“I’m sorry.” I upright myself. My eyes are wide and dartfrom Mr. G to Leeds. “Should I bow instead? Kneel? Kiss your hand? I don’t know what the proper protocol is,” I admit.
Lord Renbrook laughs even harder.
“Miss . . ” Leeds glances at Mr. G.
“Minerva,” he answers.
“Minerva, what a lovely name. The Roman goddess of war, wisdom, and strategy. Did you know that in ancient Rome, there was a temple in the?—”
“Leeds, focus,” Lord Renbrook reminds him.
“Uh, yes, well ... the proper protocol with me would’ve been to curtsy, but among friends, we don’t do that. All these formalities are tedious and a waste of time. Calling me Leeds will do just fine.”
A member of the royal family just casually instructed me to call him Leeds. This day could not be any stranger.
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. G sees my shock and takes pity on me. “Leeds, I was hoping I could entrust you to give Minerva abriefexplanation on H-Cav kit wear for the enlisted men? We’re on a tight time frame. Min’s shift ends in a half an hour.”
He adjusts his glasses.“Then I suppose we’d better get right on it.”
When I walk out the Buckingham Palace gate later that evening, my mind is still whirling over whom I’ve just spent the afternoon with. Tomorrow is going to be an important day for me. I need to clear my mind to ensure that I’m sharp and ready to go when I meet Clarissa and Sonya.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I order a car and direct it to take me to the Gloucester Gate Dance Studio in theCamden Town area of the city. I’ve pushed myself to continue to do a ballet barre every single day at home this past week, but I’ve reached the end of my rope. I can’t progress any further without another set of eyes to look over my technique and offer me corrections.
I spent all day yesterday looking for a dance studio that offered intermediate and advanced ballet classes for adults. Despite the popularity of adult dance classes back home in Canada and in the States, there are surprisingly few options available to me here, even in a big city like London.
Everything I could find was either a beginner class or, based on the reviews, didn’t sound like it was a class that treated adults like students who want to learn. Post after post on the adult-ballet forums on the internet expressed frustration that teachers treated adults with kid gloves. More often than not, adults who wish to pursue advanced ballet training have no other alternative but to take a ballet class with children. I don’t understand how that can be. Why don’t studios offer more classes for adults? They aren’t like kids. They aren’t forced to dance by their parents. They arechoosingto dance.
“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver says.
“Already?”
I’ve been in my head the entire trip; I didn’t even notice the car had stopped. I thank the driver and climb out. Standing outside the studio, I stare through the glass windows at a class of adults, performing a set of slow battement kicks.
My legs quiver. My stomach muscles tighten. My body is suddenly hot. I will myself to move, but it’s like my feet are glued to the cement. Memories of Artem and my last moments at LABT flash in frontof my eyes.
“This is a mistake.” I take two steps backward. “I can’t do this.”
With shaky hands, I tap my pockets, searching for my phone. Maybe I can reach the car that just dropped me off. Just as I open the app, my hand slips, and I drop my phone.
Ugh. I hope I haven’t broken it. I’ve only had this a week or so. I can’t afford another new device.
“Hello?” Sam’s voice says. “Minerva, are you there?”
I bend down and scramble for the device. “Sam, hi. Sorry, I must’ve called you by accident. I was trying to order a car.”
“Oh. Where are you now? Do you want me to come get you?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Always, but you’re a priority, Fashion Guru.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling washes over me with his words.
“Fashion Guru?”
“I’m still here. I’m, er, standing in front of a dance studio like a lawn ornament. My legs are lead. I thought I’d worked up the courage to take a class tonight, but it was a bad idea. It’s too much too soon.”
