by Nora Flite
I cleared my throat, turning into the widest of the rooms so far. Three girls all gaped back at me. I'd stopped their conversation, and the silence was uncomfortable. Still, I smiled and gave a tiny wave. “Uh, hi there. I'm Noel.”
“What!” The girl who shouted was a small thing. Quite tiny, really; tan skin and curly, dark mahogany hair. Reaching over, she smacked the young woman who was reclining on the couch. “You said we were the whole group, Cally! I told you we should have waited!”
Angular, blonde—Cally, as she'd been called—made a face, clearly about to say something nasty. Wincing, I stepped closer and lifted my hands. “It's okay! Honestly, waiting wouldn't have mattered. My flight was really late. It's fine.”
“Huh, I thought it was going to be just us three.” Sitting on the floor, a woman with long red hair in two braids flashed me a curious smile. “I'm Valerie. You really just landed?”
Nodding, I pulled off my coat—then regretted it. The room was oddly chilly. “The flight lost my luggage, too.”
“That sucks!” Offering a hand for me to shake, the curly-haired girl beamed. “I'm Bronta, nice to meet you.”
Not moving from the Couch, Cally crossed her legs. “Maybe those were signs you shouldn't have bothered coming here.”
Pulling my chin to my neck, I realized she wasn't joking. Bronta pointed at the blonde, not letting me speak. “That's Cally. Don't mind her.” Leaning close, she did a stage whisper so we could all hear. “She has a crazy case of the Bitch Lips.”
I couldn't help it; I snorted. Covering my mouth, I shook my head rapidly. “Sorry! I just—forget it, okay?” My smile at Cally wasn't well received. “You might be right. It could have been a sign. Regardless, I'm here anyway.”
“Let me show you around,” Bronta said. Spinning in place, she gestured dramatically at the walls. “And—this is pretty much it!” Not waiting to see if I'd laugh, she headed for a door to the far left. “For real, come check out my room. I'm the only one with an extra bed, so you'll bunk with me. Unless you prefer the couch or something?”
“Oh, no.” After seeing the cramped bedroom, I regretted my fast decision. The common area's couch might have been better.
Just big enough for two mattresses and a path to walk between, the back wall had a cramped window and a closet I doubted any of my luggage would fit in.
Bronta bounced on her bed, her hair flipping. “Fancier than a five star hotel, hmn?”
She made it hard not to lighten up. “Much so. Glad we'll be here for five months.”
“Speaking of which, let me lend you something to wear for tonight. I hear the party starts in an hour.”
It wasn't the first time I'd noticed the twang of her accent. “Two things,” I said. “What party? And... is it rude if I ask where you're from?”
The small girl was on her feet, yanking a suitcase out from under her bed frame. “The orientation party, didn't you know?” Bronta shook out a long, dark green sweater dress. “Also, the answer is Ireland. It's not rude to ask if you tell me where you're from, too.”
“New York City,” I said, growing nervous at the number of clothes she was pulling out.
Her eyebrows flew up. “Wow! That must be an exciting place to live. How old are you?”
I crossed my knees. “Nineteen, my birthday is in August.”
“Me too. Nineteen, I mean. My birthday was last month.”
Bronta had a stack of multicolored outfits growing. I tried counting them and gave up. “I figured everyone here would be the same age, actually,” I said.
Her hands slowed for a second; emerald eyes bounced to me. “Most of us, sure.” Glancing at the open door, she cupped her mouth and whispered. “Cally is the oldest, she's twenty-one.”
Bronta said it like it was supposed to be insidious. Cally being two years older seemed benign. Clearing my throat, I changed the subject. “Honestly, I had no idea about a party tonight. I guess orientation makes sense.”
“It's probably not a real party,” Bronta sighed. “The head of the program, Mr. Vince, left a note here about it. We found it when we arrived. It'll just be us girls from Lavender and the guys from Wolf House. Meeting, greeting, that stuff.”
“So just a small thing.”
“Yes,” she said, throwing a pretty gold blouse and silver leggings at me. “We should still look good, though.”
I held the cloth against my chest, lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because we can.”
