A/N: Sorry for the long wait, here's the next chapter! I really got into it, and can't wait for upcoming chapters, the climax is coming…cough-cough-hint-hint (: Review please! You know the drill! Ten for the next chapter!
-Ren
Alexa's POV
Pirouette on Demi-pointe. Plie. Echappe sauté! Follow the beat, 1…2…3…and 4 and…Repeat, step ball change, and step ball change. Penche.
The sweat dripping from my forehead wasn't exactly what I would call attractive. It also wasn't exactly lady-like to grunt as I launched my self into the air, mid-pirouette. My partner, a small little boy named Harrison, went in for a lift, huffing and wheezing as he tried to pick me up and turn me half circle. I rolled my eyes, and tucked in my left leg, sweeping my arms to the side in a graceful contempt movement, shutting my eyes tightly.
The music shut off, and I startled awake, finally aware of my surroundings. I had gotten lost in my dancing again. Anastasia, my instructor, smiled through her pale rose colored lips. Her hair was perfectly pinned up in an intricate bun, while mine was slopped into a messy French braid, with tuffs of frenzied hair sticking in every direction. My iced blue eyes stared back at me like a deer in the headlights through the shining full-length mirror in front of me.
"Listen up everyone," Anastasia glided gracefully through the room, all eyes on her.
"Gretchen, you're forcing it, show me your passion, show me your emotions." Gretchen nodded, frowning. Every bit of criticism stung, just as much as it was helpful.
"Elisabeth, less butt, more hips, this isn't an Missy Elliott video," Elisabeth blushed bright red, as she imagined what she had looked liked.
"Bridgetta, you're flailing your limbs, like a…a…a chicken! More grace, more poseur." She nodded enthusiastically. Nothing could help that poor girl. Everyone knew she was a soccer player, except for her mother, who refused to let her play.
"Alexia, nice enthusiasm, good Pointe and rhythm, try not to deviate, but other than that, good passion." I smiled, not being able to show-off, curtseying for her.
"Okay ladies, let's try this again, but with more feeling, and I want to see you imagining that you're the best dancer there is," she paused to look each of us in the eyes, "Imagine. Believe. Create." We nodded, taking deep breaths as she pushed the play button on the tape player. The opening piano chords to only hope by Mandy Moore filled my ears with a beautiful, soft melody.
There's a song that's inside of my soul.
It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again
I'm awake in the infinite cold.
But you sing to me over and over and over again.
I fluttered around, each step grinding into my memory. My feet were aching, but I kept pushing myself.
"Tres bien! Tu es Belle!" Anastasia grinned, helping us steady, and fixing some minor details. I zoned out. Today was a fairly good day for me. Except for one thing that kept nagging me constantly. It was November fourteenth, the very same day that has my family in despair every year, the day that she left us. No, the day that she betrayed us. Everyone just lagged around the house all moody, no one wanting to remember. That was the same reason we never used our real names, well the names we gave each other, because no one wanted to remember.
I thought about everything while I danced, hardly even concentrating as my feet made their own movements.
So, I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope.
Sing to me the song of the stars.
Of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again.
When it feels like my dreams are so far
Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again.
I thought of how Fang and Nudge, Iggy and Gazzy, were hardly ever there selves, not in a long time, maybe not ever again. No one ever talked to each other, and we all kept to ourselves. It brought tears to my eyes, knowing I truly didn't even know my family.
So I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I know now, you're my only hope.
I give you my destiny.
I'm giving you all of me.
I want your symphony, singing in all that I am
At the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back.
So I lay my head back down.
And I lift my hands and pray
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours
I pray, to be only yours
I know now you're my only hope.
The music faded out, and I continued swaying as everyone packed up and walked out into the cold, night air. Stopping suddenly, I walked to the water jug and filled a small paper cup, taking a few small sips calmly. My legs ached, and all I needed was a warm bath, which I probably wouldn't find at the hectic house, that was mine. Chills ran down my spine, as the cold winter air rushed in through the cracked metal door.
"Coming Alexia?" Brigetta stood, looking unsurely at me, as if concerned, tying her hair into a flimsy pony tail. I shook my head no, and looked away, avoiding her eyes, as she shrugged and walked off, the door shutting behind her, leaving me in the warmth of the dimly lit studio.
"Mind if I stay here a little longer," Anastasia pulled her clip out, letting her long auburn hair tousle onto her shoulders gently. She nods, pulling two fold out chairs and a crate into the center of the floor.
"Do you like Chinese?" I smile, thanking her as we sit and eat in silence. She understands why I'm not exactly psyched to leave any time soon, and doesn't ask.
"Where were you today?" she says, a mouth full of noodles. I chew on my lip and stare hard at the chop sticks in my hand.
"It's been a long day," again, she doesn't question. Fortunately, for me.
Anastasia opened the studio to me with welcoming arms, well her mother did. I stumbled in one day, curious as could be. Back in Colorado, the flock had a TV, and I used to watch ballet dancers all the time, envious at their amazing talent. When I walked in, people avoided me like the bubonic plague. A small, filthy girl, with chicken legs. I'm sure they laughed at my expense.
Anastasia's mom gave me a chance. She ushered me into lessons, even allowing me to pay her back by helping repair the studio. She gushed to all the other girls of my natural talent. I loved her dearly. She had walked into my life and thrown me a life line, for I was drowning in despair.
Mrs. Beauregard died last year, of terminal cancer. She never told anyone, not even Anastasia. She was a strong, prideful woman, who couldn't stand stressing everyone out over her. I considered to be like an adoptive mother to me.
So, I continue dancing at the studio, and Anastasia takes over her mother's position. My dream is to get accepted into Julliard, on a dance scholarship. Major in dance, minor in music. My whole future road on it, really.
I walked back to our house quietly, contemplating my day, and the reactions of how the flock took it. The flock. How long it's been since I used that name. For some weird reason, it no longer felt foreign to my mouth, it felt, right. I smiled as I walked up the long drive way. That's when I heard a bone chilling scream.