of someone running and seconds later, the light from inside spilled across her as Chase opened the door, with some difficulty.

"Oh, it's you," Chase said, beaming and putting himself in front of the door to prop it open, as if he were a child sized door stop. He twisted on the spot, squirming a little. "What are you doing here?"

"Who is it Chase?" someone called out, a woman with a clear, well bred voice. "You know I don't like you opening the door, sweetie."

"It's Alex!" Chase screamed back, lisping still as his words whistled through the gaps in his mouth. "She's Blake's friend."

There was a pause and a murmur between some people in a room she couldn't see, and a woman strolled through and made her way to the door. She was around average height, in her early forties as far as Alex could tell with bobbed caramel blonde hair that curled gently at the bottom. She was dressed in a tan turtleneck, and dark trousers, and Alex couldn't help but notice the pearls around her neck and the diamond studs in her ears. The woman raised an eyebrow and regarded Alex shrewdly, though her mouth (painted with a light pink lipstick) was curved upwards in a curious smile.

"I'm sorry," she asked Alex politely, in a melodic tone, "Can I help you?"

Realising who she was, Alex felt strangely paralysed in the woman's presence; this was Frances Collins, not only Blake's mother but one of the greatest female dancers in history and a co-founder of MSA. She was a legend, and Alex was standing on her porch with her mouth hanging open.

Alex regained her composure quickly; she was in awe but she was not the sort of person to get star struck. "I'm Alexandra Hale," she replied smoothly, sticking out her hand to Francis. "You must be Mrs. Collins."

"I am," Francis smiled. "I presume you're a student. You look a little young to be a door to door saleswoman," she said wryly, scanning Alex's frame. "Are you here to see my son?" Chase grinned widely at Alex. "My oldest son," Frances confirmed, patting the top of Chase's head.

Alex nodded. "Blake and I are working on a school project together."

"Oh! You're Alex," she smiled, stretching out her name like toffee. "Blake's dance partner. I'm so sorry – it didn't register when you told me your name."

"That's ok."

"By all means," Francis said, stepping aside and gesturing to the foyer, "Please come in."

Alex stepped inside slowly, being very careful to wipe her boots on the mat and tried not to look like she was a tourist in a celebrity's home. They were hardly royalty, but in terms of the dancing world, they were renowned. Especially within the realms of MSA; Blake wasn't popular for his personality - that was for certain. Nor, Alex thought as she remembered his scowls when people crowded him to talk, did he want to be.

Taking in the room, she noticed the wooden floors, and the cream walls were lined with photographs, mostly black and white, of the two children, their parents, family portraits and then other famous dancers. She recognised one of Isadora Duncan immediately – she had the same one in her room, though it was only a poster.

Francis shut the door behind her and laid a hand on Chase's head. "So you two have already met each other?" she asked slowly, giving Alex a scrutinising look that made the younger girl stand up quite straight. She'd suddenly become very conscious of her posture under the older woman's eyes.

Chase grinned at his mother and carried on twisting his body and swinging his arms. It seemed the boy had tremendous difficulty being still. "Yeah, Alex was in the car when Blake picked me up from dance," he explained. "She saw my blue tongue."

"Is that so?" Francis stepping away from her wriggling son, so that the boy could shoot across the small vestibule and into the living room, and the sound of Chase throwing himself into a couch made his mother shake her head. She returned her gaze to Alex.

"You're a dancer at MSA then?" she asked, fiddling with the string of pearls round her neck.

"Yes," Alex replied proudly. "I'm a junior."

Francis nodded, with a kind expression. Alex came to realise everything about her stance, and the way she held her chin made her seem much bigger than she actually was, but up close Alex saw she was a good few inches above the woman, and thinner.

"I can tell," Francis said. "You have the look."

"Well, I'd expect you to recognise a dancer when you saw one, ma'am," Alex said politely. Francis seemed to take her words and mull over them briefly before nodding with a quaint expression. She glanced up the stairs.