She was so matter of fact about it. Who was I to argue with her logic?
****
In total, there were nine of us at dinner; four girls, four boys, and Mr. Vince himself.
He was a sweet, older man. His voice had a lulling quality, like he was always eating caramel. It made you want to lean in and listen.
The guys from Wolf House weren't of much interest to me. Bronta and Valerie were more than happy to take the reign there, laughing loudly at each comment and swaying out their hips. Cally was like me—well, a colder version of me.
The blonde sat, back rod-straight in her chair. She nursed a glass of water and didn't pretend like she wanted conversation.
In front of me at the long table, wood scraped on the floor. Looking up, I discovered Mr. Vince had joined me. “So,” he said, reaching for my hands; I let him take them. “You must be Noel Addison.”
“Yeah,” I admitted, smiling curiously. “How did you know?” I imagined guessing would have been easy; there were only so many girls.
Patting the backs of my wrists, he released me and grabbed up his water. “Oh no, no. I watched your audition video. I remember you from it quite well.”
That filled me with pride. Looking away, I fought to control my smile. “Thanks. I'm really glad you accepted me here.”
“How could we not?” he asked, sighing under his breath. The director seemed... tired. I looked him over, peered at the fine lines by his eyes and mouth. He saw me looking, put on a exuberant smile. “Anyway, we're glad to have you.”
“Um, you keep saying 'we' and stuff. Who else do you mean?”
Waving his thin fingers, Mr. Vince held his glass like he was ready to start a toast. “Ah! Mr. Braeburn, your ballet instructor. You'll meet him tomorrow.”
Nodding, I tugged at my blouse under the table. This was who I wanted to know about. The man who'd be sculpting me for the next five months. “Why isn't he here for orientation?”
Something twitched in his face. “Mr. Braeburn isn't the most... social type.”
I wanted to pry further. He pushed backwards, never giving me the chance. Vince spun away, hinting at a grace he still possessed in his old age. He'd surely meant well, talking to me and answering my questions. But he only left me with more, I thought in defeat.
Even though we were allowed to drink, given the age restrictions of the country, not too many people did. We were all aware our first class was in the morning. Mr. Vince had told us it started at eight, and warned us not to be late. So we called it before midnight, the most responsible group of nineteen and twenty-somethings in the world.
A surprise met me on the doorstep of Lavender House. “My luggage!” I gasped, grateful no one had tried to steal it off the steps. Bronta helped me drag my bags upstairs, explaining she was ready to lend me some ballet gear if I'd needed it.
“Thanks,” I said, wiping my brow once everything was settled. “You're really nice, you know?”
She pointed an accusing finger. “Tell no one.”
Laughing, I unpacked what I needed for the morning. I folded away the jeans I had worn for hours on the plane. In the pocket, a solid shape grazed my fingers. Crouching down, I dropped the golden ring into my palm. I'd almost forgotten all about it.
Remembering today, my fear over getting lost and the anxiety of being accosted by the scammers, how he had jumped in to be my savior... I closed my hand on the ring. Such a weird meeting, every part of it. Carter. He said his name was Carter. That sharp jaw, his low rumbling voice; he'd
left an impression.
Stop thinking about it, I demanded. He might as well be a phantom or make believe. Just a guy who'd done me a favor and then gone about his business.
Dwelling on it was a fool's errand.
Putting the ring back in my jeans, I shoved them into the bag. Stripping down for sleep, my gaze wandered to my duffel full of ballet gear. I felt the first wiggling beats of excitement. Tomorrow, I was going to get to dance. Just like my mom did—like she wanted me to do.
Snuggling into the sheets, I made sure my alarm was set. I was going to be as ready as possible. No more mistakes, no more weird meetings or awkward moments. I was here for a real purpose.
Starting tomorrow, my life was going to change.
- Chapter Four -
Noel Addison
I knew my jaw was hanging open, but there was no way for me to shut it. It was impossible, perfectly impossible. As long as I was staring at the insanity in front of me, my mouth wouldn't find the strength to shut.
What I was seeing, it made no sense.
No sense at all.
