I turn back on the song and immediately begin my twirl again, landing on the tip of my toes and tucking my chin down to my chest. I raise an arm and spin again, pulling my body down into an arch as I reach for the floor before pulling myself up in a dramatic pull as if someone is grabbing my chest and pulling me forward.
Dragging one foot on the ground, I take two small steps before leaping and tossing my head back, landing on one foot before doing another spin and then tossing the leg I’m not standing on behind me until it seems as though I’m falling to the ground.
Twisting over, I lay on my back on the ground and arch again, reaching up as if to grasp someone’s hand before finding nothing but air. Turning on my side, I kick my leg up in the air, pointing my toes before pushing up off the ground and landing on my feet before going back into another small twirl, once again landing on my toes and tucking my chin down to my chest.
“Very well,” Mrs. Voit cuts into my next move, causing my movement to become jerky and stiff to where I stumble.
“Thanks?” I ask.
“You felt it this time. You need to work on the emotion part. You look like a stone statue while your body is feeling the emotion. Clearly this song was picked for a reason, so give it a whole reason.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I nod my head.
Mrs. Voit tightens her lips at me and squints her eyes. “I didn't realize there would be an actual dancer in my class. Not too many dance students at this school.”
“I transferred from Wilmington,” I explain. “My grandfather is sick.”
“That's very sad to hear. Perhaps I'll call on your perspective to help those having trouble in the course.”
“Oh no,” I say immediately. “That's not really necessary. I know just the same amount as everyone else does.”
Mrs. Voit waves her hand at me. “Coach Stephens ran his class like a physical education requirement in high school. He's not here, though. I'm a dance teacher, you're a dancer. What the hell do either of us know about football or kickball?”
My lips twitch at that.
“I'm offering an extra credit assignment to be someone who demonstrates to the others. Of course, the others will have extra credit assignments offered that you will have to skip out on if you help me. But I'll equal it out in the end to make sure everything is fair. That is, if you're interested?”
A chance to keep a higher grade? I'd be stupid to turn it down. “Sure, ma’am.”
A warm smile takes over her face. “Very good.”
“So, I'll just demonstrate then?”
“That's all I really need.” Mrs. Voit lowers her voice, “I'm sure you're aware that not everyone in the class is up to par or there for the actual class itself. I'm not blind, contrary to popular belief. I know that those football boys bring in those airheaded girls.”
I give her a wry smile in return. “You noticed that, too?”
“I don't mind it. They filled a class, at least. But I know teaching will be a huge pain with the football team being the focus.”
It's not like I haven't heard this spiel before. Lila and I used to call those kinds of girls that followed the football team around the Football Bimbo Brigade. And believe me, they definitely went above and beyond to earn that namesake.
“You'll have to work more on your piece for the scholarship, though,” Mrs. Voit continues.
That gives me pause. “What scholarship?”
“Hanson does a university-wide scholarship for dancers. It pays a pretty good amount for being a department sanctioned scholarship. There are, of course, different types of dance to be considered and most upper levels, such as yourself, would get a semester scholarship based upon an original piece to be shown to judges. That is why you're in here dancing, isn't it?”
“Um,” I bite my lower lip. “It wasn't before, no. But I'll take the scholarship into consideration now that I know.”
Mrs. Voit nods her head approvingly. “Good.”
Chapter Four
Alex
I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be feeling. On one hand, I feel like an ass for the way Jasmine, or was it Yasmine, dropped her drink on Grace yesterday at lunch. But on the other hand, part of me felt really good about sticking it to her snooty self-righteous self.
But the realistic side, the one that always wins out, knows she didn't do anything to provoke the girl sitting with me at lunch.
Which is why I showed up to the stupid ass gym-turned-dance class fifteen minutes early because if history remembers correctly, Grace is one for being overly punctual.
And I'm not let down when two minutes goes by before I see her round the corner, a frown marring her face as she grumbles something under her breath while staring at her coffee cup like it's personally chastising her about something.
“Good morning,” I say loudly since it's just the two of us. Half the lights in the room aren't even turned on yet.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Grace presses a shaking hand to her chest and then turns her green eyes on me. “What the hell is the matter with you? You can't just go around scaring people and popping out of nowhere! This is always how the movie starts before a serial killer arrives.”
I'm trying to hold back my laughter at her awkward rant. There's not really a reason to hold back, other than wanting to best her at something, even if it's me betting against myself. “Do you always glare demonically at coffee cups and go on crazy rants this early in the morning?”
“Look!”
It takes a moment to register exactly what Look means. But her name is written in half chicken scratch on the cup. Well, it's kind of her name at least. Grace NOT Brittney is spelled out with a lot of exclamation points following at the end.
“All I told her was that she got my name wrong, twice, and that it wasn't a hard concept to pay attention instead of checking out every meathead that came in after whatever sport let out of practice this morning.”
“Well, at least that explains why Ian didn't know who you were on Tuesday.”
