by Nora Flite
Dropping my foot, I saw the class staring at me. I found an impressive ability to blush even harder.
My teacher left me alone from that point on. Only once, during the end of class when we were performing spins in the center of the room, me pushing myself to do more than anyone else, did I catch him watching.
His knuckles were white as bone.
The strain of someone fighting for control.
****
“Holy shit!” Bronta laughed, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Thanks for saving my ass back there!”
I flashed my teeth, hugged my bag at my hip. “It's nothing, don't even worry about it.”
“I swear, I thought Mr. Braeburn was going to tear you in two!”
Peering back at the studio, I slowed my steps. “No. He wasn't that bad.”
Bronta snorted, hopping onto a waist-high stone wall. “You're joking. The guy was insane. How could you not see that?”
“Because,” Cally said, appearing beside us on cat-quiet feet, “Noel was too busy getting worked up over him.”
Bronta started scoffing, but my pink face stopped her. “No,” she gasped, “you're joking. Noel! Tell me Cally is making shit up.”
I found myself lengthening my strides. “Quit it, both of you. It's not like that.”
They followed me at a distance, their eyes hot on my back. Bronta's voice was frail. “Uh, I mean, I guess he was kind of hot. I could see why you'd be into him, his dickishness aside.”
Brushing hair over her shoulder, Cally passed me and closed in on the front of Lavender House. “It doesn't matter if he's hot or whatever. He's our teacher, don't do anything you'd regret.”
Her cryptic advice froze my sneaker on the top step. She was watching me, the usual judging tilt to her features. Cally's right, I thought sullenly. Carter is my teacher. There's probably rules against—what? Flirting? DATING? I shook my head so fast it rattled my molars. “Everyone, just relax. Nothing is happening. I literally just met the guy today. I hardly know him.”
It wasn't a complete lie. I had technically met him yesterday. But, I still didn't know him, and... well. He'd forgotten me entirely.
The version of Carter who had helped me on the street was in complete contrast to the severe, alluring man in the studio. If I closed my eyes, I could still smell him. The way he'd focused on me was hard to shake off.
Whatever intangible mysteries I'd seen in his face, had they been there when I first met him, just below the surface?
Inside the apartment, Valerie had beaten us back and was stretching out in the common area. She looked at us, giving me a brief frown before reaching for the floor beyond her toes. “I put water on for tea.”
“Thanks,” Bronta said. She dropped her bag, going into the kitchen.
Cally joined Valerie, arching her bare feet back and forth on the rug. “So, what did you think about our class today, Val?” The blonde gave me a sideways look.
Yawning, Valerie cracked her back. “Am I wrong, or did Mr. Braeburn seem really young?”
“I was busy thinking he was an asshole,” Cally mumbled. She kept squinting at me. I swear she was daring me to defend him.
Instead, I pulled my sweater over my head. Bronta came back, offering me a small porcelain cup. “Thanks,” I said. “It's always so chilly in here.”
She fell onto the couch, sipping her tea. “I know. You guys want to talk about how old something us, talk about this shit-hole.”
Catching Bronta's tiny, private smile, I hid mine behind my cup. It was nice of her to change the subject away from Carter. “My mom stayed here,” I said, “back when she was our age. She always talked about it so highly.”
Valerie toyed with her bun, letting it down. “Mmn. Things change. If it used to be nice, it isn't anymore.”
Spreading her feet, Cally pushed her chest to the floor. “You heard Mr. Braeburn. We're the rejects. Dancers who couldn't make it elsewhere and are grabbing for our last rope.”
Heat flushed up to my neck. “Don't say that, no one here is a reject.”
“Of course we are.” Snorting, Cally lifted an eyebrow my way. “We're all failures. Why else come here? No where else would accept me. It's the same for you guys, isn't it?”
Bronta drained her tea. “Can't speak for you all, but I came here because it was the only place my sisters hadn't picked. I'm not stupid, I know they didn't apply here for a reason.”
Standing tall, Valerie grabbed her hips. “No point in lying, this program was my last resort. I didn't get picked up after finishing out school, and I flopped every other audition like a pro. Live, video, you name it... and I sent out a lot of applications.”