But there he was, balanced on his elegant legs, arms clasped behind him like a soldier. When I'd met him, he'd been intense—but not frightening. Otherwise, it was certainly him. My mystery savior.
Carter.
In all black, he waited at the front of the studio room. He looked impatient, as if we were all late; we weren't. If anything, we were early, having wanted to make a good impression on the first day. I'd gotten up at five, myself, and already stretched on my own for half an hour.
None of that mattered. Not with this situation in front of me. The man who'd helped me was my dance teacher. God, my mouth was extremely dry from all that open-jawing.
Bronta nudged me, making me notice I'd frozen halfway to the barre. My mouth felt funny when I made it smile apologetically. Shooting another look at Carter, I crossed to my spot and waited for him to speak.
He clapped twice, strolling to the center of the wide room. As far as studios went, it was only a bit bigger than my old one. Considering there were four girls and four boys, it would have plenty of space. My mother had spoken very highly of the Rosella program, and in my mind, I had pictured a glorious room I could have run across without fear of hitting the far wall.
Carter's voice slid into my ears. “I'll make this brief. You're all here because this was the best you could do.” Around me, I heard some feet shuffling. His words were blunt and, to me, entirely untrue. Glancing over, I spotted Cally glaring at her toes. Angry or hurt, no one argued with him.
“You all failed auditions, or failed to be picked up by a company after graduating your schools.” His eyes flashed to me, then slid away. If he remembered me from yesterday, no hint showed in his stoic face. “So now you're here. This is almost certainly your last chance to prove yourself. At the end of this program, your final performance might catch the eye of someone who cares enough to hire you. If you don't want to be pushed, don't want to work hard, to sweat and bleed, get the hell out of here and stop wasting my time.”
Someone cleared their throat; no one moved. A flicker of heat went up my spine. I'd had strict teachers, but never had someone been so negative. My palms throbbed, I made myself loosen my fingers.
He was pacing the room. Then he paused, smoothing his hands over his neck with a deep sigh. “Fine. Trust me, someone always gives up eventually.”
Always? I wondered. Slyly, I looked at the smooth skin on Carter's defined jaw. It didn't make sense. He couldn't have been teaching long, he looked so young. But a phrase like that, claiming someone always gave up, was said with the tang of bitter experience.
His agile fingers linked at his waist. “I'm Carter Braeburn. You'll call me Mr. Braeburn. I'll be your instructor. I don't care if you don't like me. No one ever has.”
Next to me, Bronta gave a nervous giggle. To my own ears, it was soft as a mouse's sneeze. Carter's eyes narrowed our way instantly. Dark pits, they flashed not at Bronta... but to me. Impossibly, he crossed the room in a mere two steps—fast, powerful, intentional. “I'm sorry, did you just laugh at me?”
“I—no!” My mouth flopped, teeth clicking. It wasn't me, I wanted to say. It would have been a small matter to speak out and point fingers at Bronta. Imagining this anger directed at her, though, held my tongue.
I wouldn't turn her in.
Bronta started to lift her hands, planning to admit guilt and save me. A single look from Carter halted her movement. “No?” he whispered, bending over me. I caught a taste of him in my nose; a musky, dizzying mix of cinnamon and smoke. “You think I misheard you laughing? Tell me your name.”
It was a cold slap in the face. He doesn't remember me after all. Had I made no impression on Carter when he'd rescued me? “Noel.” My own name sounded hollow to me. “I'm Noel Addison.”
“Noel,” he said, standing tall and ending the spell. Hearing my name hadn't shaken any recognition onto his hard face. Visibly, I started to slump. “Why don't you lead the class in a few rounds of grand jetes?”
Wrinkling my nose, I turned my head slightly. “What, right now?” Grand jetes were a long, split legged leap. I actually loved doing them, but... they were a move traditionally practiced towards the end of class. They would be exhausting. “But shouldn't we work on the barre, first?”
The disgruntled looks on my classmates faces said they agreed with me.