"My son's in his room - you can take your shoes off," she offered, looking at Alex's Converse. The young girl nodded gratefully and pulled them off, laying them by the door. She wished now, seeing how she was being judged so closely, she'd made some kind of effort. Francis was still looking at her, seemingly evaluating the sweater, the jeans, the dark hair hanging loose. Finally she laid a hand on Alex's back and led her towards the living room, though they didn't go in.

"Blake told me all about you when found a partner. He's a good dancer isn't he? He tells me you're very good too. How are you finding it? Working with him I mean," Francis said quickly, and quite quietly, in the same melodic tones she had been using the whole time. Alex raised an eyebrow and shifted the files in her arms. She wasn't sure which question to answer. "I know he can be a little…difficult," Frances continued, "but he's…"

Before she could continue, Blake appeared at the top of the stairs and came down them slowly; he was frowning at his mother, and then at Alex, with the same thunderous brow she was used to.

"I thought I heard voices," he said stopping on the final step so he stood above them, and crossed his arms. "Why didn't you say Alex was here?"

"Because I was having a discussion with your friend," Francis said firmly to her son. "Which you have interrupted. I'm sorry Alex," she said sweetly, turning attention to Alex again. "You were saying."

"I...I enjoy dancing with Blake, and yes, he's very accomplished," Alex said clearly, tightening her grip on the folders and willing herself not to go red. "But we've not been partners very long…"

"...Long enough," Blake muttered with a smirk, but his mother heard it and gave him a reproachful look. "Alex knows I'm not being serious," he added, looking at her as if to confirm it. She rolled her eyes at his half hearted jibe, but she felt a wave of relief wash over her as Frances intense attentions seemed to dwindle.

"The dining room has been cleared of all the party decorations now, so you two are free to use that area to study, or there's the office," Francis explained. "Can I get you a drink Alex? I doubt my son will ask you; he's in training to be a better host, but he doesn't have a lot of guests to practice," she added in a stage whisper, as Blake clenched his jaw and glared at her. Alex shook her head.

"I'm not thirsty, thank you."

"I swear to you I am working on his manners, but he gets his foul temperament from his father I'm afraid," she sighed.

"Mom," Blake scowled. "My manners are just fine."

"I heard that," came a gruff voice from where Chase had disappeared to. "And I have a very gentle disposition."

A man appeared in the doorway; a tall, broad man with the obvious stature of a dancer, Clive Collins stood with his hands on his hips and stared hard at his wife. He was a good looking man, and it was clear his sons already took after him, though the softer features of their mother stopped the Collins boys from looking as harsh as their father. If he had not been a dancer, Alex would have placed him either as an army major, or a labourer - any profession that produced men that looked as if they could break bricks upon their forehead.

"What's this then?" he asked looking at Alex. "The new girlfriend?"

"Er…" Alex started, with a nervous laugh.

"Clive!" Francis cried.

"Dad!" Blake growled.

The man didn't apologise but instead stuck his hand out to the newcomer in his house. "I'm Clive Collins. Alex Hale right?"

Alex nodded and shook his hand, swallowing the lump in her throat. His parents seemed to be collaborating to irritate Blake to the point of breaking.

"I've heard good things about you from Director Franklin – he's a good friend of ours." Alex nodded again, blushing a little under the praise. Of course he was. Most of the people in the school were only there on approval from the Collins'. But as she went to answer, she noticed he wasn't looking at her face anymore; Clive seemed to be scrutinising her figure, and comparing hers to Blake's. Sure enough, he moved around to get a better look, causing her to flush crimson and grip her folders even tighter.

"You're a good height and build," he said finally, satisfied. "How long have you been dancing?"

"Since I was about six."

Clive nodded thoughtfully. Blake was rigid, with crossed arms, looking as he wanted nothing better for them all to disappear, her included. "What's your diet like?" Clive said stiffly, folding his arms. Alex's mouth opened to answer, but Blake cut in.