They were all looking at me; I squirmed on the cushions. I didn't want to lie, I had been accepted elsewhere. Why hadn't I known the program had a cloud of failure hanging over it? If I thought back, maybe Miss Anna had turned up her nose at me mentioning my plans. But, my mom had never spoken a bad word. It had been all glittery reminiscing and nostalgia about the wonders of Paris. “I don't think we're rejects,” I finally said. “That's an awful way to see it. We're dancers, we're here to dance. Isn't that enough?”
Cally covered her mouth. “You're kidding! Noel, in what world is just dancing enough?” Rising, she loomed over me next to Valerie. “Everyone wants to get picked up by a company. That's the whole point! That's how you make a life for yourself with ballet. You're either the best, or no one wants you.”
My jaw creaked from gritting it. I was on my feet, looking them both in the eyes. “That's wrong! There's more to ballet than that!”
Cally spun on her heel, yanked her coat off of the wall hook. “That way of thinking is poison. You make it, or you don't.” Her shoulders bunched up as she started to leave. Her delicate features were beautiful; scathing. “Not everyone has the luxury of being so easily satisfied with life.”
Her footfalls faded down the hall. Through the thin walls, the front door slamming was obvious. “I didn't mean to make her storm out,” I whispered.
“Forget it.” Bronta reached over, linking her fingers with mine. She gave a small squeeze. “Cally is being dramatic. Let her walk it off.”
“I think she's right,” Valerie said. “If you don't go for the top and reach it, you're no good. There's no point in just going through the motions.”
Am I doing that? I wondered. Am I going through the motions? My head filled with my mother's words. 'Training in France was the best thing that ever happened to me. It made me who I am. It showed me what a dancer really is.'
I'd taken her so seriously. Believed this was the right choice, the right path for me—as it had been for her. Hearing all these girls being so down on themselves, bemoaning how they never got their chance yet to land their dreams... had I wasted an opportunity? Turning down the offer I'd gotten, would I look back one day and regret that?
There had been so much pain in Cally's voice. I doubted—even if I deserved it—that her anger had been aimed entirely at me.
But that did little to soften my guilt.
- Chapter Five -
Carter Braeburn
The instant I made it home, I began shoving aside the papers and packages that had accumulated on every flat surface. Where are they? A box bounced off the hard tiles in the kitchen. Where the hell did I put them? Envelopes fluttered, twisting like dead leaves under my heels. I was sure I hadn't thrown them out.
My habit was ignoring my mail, not trashing it.
“Ah!” My shout was triumphant. Gripping the taped up box, I read the printed slip. Vince had sent me the audition tapes for the students months ago. He knew I wouldn't bother watching them, he did that job himself. I'd done it only once—to humor him—and that had been my first year working at the studio. I figured he didn't mind anymore. He probably sent them out of a sense of duty.
Gripping the sides, I tore it open with the edge of my keys. It made a delicious, gritty noise; parting its secrets to me. Spilling the bubble wrapped tapes out, I shuffled them unti
l I glimpsed the name I was after.
Noel Addison.
Squeezing the hard rectangle, I moved into the living room. My apartment was tiny, barely two rooms—not much better than some closets glued together. I closed in on my TV, shoving the video into the DVD player. Then, too eagerly, I pressed 'play.'
In all white and gold, the girl on the screen was like living porcelain. She danced alone in a wide room, but she didn't feel alone. Every motion of her arms, every turn of her feet, she acted like she was in front of a grand audience.
Lean muscles rippled as her thighs bent. Thick lashes swayed, soft lips in a neutral, knowing smile. Her hair was polished, pulled away in a bun that didn't have a single loose strand. When she twirled, she was a seedling on the breeze, and when she jumped, she was a dove.
Grace, beauty, and a confidence owned by so few...
Noel was wonderful.
I noticed I was leaning forward, a knot bunching in my neck. Forcing myself onto my couch, I didn't lift my vision from the TV. She's fucking amazing. Noel had every inch of her body under control. A skill like hers—it sent a sudden rush to my heart.
