"Is that a joke?" I asked, baffled by the last rule. She has to be kidding, right?
"Do I look like I'm joking?" she asked, expressionless.
"I thought that was just a thing you see in the movies." I began laughing. My life in the Midwest was beginning to feel like an episode of Little House on the Prairie.
"What's your story, blondie? You've obviously never had to use the scrunchie-on-the-door trick." Kingsley began playing with her cell phone.
Apparently, she wasn't interested in hearing my answer. I gathered she was the type that just liked the sound of her own voice. I'd heard horror stories of getting stuck with awful roommates in college, but I promised myself that if it happened to me, I wouldn't let it ruin my time here. At that moment, I made it my mission to get Kingsley to warm up to me.
"I'm from Illinois. I graduated from Prospect High School. Let's see ... I've been dancing most of my life at–"
My story was cut short.
"I don't care about the obvious stuff. Give me the juicy details of your life. Have you ever had a boyfriend?"
"Yes," I rolled my eyes while answering. "Of course, I have."
Kingsley thought she had me all figured out in a matter of a few minutes, which always happened to me. I guess, in her book, since I wasn't dressed like a two-cent hooker like her, I must be completely straitlaced.
"Let me guess. You dated the same boy all throughout high school. Prom night, you were both crowned king and queen and lost your virginities to each other? Am I right?"
Kingsley was wrong. I did have a boyfriend, but Cole was someone I kept secret, especially from my mother. We met a few weeks after I lost my dad. I was in such a horrible place and he was a good distraction. We dated for six months and I was convinced I was falling in love with him, that is, up until the point that he broke up with me after we'd had sex. I never wanted to be that vulnerable to anyone again.
"Not even close. If I jumped to conclusions like you, I'd say you've been around the block a few times. I also suspect that most girls hate you." I prepared myself for her backlash, but she looked up from her phone with a smirk on her face.
"We've got a live one." Kingsley's smile fell when she looked down at her cell phone. "This guy really doesn't have a clue. You would think most guys like to hit it and quit it but not this one. It's like he's already planning our future together."
My curiosity piqued. "Who are you talking about?"
She looked up at me, eyebrows furrowed. "This random guy I met last night. He's become obsessed with me."
I could see how easy it would be for a guy to become obsessed with Kingsley. Her striking looks could make any guy fall to his knees. I'm sure the fact that she's a dancer helps. Guys are fond of bendy things.
"I know how that goes." I shifted my weight on my bed, turning my body to look at Kingsley. "I've dated some crazy types, too."
She looked at me skeptically. "I wouldn't peg you as the type to date around." Her judging eyes skimmed my face.
I shook my head and began unpacking my toiletries. It was obviously a waste of time conversing with Kingsley since she believed she already knew everything about me.
"If you say you're a man-eater, then I believe you," Kingsley said as she stood from her bed and walked toward me. She smiled and bent down, kissing my cheek.
Why she kissed me on the cheek, I had no clue. Must be an East Coast thing.
"I never said I was a man-eater. I've had a few boyfriends, that's all," I clarified.
She gave me a wry look and walked back to her side of the room. Kingsley grabbed her phone and began typing quickly on the keypad. I guessed she was responding to Mr. Obsessed after all.
I looked at my phone, seeing that our first rehearsal was in a few minutes. If I hadn't been interrogated by Kingsley, I would have had everything put away by now.
"I guess we should head to our first class. Wanna walk down together?" I asked.
"We might as well. Ready to get the shit kicked out of our bodies?" Kingsley asked, still texting on her phone.
Her words were true. Ballet was intense on your body, and after years of dancing, my body had taken a ton of abuse.
"Absolutely!" I responded excitedly.
I hadn't danced in the last two days and already my body was beginning to feel the absence. She shook her head in response. She seemed annoyed that I was looking forward to our first class, but I couldn't conceal it. I was finally at my dream school, doing what I'd dreamt of all my life.
Kingsley was far from the girl who would wear pink tutus and perfectly coifed hair buns, but I had a feeling once I got to know her better, her cold attitude would melt away and we would become friends. At least, I hoped we would.
When we arrived, we walked to the back of the room. The studio was spacious, able to easily fit all of the boys and girls in the class. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the gorgeous skyline. There were two barres, one position in front of the large window and the other against the right wall.
As we walked, several eyes followed our steps, judging our every move. My eyes roamed the class, glancing at the faces of my fellow peers. There had to be at least twenty students in the room, and I immediately became nervous, seeing just how many students I'd have to outshine. Shock traveled through my body as my gaze fell on a familiar face. The guy who had approached me this morning stared back at me with the same crooked grin.
My body felt faint when I saw him, but I needed to control my emotions, knowing he would easily notice my rosy cheeks and blotchy skin. His ego would inflate if he knew I found him even remotely attractive.
As bad as it was sizing up a person I didn't know, my instincts were usually correct. As we eyed each other, I felt Kingsley bump my right shoulder, capturing my attention.
"Do you know him or something? The way you two were staring at each other, I could have sworn you've slept together," Kingsley said with optimism in her voice.
