I know, my updates are already becoming more and more sporadic. But with the way things are looking, I might only have time on weekends to update, so we'll see. Also, this chapter is a lot more RxD than the last one, so for those of you waiting for them to get together, it's coming sometime in the near future. They just need some more...nudging. Also in this chapter: Stan!

R&R!

When my alarm woke me up the next morning, I groaned and slapped the top until I managed to silence it. After all these weeks, my body was still rejecting the notion of waking up early. I tried to force my eyes open, but couldn't.

Dimitri was going to kill me if I was late.

I lay there for a few seconds, and then tried to sit up and get out. Somehow, I managed to get tangled with my sheets and roll—literally—out of bed. I tried not to groan again when I hit the floor.

I blinked and looked at the clock. Shit. I needed to hurry.

I threw on some clothes and my shoes and tied up my hair in a messy ponytail. I brushed my teeth and then headed off. As I was walking out the door of our room, I glanced at Lissa to make sure I hadn't woken her up. She was curled up, definitely asleep, with a faint smile on her face.

At least one of us was happy right now.

But then again, I was going off to see Dimitri, so I wasn't totally unhappy with the unholy hour.

I managed to walk into the gym right on time. As I went through the double doors, Dimitri looked up, surprised. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"What?" I asked.

"You're on time," he said, as though he didn't quite believe it.

"So?"

"You're never on time."

"Your point is?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why are you on time?"

"Would you prefer that I'm late?" I retorted.

He sighed and opened his mouth to speak. I knew what he was going to say, and I opened my mouth, too.

"Go run, Rose," we both said at the same time.

He glared at me and closed his eyes in exasperation. I laughed.

"Okay, I'll run. Don't get your panties in a twist, Comrade."

He muttered something under his breath, and ushered me out the door to the track. I laughed the whole way down.

One training session later, I was drenched in sweat. My ponytail was literally dripping, and I felt as thought I'd just jumped into a pool. Don't even get me started on how tired I was, and how sore I was going to be later.

I'm sure I looked very attractive, dripping in sweat.

"I'll see you this afternoon," said Dimitri, dismissing me. I nodded and left.

I showered quickly, ate, and made my way down to my first class: gym. Unfortunately, it was required, and my teacher was none other than Stan Alto, Alberta's assistant who was, in politest terms, a jackass.

I secretly called him Stan-hole.

We had a mutual-hate relationship. I have no idea what his problem with me was, but once he made it clear, I had no problem reciprocating it. He constantly tried to get me in trouble. Half the time, he stretched things or even made up details. In return, I made teaching his class hell. Since no one really liked him, it wasn't hard to convince others to rebel in his class. Nor was it hard to make him frustrated. We were all smart enough to fly just under the radar so that he wouldn't have enough to get us detention, but enough to seriously piss him off. The only person who could ever really get in trouble in Stan's class was me, and I hadn't been in it for two years because of my ankle. The rest of the people were careful to not show that it was me who was urging everyone to fool around in class.

It was sort of like a Mafia operation. We were all careful to be extra good in all other classes, so it was really only Stan who was suffering.

When I got to the gym for class, my spirits lifted, then dropped. The volleyball nets were up, which meant that we were starting volleyball. Ordinarily, I would be ecstatic, but this time I wasn't. I hadn't been training for long, so I had no idea what I would look like now. Not to mention that Stan-hole hated me, so he'd probably find a way to embarrass me.

I tried to look nonchalant, but for the first time, I was really nervous. Stan had a look in his eye when he saw me walk in that I didn't like.

When the bell rang, he immediately began talking in an annoyingly nasal voice. "As you can see, we are going to starting the volleyball unit today."

No one said anything, even though he paused dramatically for effect.

"Do we have any volleyball players in here?"

Of course we did. I was in this class. So was Lissa. So was Mia. So was Camille. But I doubted he was looking for them.

His eyes sought me out, lighting up with a cruel look. "Miss Hathaway. You play volleyball. Come to the front of the class."

I glanced at Lissa and Mia, and even Camille, who was Queen B for bitch of the school. Lissa raised her hand. "Mr. Alto, I play, too."

"I said Miss Hathaway, Miss Dragomir."

Lissa slumped down in her seat, giving me an apologetic look. I shrugged infinitesimally to tell her it was alright, and walked up.

When I reached the front of the class, I noticed two things. One was that everyone in class had the same expectant look on their faces, which told me that no one was going to come to my rescue and that everyone knew that Stan-hole was ready to strike. The second was that Dimitri was standing in the back of the gym, watching my imminent humiliation.

Oh, God, not now. Not in front of him.

I tried not to show my apprehension as I faced Stan.

He smiled. "So, Miss Hathaway, I want you to be my example setter for today."

Considering that I'd found out yesterday how rusty I was, I was in trouble. I had a feeling that Stan knew I'd be rusty, too.

"I—"

"You can still play, right?"

"I—"

He smirked. "Oh, right, you went and got your ankle broken two years ago. How silly of me to have forgotten. Do you remember how to set?"

"Yes—"

He turned to face the class, cutting me off for the umpteenth time. "Class, remind Miss Hathaway how to set. You use your hands, and you shape them like this—"

I interrupted him, trying not to say something that would convince Kirova to kick me out of school. "I know how to set."

"Then tell me, do you know how to tip effectively? How to read the blockers? How to gauge the height needed for an effective hit? How to judge the right location?"

I did know—vaguely. Two years out of practice had muddled a few of the finer details, simply because it came with experience. And I had never really glanced at the other side pre-tip or pre-set...