Just as easily, it made bile fill my throat.
She's too good. I knew it when I saw her dancing in the studio... but this confirms it. Why is she here? It didn't make sense! Noel was as talented as anyone I'd seen, she blew the students I'd taught out of the water. It was absurd—it actually made me angry.
In front of me was a woman who was wasting her gifts.
It was strange, the way my tongue was going numb. Watching her arch her back, I remembered how she'd felt under my touch. How I'd pushed her down, forced her to stretch to her limit and—Stop it. Shivering, I turned the video off.
Flooding with anxious energy, I got up and paced my apartment. Under my heels, papers crunched. Here was someone who was finally worth training. Noel would be a blessing to work with, she'd probably be the first to come out of the program and make something of herself.
The studio had been failing even before I arrived. Vince had inherited a dying business, we both had known that. A refuge for dancers who needed to feel like they'd 'tried' their best before fading away forever. I suspected he'd hired me not out of some fuzzy sense of good, but because he'd never find another teacher who'd waste their time here.
She'll be a break away from the dregs I've been dealing with.
That should have made me happy.
Pushing into my bathroom, I threw my shirt into the laundry basket. My tights and sweats were quick to join. In the long, smudged wall mirror, my reflection swayed.
I'd pushed myself since the day I was released from the hospital. They'd told me not to expect much, to give myself leeway and not get upset. Walking without crutches in six months, they'd promised—but I'd done it in four. Running in a year—how about seven months?
But ballet... they'd said never again. Not like I was used to.
And the fuckers had been right about that.
Three years since the day of the attack... three years of mental anguish, of physical strain... and the doctors had been right. Looking down, I saw the slight discoloration of the old scar on the back of my knee. It was hard to notice, I'd never had anyone ask about it.
I was always aware of it.
Sometimes, when I was just sitting, I could feel it itch. I'd done everything possible to recover. None of it mattered; I was a shadow of my former talent. In the end, after my lifetime of pain and strict training, here I was—a man who taught failed dancers while being a failure himself.
Failed dancers...
Except for her; this girl who should have been center stage.
Climbing into the shower, I stood under the steam and shut my eyes. Noel Addison... why are you here? The way her eyes had gone wide, gaping up at me—she'd smelled like cherries and sugar when I'd bent over her. Growling, I inhaled the chlorine scent of the water.
I couldn't get her perfume out of my nose.
What's wrong with me? I pushed my hands on the tiles, hung my chin low. I'd never felt so intrigued about someone before. This girl, she'd pulled me in the instant she'd started her perfect leaps around the room. She'd obeyed what was supposed to be my punishment; my attempt to make a point.
Instead, she'd made her point.
Noel had said it with her body—with her grace—she could take what I would throw at her. She was brave enough, tough enough. Is that why I noticed her? Because of her skill, her... what? Her energy?
It was all I had to cling to. I'd been impressed by Noel, she'd left an imprint on my brain. An imprint that felt like sweet lips and rusty chains.
In the shower, alone but for my thoughts, I let myself smile. Sweet lips; now, there was an idea. How her mouth would look, twisted in a moan—her fingers clutching at my back. She'd bowed so well for me when I'd touched her, how flexible would she be if we were alone?
It was an inappropriate idea. A filthy, tainted idea.
I liked this idea.
I liked it a lot.
****
The sun refused to show, the air was scalding on my bare cheeks, my lungs were begging me to slow down...
And still, that girl wouldn't leave my mind.
I'd been jogging since I'd tumbled from bed. My sleep had been restless; sweaty, tepid dreams about a girl I didn't know but felt like I did. I knew her the way you knew lightning was bad and that cold lemonade tasted best in summer.
Noel Addison was twisting in my mind, sinking into the cracks in my brain. The only thing in my life I'd obsessed about like this was dancing.
Huffing, I slowed as I reached the studio. It wasn't sunrise yet. I'd have the place to myself like usual, class wasn't for a few hours. It was the only way I could encourage myself to practice these days. If I was alone, no one would see my flaws.