"We met earlier. He seems extremely self-centered." I sat on the ground and pulled out my shoes.
"Those stares you were giving each other were hotter than the last porno I watched," she divulged.
Kingsley joined me on the ground to put on her own shoes.
"That tidbit of information was not necessary," I told her. "I just hope I don't get partnered with him."
We both stood up just as the teacher walked into the classroom.
"Greetings. Welcome to Juilliard. My name is Madame Dampier. I will be teaching you this quarter, along with a few guest choreographers. My class will not be easy, and if you are not able to keep up, I will not hesitate to bring attention to your shortcomings. You're representing Juilliard, and Juilliard demands perfection."
I was fully aware of the difficult training that would be involved while attending Juilliard, but as many years as I'd been dancing, hearing this teacher and her demand for excellence was much scarier than my mother's.
"To get started, I'd like you all to perform a ninety-second solo, so I'm able to see technique. After everyone has performed, I'll assign dance partners. We'll start with the As and go down the list." Madame Dampier motioned for the students to spread out, making a large gap in the center of the room.
The classical music started playing, and the first student began dancing. Watching the girl dance, I could see the incredible talent she had. No longer was I one of the most talented, and it terrified me. My last name started with a B, so it wasn't long until it was my turn. For some reason, I felt apprehensive about beginning, knowing the guy I had met earlier would be watching me. I took a deep breath, starting in first position. I didn't have much time to prove myself, but I hoped my performance was enough to show the teacher I belonged here. I eased into some of my favorite moves, making sure to point my feet and showcase my lines perfectly.
"Great job ..." The teacher's eyes scanned her clipboard. "Natalia Brooks. Next up, Samson Callahan."
It's him. Preppy Boy.
Before he began, he looked
over his shoulder and grinned at me. The moment Samson shuffled his feet across the floor, his face filled with emotion. As I watched him perform, I noticed the unrestrained passion that escaped his every move. I had never seen a man dance as gracefully as he had. Samson finished with a double revoltade, landing perfectly on both feet.
My eyes opened wide while my jaw dropped. Clearly, Samson was born to do this. He turned back to look at me, his eyes filled with desire. I swore I gulped so loudly that everyone around me heard.
After twenty minutes, all of the students had performed their solos. Madame Dampier took notes during the dances, arranging the partnerships. She moved to the center of the room, studying her papers before speaking.
"Okay, as I call on you, please come to the front where you will join your partner." She began calling out names of the guys and girls in the room. As I saw each of them pairing up, I noticed that Samson and I were among the last few people left. Please, oh please, don't let him be my partner. "Natalia Brooks and Samson Callahan."
Apparently, my good luck extends beyond roommates.
Samson didn't budge, so I headed to the front. I walked as slowly as I could, trying my hardest to waste time. When I reached him, his grin grew wider.
"Natalia Brooks, is it? We meet again." His eyes darted across my face.
"Samson Callahan. Nice fancy name," I muttered. "I hope you're good enough to be my partner." I huffed and turned away.
He leaned into my personal space, his lips close to my ear. "There are a lot of things I'm good at, doll," he whispered.
Samson's words verified my speculations. His ego was so big that I was certain he had a hard time lifting himself out of bed each morning.
Madame Dampier began the lesson by prompting us to do barre work. It allowed our bodies to stretch, preparing them for what was to come in class. We began by doing pliés. Madame Dampier studied each student, correcting an arm here, a foot there. Already, I knew she would be a stickler for the tiniest things.
After thirty minutes, she instructed us to move to our assigned partners. "We'll begin with basic partnering techniques."
Samson walked to my side, bumping my shoulder lightly. I looked up at him, straight-faced. I was annoyed that he acted like he already knew me. In response to my obvious irritation, Samson shook his head and laughed.
"Take your partner's hand," Madame Dampier instructed, walking casually through the room.
Samson's left hand took my right and his right arm encircled my waist.
"Don't get too excited being this close to me," I whispered. "It will only happen when we're dancing."
Even as I claimed my superiority, I was surprised at how my body responded to his touch. I've had plenty of partners over the years, but not one that ignited any sort of sensual feelings.
His blue eyes looked me up and down as if I were a complicated puzzle he wasn't able to put together. "You don't seem to like me very much," he said as his hand grasped mine tightly.
My palm begin to sweat from the contact of our skin. Instantly, I felt my face heat up.
"You don't miss a thing," I responded, looking down at my feet and trying my hardest to mask the redness on my cheeks.
I wasn't used to carrying on a conversation while dancing with a partner, and I was a little irritated that he felt the need to chit-chat.
"Not good at multi-tasking?" Samson asked, cracking a smile.
"We should really concentrate on our movements. I need to live the dance." I couldn't believe I had just quoted my mother's favorite saying, but I wasn't quick enough to come up with anything better to cease the discussion.
"Did you just say 'live the dance'?" His wide smile made my heart beat rapidly.
"I did. Now please," I urged, "we need to pay attention. I have to get these moves right." My perfectionism revealed itself. I couldn't stand being mediocre at anything. If Samson hadn't already summed me up before, I'm sure he had by now.