Grace turns her heated eyes on me. “Ian was nice to me.”
“I'm not trying to start an argument with you, sugar. I'm just saying that Ian didn't know who you were,” I explain.
There's a good chance I'm going to cause Grace’s eye twitch to come back if I call her sugar again. She kind of looks like she wants to castrate me right now.
“But hey, congrats that the barista got your name right.”
“Thanks.”
We’re both standing here awkwardly now. At least we're given a small reprieve when the professor walks in. She doesn't bat an eyelash at me, but stops to smile at Grace.
“Ms. Hart,” Mrs. Voit grins. “Were you working on it some more this morning?”
“I was going to later,” Grace turns towards our professor. She looks way more relaxed and happy now that there's someone else in the room with us. “I'm going to perfect it and take you up on the offer.”
“What offer?” I interject.
Grace looks up at me and frowns.
She couldn't have seriously gotten so caught up in whatever the professor is going on about that she actually forgot I was standing two feet from her.
“We're discussing something that's none of your business,” she juts out her chin. “So lay off.”
This time, I narrow my eyes at her. “So I'm not allowed to be a little curious?”
“Not if it has nothing to do with you.”
Damn. She's busting my balls for no reason now. “I'm just curious, Grace,” I overly emphasize her name to drive my point home. Whatever point I'm trying to make, that is. Because I have no idea other than I want to get under her skin.
“My God,” she sighs heavily, “it’s about my dance career. Or trying to find a way to kickstart it, actually.”
I’m sure that I’m not near as good about hiding the disdain crawling across my face as I think I am. But I’m not trying all that hard to avoid my true feelings about her desire for dance. It’s not how it seems tho
ugh.
Grace is a fantastic dancer. One of those types that when you watch her, you feel everything that she’s feeling in that moment. She’s one of those rare people hidden from the world. A gem beneath sixteen feet of dirt.
But, that’s only one side of the coin.
The flip side of her being a good dancer is how far she wants to go. And it’s not like I can’t say that I’m not the same way, because I am. Football is my life, just like dance is hers. It was what brought us together, understanding that the other one wanted to be a professional athlete in their own forum. It’s also what led us apart.
Too much time apart, wanting ones dream to be more important than the others. In the end, when she said she was graduating early just to get a head start on her dance career and that a football dream would hold her back, I didn’t fight for her.
How can you fight for someone who didn’t want something for you?
Then again, the same argument can be made about me.
“That's great,” I nod my head. “Still doing the dance thing.”
Okay, so I'm still a prick when I want to be. Especially when it makes her lip curl up on one side like she might actually growl at me.
“Why aren't you dancing at that fancy too-good-for-Hanson college dream of yours?”
Grace doesn't say anything. In fact, I'm pretty certain she's thinking of a way to try and light me on fire with her mind right now.
“Did you lose a scholarship?” I ask, pressing further to see if I can get under her skin..
“Got to hell, Alex.”
“It's not my fault if you can't cut it,” I shrug. The off button on my filter must be broken. I don't think I can physically stop myself from being a jerk to her.
“Grandpa is sick,” she sighs quietly, looking away from me.
Ah, shit. I should have known. Her grandparents and my parents are friends. I'm not so out of the loop that I don't know about her grandfather’s cancer. And of course she'd come back for the only father figure she had. Dear God, I really am a prick.
I go to open my mouth to apologize, but she's already marching across the room towards Mrs. Voit who's been eyeballing us for a few minutes since I interrupted their conversation.
This is exactly why I no longer have girlfriends. There's too much censoring and caring involved.
Ian shifts on the ground next to me, looking across the room to where Grace is at. “So, do you want to tell me why we're sitting on the opposite side of the room from her?”
“What?”
“Grace.”
I know who he's talking about. And he knows that too, but I still choose to ignore it. “I'm not doing anything.”
“You did something. She's not even pretending to hate you right now. It's written all over her face.”
I lean forward to sneak a peek at Grace on the other side of the room. Sure enough, her posture is stiff as a board. Or maybe like someone rammed a field goal post up her ass.
“Alex!”
I turn towards one of my best friends and huff, “Look, she doesn't hate me. I didn't do anything to her.” Except tell her she can't dance.
“Maybe hate is the wrong word. Maybe loathe would be better,” Ian supplies.
Now I just glare at him. “What's the difference?”
“I feel like hate is a strong word.”
“And loathe isn't?” I scoff.
“Hey,” Ian shrugs, “I'm not the one she currently has a problem with.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it. I fucked up.”
Ian opens and closes his mouth like a fish. “Did you just admit to being wrong?”
I continue to glare at him. “I know, alright? I said something I shouldn't have and she got mad.”
“And now she loathes you.”
“Whatever.”
Ian keeps staring at me. His mouth set in a firm line and I can tell he's calculating something in his head.
“What?”
“You're usually pretty easy going. You're an asshole, sure. But I've never seen you admit to being wrong.”