"That's enough, Dad," he hissed. "You don't need to quiz her on her diet."

Clive inhaled a deep breath. "No I suppose not. Run along and study then. It's good to see that you're devoting as much time to your academic studies as I know you both do to your dance. We'll let you get on," Mr. Collins added in a stern voice, and returned to the living room, followed by his wife.

"Dining room?" Alex asked Blake, knowing her cheeks had coloured and she could do nothing about it. He nodded silently and stepped down to show her where it was. He walked across the foyer and led her down a passageway, gesturing her through an open door where a large wooden table stood in the centre. It followed the same vein of décor as the rest of the house, fairly neutral with a slightly Victorian feel – the walls were a rich burgundy and the architrave was the same off white of the pillars outside.

"Your parents seem nice," she said, of way of conversation as she sat down at the table and he shut the door. He walked across the room, sat down beside her, moving the chair away a little, and slid the file she had brought across the varnished wood to take a look at.

"You don't have to pretend that wasn't extremely awkward for everyone involved," he muttered.

"Well, it was a little intense."

"They don't really know how to interact with people on a normal conversational level I'm afraid. Put them in front of a bunch of benefactors, and they can schmooze the night away, but ask them to treat someone like a human being and they struggle," he said wryly. "We should have done this at school – to save you the embarrassment. I can't believe my Dad…"

"It's not an issue," Alex smiled, pulling her notebook out of her bag. "You should meet my Dad. At least your parents know what a plié is. My Dad just nods and agrees. He would have already drawn you into a discussion about the Red Sox, judged you on whether you supported them or not and shown you his coin collection."

To her surprise, Blake smiled weakly and rubbed his eyes. "That'd be a welcome alternative. There's a certain pressure from having two parents heavily involved in dance. There's not a lot of room for failure, and it's a prominent conversation topic…" he trailed off and stared ahead somewhere. He seemed to have paused, realising he'd said a little more than he'd intended, and now wanted to keep silent. "They're good people, and they want the best for me," he said finally.

"I can see that," Alex replied quietly.

"And for the record, this is a Baltimore Orioles house," he added in a whisper, "So don't mention the Red Sox's in front of my Dad."

Alex laughed unexpectedly at his joke, and he smiled at her.

"Right," Blake said in a determined voice, slapping his thighs, "let's get on with History of Dance."

Despite her concerns, Blake was quiet and studious for the couple of hours they worked together; she didn't feel the brunt of his anger towards his parent's actions once, and on a couple of occasions he was close to being complimentary towards her. They even laughed which was as far away from their initial bickering as they could be. She wondered if it was because she had caught a glimpse of him that he couldn't have controlled or hidden. Thinking about it, asking her to come to his house was a step closer to an almost understanding between them, perhaps a friendship. When she rose to leave, he was in a good mood, if not a little tired, and he went to show her out.

"I guess I'll see you on Monday," Blake said stiffly, standing at the door way. Alex was checking her watch, and looked up at him as she spoke.

"Sure – it's a rehearsal day right?"

Before Blake could open his mouth, his parents appeared at the doorway behind him. "You're going Alex?" his mother said with a smile.

"Yes, I should get back. It was nice to meet you Mr and Mrs. Collins."

Clive nodded in agreement. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of you around." Blake turned his head slowly and stared intently at his father with a menacing gaze.

"What?" the man said innocently. "She's your partner."

Blake looked back at Alex with a weary expression. "Goodbye," he said firmly. Alex nodded with a smile and headed to the car as he shut the door. It was cooler now, and she was grateful for the sweater she was wearing. Throwing the files in the back, and clambering in the front of the Dodge, she paused before she turned the key in the ignition. The thought hit her with a degree of shock, but thinking about it, she had really enjoyed Blake's company that evening, and as Clive's words rung in her ears as she pulled away, she realised that she wouldn't mind doing it more often.