"You're one of those–a stickler for getting every little thing right."
I ignored his comment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was correct. Instead, I focused on how surprised I was by Samson's dancing. I could tell he had been through proper training. His body meshed well with mine and we were perfectly in sync, which I found to be utterly annoying. Samson was good, and even though that was my hope in a partner, I sort of wanted him to suck.
"By the look on your face, I can see you're happy you got me as partner." Samson's cheeks lifted into an overconfident smile.
I scowled up at him, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "You'll do," I spat out.
"You're bursting at the seams with happiness, doll." His voice was low and seductive, so no one around us could hear.
I rolled my eyes, which was beginning to feel like a permanent thing in his presence. "Stop calling me doll."
My fingers folded into my palm, making a tight fist. I wanted to punch him in the face for being such a cocky asshole, but getting kicked out of Juilliard on my first day would probably ruin my dance career. Samson definitely wasn't worth that, even if it would have made me feel a lot better.
For the remainder of class, I decided that ignoring him was the best way to go, especially when he continually whispered obnoxious comments in my ear. He was a remarkable dancer, but the fact that he knew it and outwardly celebrated it got on my nerves.
Madame Dampier approached us as the other students filed out of the classroom. "Did you two not hear me the first time I said you were dismissed?" She gave us each a stern look and walked away.
Samson pursed his lips together while his bright eyes grew wide. "Looks like we might be on the instructor's bad side already."
"I don't know if it's the pomade that's seeped into your brain, or if it's just a personality defect, but arrogance won't get you anywhere in life," I snapped.
I hated the fact that he got under my skin. I was usually so good at ignoring people like him, but there was something different about Samson. Whatever it was, it wouldn't allow me to brush him off.
I removed his arm from my waist and turned to walk away. "Thanks, Toby."
Before getting far, he grabbed my wrist and turned me around to face him. "It's Samson," he declared.
"Hmm," I said, straight-faced, "I think I like Toby better." I yanked my wrist out of his hold and quickly walked away.
I left the room feeling powerful. I made it through my first class, and I didn't kill my partner. Not to mention, knocking his ego down a few notches was pretty damn exciting, too.
Score: Natalia−1, Samson−0.
Toby, my ass! I was positive Natalia remembered my name, though it was cute that she acted like she hadn't. As I watched her walk out of rehearsal, I thought about why I came here: to steer my life in the direction I wanted and not the direction my father felt it should go.
Being a dancer was never an acceptable career in my household, but it was always the one thing I wanted to do. In my early years, I played baseball because my father insisted. I hated the sport and begged my mother to let me do something else. A few months after I turned eleven, she took me with her to see Alice in Wonderland at the Connecticut Ballet Theater. I remembered watching the strong men dance and how flawless it seemed when they lifted the women in the air. When I left the performance that night, I knew that I wanted to be like the men I had just seen. The next day, without my father's knowledge, my mother signed me up for ballet. Since my very first class, I never looked back.
Walking out of the room, I reached for my Ray Bans and felt the vibration in my pocket alert me of a missed call. Seeing that it was Aubrey and not my father, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Before dialing her number, I watched as the cars passed through the streets. I had to take a few relaxing breaths before talking to Aubrey, knowing the conversation was sure to spoil my mood.
"Hello?" she huffed into the phone.
"Hey. I saw I missed your call; just got out of rehearsal."
"I knew this was going to happen, Sam. Yo
u're already moving on and forgetting about me," she whined.
"Aubrey, I'll never forget you." I felt like that statement had left my lips at least a dozen times since I arrived yesterday.
"We've been together every day for most of our lives. Excuse me if I have to get used to this distance you've put between us."
My girlfriend, Aubrey, grew up down the road from me. We were inseparable. Our mothers had us around the same time and declared from day one that we would someday fall in love. We, of course, thought that was gross when we were nine, but once we became teenagers, their wishes came true.
"We're not even two hours away from each other, Aubrey. Look, I know the distance will be hard on our relationship, but if we want to be together, it has to be this way."
"I didn't know you made the rules for our relationship. What about what I want, Samson?" As Aubrey continued her tirade, I recalled the girl I fell in love with, the girl that wanted to be a photographer and travel the world. I missed that girl. It seemed the longer I stayed with this new version, the tighter the rope around my neck would become, until one day, I wouldn't be able to breathe at all.
As I rounded the corner, my gym bag hooked onto a shelf, spilling everything. "Fuck!" I exploded. "Damn it, Aubrey! You need to stop bitching at me every single time we have a conversation. I can't take it anymore!"
I bent down to pick up my belongings, trying to compose myself. Over the last year, our relationship had taken a turn for the worse. Before, we were best friends and got along easily. Now, we constantly argued over the smallest things. I debated ending it many times, but I couldn't stomach the thought of losing something we'd worked on most of our lives.
"First of all, Samson, you're an asshole," Aubrey seethed. "Second of all, you brought this on yourself. You're the one that left home to become a ballerina."
In the Air (The City #1) Page 2