I don't have a response to that. He's not wrong, I don't tend to admit to faults if I can help it. But it's different with Grace. It always has been. She burns me up in all the wrong and right ways just by breathing.
It's the most deadly combination I've ever known someone to possess.
“I got caught up and my mouth ran out my asshole,” I frown. “There's not much I can do to change that.”
Ian stares at me like I've grown two heads. “I've never seen you be outright rude to a girl. Usually you're all about the chase of a skirt and then you move along and don't even have the decency to be rude.”
“I guess it's different.”
“Because she's your ex?” Ian asks.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You're saying ‘I guess’ a lot.”
“I can't help it,” I scowl. “Okay? She puts a bad taste in my mouth when I'm around her and now I have to deal with her on a regular basis. How would you feel to have your ex in your face all the time?”
Ian scratches his head as he contemplates my question. “Fair enough; I'd feel pretty out of sorts, too.”
I sigh, somehow feeling validated in my asshole way of speaking to her.
“But I definitely wouldn't be the one to make her life miserable.”
“I didn't make her life miserable though!”
“Ahem,” Mrs. Voit says from the front of the room. Ian and I glance up at her to see that she's practically burning a hole into the side of our heads. “Would you two care to share what seems to be far more valuable to talk about than hearing what your assignment is about?”
Ah, shit. She was discussing an assignment?
“Just about how excited we are for this class to begin,” Ian answers with a smile.
I'm fairly certain Mrs. Voit is going to call him out on his bullshit answer or toss us both out of the classroom, but she sighs instead like we're the most insufferable people she's ever known. Which might be true.
“Since you two seem to have a keen interest in this class, I'm sure you won't mind standing up and demonstrating the new technique I was discussing. Just go on and grab a partner,” Mrs. Voit says impatiently while making a shooing motion with her hand.
I glance frantically at Ian, who looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his head. Dammit, why couldn't Coach just stay and teach the same gym requisite as before instead of folding into his wife's demands?
“Grace,” Mrs. Voit sighs and gestures towards Ian and me. “Would you please demonstrate for the rest of the class as to what you and your partners will be doing next time? I thought allowing you all to pick your partners would be beneficial, but I can now see that I'll have to draw a partner for everyone.”
“Sure,” Grace says while standing and then proceeds to glide around on the floor with perfect posture and mocking like she's holding on to someone made of air.
“There, now does that seem that difficult?” Mrs. Voit points her narrow gaze at me solely this time.
“Of course not, ma’am,” I wince.
Mrs. Voit tosses her arms in the air. “Of course not he says! Do you think this is going to be an easy class, young man?”
I open my mouth but quickly shut it before anything escapes. Clearly, the female population and I were not on good terms today. Usually I could charm my way out of any situation, but apparently not anymore.
“Grace, would you be so kind as to partner up with Mr. Hunter to make sure his attention remains on this class?” Mrs. Voit asks.
I turn to glare at Grace, trying to telepathically scream for her to say no. To make up some ungodly excuse as to why she can't be my partner or come within twenty feet of me. Instead, Mrs. Voit has seemed to land Grace speechless as Grace just stares at our professor in shock.
“Very well then,” Mrs. Voit nods.
“Why do I feel like shit is about to hit the fan?” Ian whispers to me.
Finally, Grace’s eyes turn to lock with
mine. And all the horror and outrage suddenly springs a fire within her. But it's of no use, the professor has already sealed the deal.
We're dance partners.
I must be in Hell.
Chapter Five
Grace
I imagine this is what Hell must feel like. Or when people see flying pigs. Or dancing monkeys. Or something else equally outrageous.
Okay, dancing monkeys might be the least outrageous thing, but it's still kind of outrageous.
I look back towards the door and try and calculate how fast I can run in thirty seconds to beat the quarterback out of the room.
Pretty sure the answer is zero from the look of determination clouding Alex's face. He probably knew what I was thinking just by looking at me. I've been told I have an expressive face.
Girls from class start to flock around him and I try and slip past them. My thinking that he would forget momentarily about me and focus on boobs was apparently way off as he wraps his large hand around my arm and pulls me to a stop.
“Hold on there, sugar.”
Now I just want to kick him. Sugar had lost all meaning three and a half years ago.
Alex looks down at me, turning so his body is effectively cutting off any other girl from vying for his attention. “We need to talk.”
“There's nothing I can do,” I say and try and shrug out of his grasp. He's not holding me tightly enough to hurt, just tight enough that I have no way of escaping unless he says so.
“She likes you, she might reconsider if you talk to her,” Alex presses.
“I think you’re overthinking just how much Mrs. Voit might actually like me.”
“Do you want to work with me?”
“No.”
“Then it would be a smarter move to assume that you would be trying harder to get out of it.”
“Unlike some people, I know how to accept when someone else says something and be an adult about it.”
Alex rears back and glares down at me. “I know how to be an adult.”
The Wrong Girl_Hanson University_Book Two Page 3