He took my silence as a reason to go on. "I guess not. You must use the Hathaway Set-Whatever-Suits-You method. No wonder we didn't win that many games before you hurt yourself."

There was no way I would let him see me cry. For once, his words were actually affecting me.

I glanced quickly at Dimitri, but he remained stoic as ever. The rest of my classmates looked on with sympathy, but no one said anything.

"I don't agree with the renewal of your scholarship," he continued. "It's a waste of space and time and money to give it to you. I only hope that you don't embarrass yourself too much during this unit, not to mention during the season. Go back to your seat."

I couldn't get back fast enough. When class ended, I was the first one out the door.

When I got to the gym for training that afternoon, Dimitri was reading, per usual. I waited for him to realize I was there, and when he did, I said, "You were there this morning."

He nodded, but gave no other sign that he had even heard me.

"What Stan said..." I sighed. "It wasn't fair. He had no right to say those things to me."

"Was he right?" Dimitri answered. I blanched. Was he actually agreeing with Stan-hole? I tried to mask the hurt.

"Just because I was out for two years and got rusty doesn't mean—"

"Rose. Was he right?"

I sighed. Stan had been kind of right. "Sort of. I don't remember...a lot."

I looked at the ground, not wanting to see the disapproval in his eyes. He turned my face up with his hand, and I tried to ignore the thrill I got—that I always got—when he touched me. I tried to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me, Rose."

Well, that wasn't something I could ignore, so I forced my eyes up to his. Instead of the disapproval I had been expecting, I saw sympathy.

"Mr. Alto was right that you can lose a lot in two years, Rose," he started. I swallowed and tried not to remember the way Stan had sounded as he'd knifed me with his words, so cruelly satisfied. "But you're right that he shouldn't have said it, at least not in front of the class. Some of what he said could be reported and could put his job in danger, if that makes you feel any better. Unfortunately, I can't do much about it, since I'm your mentor. A student would have to speak up."

"That won't happen."

"Then not much will."

I groaned. "He gets away with everything."

Dimitri smirked slightly. "I have full faith that you'll manage to execute your revenge, seeing as you've been doing it ever since you met him."

"What?" I played dumb, but I was secretly wondering how he knew about my Mafia-like operation with Stan.

He tried—and failed—not to smirk. "It's pretty obvious that the only class that ever has unruly students is his gym class that you're in. The other teachers are always talking about how all of the kids suddenly became well-behaved when Mr. Alto was hired, and he's always complaining that classes with you in it are a nightmare because all of the students make trouble, but he can't do anything about it, and how he thinks you're a bad influence on all the other kids, but he can't complain about that, either, since the kids have been like that during the years you were gone."

I tried not to smirk as well. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He gave me a dry look and changed the subject. "Don't worry about what he said. You'll be more than caught up by the time the season starts."

I wasn't sure if he was saying that for my benefit or not, but I nodded anyway.

"Go run, Rose."

If I'd thought that this morning was bad, then it was nothing compared to how I was when we finished practice an hour later than normal, me being even more exhausted than normal.

He let me go with a stoic, "Go shower, and then meet me back here in half an hour. You can't get into the cafeteria without a teacher with you."

I tore off to shower, and managed to make it back to the gym thirty-five minutes later. Dimitri looked up when I got there.

"You're five minutes late," he remarked dryly. "I thought that after this morning, you were trying to be on time?"

"This morning was an outlier."

"Ah."

We walked the rest of the way to the cafeteria in silence. When we reached it, Dimitri pulled open the door for me, letting me enter first. The lunch lady looked up, and was about to tell me I wasn't allowed to be in there, when Dimitri came in. She quickly shut her mouth.

He grabbed a salad and some meatloaf and water and sat down to eat. I grabbed pizza, donuts, and lemonade and joined him. He frowned at my food choice.

"That's not very healthy," he remarked. I looked at his food.

"That's not very tasty," I replied. "Besides, between my metabolism and the daily workouts, I don't think I'm gaining weight in fat."

He shrugged, wisely choosing not to come between me and my food.

We ate for a minute or two, and then he pulled out a whiteboard, drawing a court and a net in the middle. "Where did you normally tip as a freshman?"

I thought for a minute. "I tried for the middle, but I usually didn't tip unless I had to."

He nodded as if that was the answer he'd been expecting. "What about the height of the tip?"

"Um...I tried not to tip it to the sky? I don't know, as long as it didn't get blocked, I was happy."

He nodded again, and drew a few X's on the board. "Say you're right here and it's a perfect pass, but it's a little high," he said, gesturing to one X. "You can tip it then, because the other side won't be expecting it, and it's a good height for you to decide whether or not you want to jump or stay down. Ideally, you should tip it towards the middle or behind you, where the ten-foot-line meets the sideline." He pointed to two other X's.

"You can also shoot it between the right side and the middle, but keep it in front of the ten-foot-line. Or aim for a back corner. Most teams have trouble getting to those," he continued, drawing a few more X's. "You have a lot of options. Just make sure the tip isn't too high, and you have to be accurate. Also, do it with your left hand, because you have a lot more flexibility with it."

It was kind of a lot to take in, but I managed to absorb it all. Still, Dimitri took a napkin and copied the picture on the board onto it and handed it to me. "Study this."

I tucked it into my pocket and was about to leave when he stopped me.

"Study it tonight, when you've finished your homework. That way, when Mr. Alto gets on your case tomorrow about tipping, you can tell him you know exactly where to tip, and you can even draw it out for him." A faint smirk graced his gorgeous features. "Don't worry, I'll watch tomorrow, too."

By the time I went to sleep that night, I had the chart firmly ingrained in my mind.