A slow, tight smile crawled over Carter's lips. He gestured for me to move towards the center of the room. “You clearly have enough energy if you're struggling to keep your little giggles inside of you, hm? Lead the class, Noel.” He snapped his chin up, acknowledging everyone else. “Follow her. Go until I say stop!” Carter pressed a small radio, letting fast, lyrical music fill the studio.
All eyes were on me. Bronta offered a brief, apologetic wince. Clenching my jaw, I inhaled and arched my back. Fine. He wants to make a point? Then so will I.
Lifting my arms above me in a gentle curve, I felt the welcoming adrenaline take hold. The music, the crackling energy in the air; this was what I lived for. This was why I was here.
Carter thought he was humbling me.
I wanted him to know he was just setting me free.
Everything inside of me exploded. I was flying, legs extending to carry me across the floor. There was a rhythm in me, and that beat flowed to my classmates. I was leading the charge. They lifted their heads and followed.
As a group, we traveled the room like a gathering of deer. Some landed too heavy, the noise reaching my ears. Still, it never threw me off. One and two and three and four, I chanted to myself. In the mirrors on the walls, I was a blur. I saw my bliss... and I saw the embers in Carter's stare.
It almost made me stumble; that sudden, pure hunger. I'd never known such a look. His arms were bundled across his chest, the tight shirt showing me every fiber of his strength. Liquid puddled between my shoulder blades. Why is he watching me like that?
My calves knotted, reminding me how long we'd been jumping. This wasn't the way to run a class. He was trying to punish us—punish me. What sort of teacher did that?
What sort of person?
One of the girls groaned, landing lopsided. She moved to escape to the metal bar running along the wall. Carter turned the music off. “Stop. Everyone stop.” He didn't need to shout, we listened intently. He found me with that strange—almost angry—pair of hazel eyes. “First position, demi pliés on my count. Keep those heels down.”
Though everyone was ragged, the class eased into a level of familiar basics. Carter counted steps, we bent and swayed and kicked our feet. This was good, this was normal. After how the day had started, I begged for normalcy.
Carter traveled down the line, arms folded behind his back. He walked with a deadly grace. Each student he approached, he'd point out what they were doing wrong—or could be doing better. No one escaped him.
He was hard on Cally, scowling at the way she turned out her knees. “Stop forcing it,” he said. �
�You'll injure yourself. Watch your shoulders, your pose is extremely ugly.”
The reedy woman made a disgusted twist of her lips when he turned his back to her. I'd have smiled, but he was on me next. Even as I stretched up, I was aware of his height. On pointed toes, I'd barely reach his nose.
Hesitating at my side, Carter lifted a palm to make me stop at the deepest point of my plié. “Your leg, get it on the barre.” He stabbed the pole, the noise jolting into my bones.
I'd always been a good student. Wordless, I swung my foot up, resting my heel on the pole. Carter's palm came down, capturing my ankle. I swear, I felt his fingerprints through my tights.
“Higher,” he commanded me, forcing my hip to flex.
My ligaments went tight, my blood began to whirl. Carter's thumb brushed over the hard bone on the side of my foot, pulling me firmer against the stiff metal. At some point, I'd started staring right at his lips. He was frowning, but it was a distant thought.
He touched the middle of my back, the base of my neck. “You should be more flexible.” It wasn't an observation; it was a demand. With calm control, he forced me to bend against my upper thigh. The stretch went through me, matching the yawning ache in my belly.
He smells so good. His voice, though... I could let him just drone on at me for hours. I was thrown off by this man. I'd had male dance instructors before, had never been so flustered. But, none of them were like—what? How did I word it?
Carter was that ideal mix of sensual and direct and—from what I could see—perfect god damn abs. He was what magazines would call 'sexy' and what I, in that instant, recognized as powerful.
Every bit of his being hooked into a part of my brain that respected skill, confidence. I remembered how he had stared at me when I was dancing. That blatant display of longing—a ravenous energy that had bordered on inappropriate.
Carter must of said something; he was watching me closely. “What?” I blurted, cheeks turning into beets. Get a grip, Noel, I chided myself.
He glided his nails down my thigh. Or, I thought he had. I was too in lust to judge what was reality and what was my fantasy. “I said make sure you stretch more. You should be better than this.”