It was cold inside the building; I flicked on the lights, threw my duffel bag in the corner. Stripping off my thicker pants, I tucked my white shirt into my black tights. I didn't need to wear the proper attire, no one was watching—and if they had been, it'd be no one who mattered. It was just...
It was a ritual I respected.
My warm-up was easy; leg stretches, toe flexes and foot arches. I bounced on my calves, rolled my hips and listened to the gristly pops of joints. Soon, the chill of the room was gone. Blood pumped, speeding up to electrify me.
Once I had the music rolling quietly, I began the real work.
My jumps carried me across the floor. On pointed toes, I spun and flew. To the untrained observer, I would look skilled.
To my own eye... as I followed myself in the mirrors...
I saw every gut wrenching mistake.
My landings favored my right leg. The scarring in my left never hurt, but mentally, I held back. I'd lost the part of me that wasn't scared to push. There was no longer a real joy in my dancing. Ballet had become routine, yet the idea of stopping left me cold.
It was a depressing knot. A knot that, if tugged wrong, would unravel me.
Bend. Sweat. Focus... focus—fuck! Focus! Crouching, I spread my arms, rolled my shoulders. In the mirror, I was a hooded cobra. My brows ran low, shadowed my eyes. I could see the centers, stare into the cold depths and picture myself in the past—that day—when the world had finally said 'fuck you, Carter Braeburn,' and left me to rot.
Motion. Someone was behind me, I saw their shadow in the mirror. Spinning, I narrowed my sight on the girl in her sweatshirt and grey leggings. Her cheeks were pink, lips slightly puckered in surprise—or was that awe?
“Sorry,” Noel blurted, breaking the tension. “I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. You just—I came in and you were...” Trailing off, she shook her head so that her long ponytail bounced; she hadn't put it in a bun yet. “You move so amazing, Carter!”
Amazing? Scanning her face, I noticed the excited sparkle in her blue eyes. She can't mean that. I hadn't let anyone catch me dancing like this. Not so fully, so openly. Demos in class, sure, but this... I felt oddly vulnerable.<
br />
I hated it immensely.
Smoothly, I faced her and rolled my neck. “Don't call me Carter. It's Mr. Braeburn, Noel. What are you doing here?”
“I'm used to practicing early.” Reaching up, she wound her long hair into a tight knot. She'd stopped looking at me, staring deliberately to the side. “I wasn't sure it'd be unlocked. I figured I'd go for a light run, check it out. I saw the light and... sorry.” She smiled sideways. “My studio back home let me come in anytime, they even gave me a key. I didn't know the hours here. No one told me.”
That last part was almost accusatory. It's my responsibility to tell the students the guidelines and rules. That means the hours, too. I hadn't had to before. No one had ever tried to come so early. Hell, I had to deal with them coming late, if anything. “Seven. I open it to the students at seven, an hour before class.”
We faced each other. Noel, hands over her scalp and feet pressed together. Me, far too aware of how the dimple on her throat was thumping. If I got closer, would it move faster?
Noel blinked, hands drifting to her hips. “Alright. I'll come back at seven.”
My arm flexed at my side; it had tried to reach for her. “Wait,” I said quickly, “it's fine. You might as well train, since you're here.”
Holy hell, her smile was radiant. “Really? It's no trouble?”
Cracking my knuckles, I moved to the radio. Turning it up should help me focus. This girl... her presence was a fog. “It's no trouble. It's more than anyone else has ever bothered with. You're a hard worker.” I glanced at her, saw her bouncing in place rapidly.
“It's cold in here,” she explained. “And thanks.”
“It's the heating.” Noel moved to the barre, starting a few basic movements. I was already transfixed. “This studio isn't in the best condition.”
“I noticed,” she said, stretching deep; I swallowed loudly. “Why is that?”
Cocking my head made a rogue bead of sweat fall to my shoulder. “You have to know.” At her blank stare, I waved my hand around. “Think about it. Rosella's not exactly a high performing studio. There's an extreme lack of funds keeping this all going.”
