“Hmm,” I say, and she gives me an encouraging smile.
“Really. You may not see it, but we do.”
“Mae, I’m not even wearing pointe shoes.” I take off my slippers and toss them carelessly into my bag.
“You’ll get there. Just give yourself time. Miss Chelsea probably wouldn’t let any of us dance en pointe in our first week back from a six-month break.”
I remain silent. I know that’s not the only reason. I also can’t dance en pointe because my technique is simply not there yet. It doesn’t matter that I was able to do it for three years before my world fell apart. Right now, I’m just not good enough.
“She definitely wouldn’t,” Zoe confirms, but there’s a sympathetic undertone in her voice that says she understands exactly how I feel.
I wish it made me feel better, but it doesn’t. Instead, I’m drowning in self-pity. It’s disgusting.
“You know, I’m a little jealous that you’re both taking Melanie’s class,” Mae says, changing the subject when I don’t answer.
I’m grateful to her for that, because I can’t deal with this right now.
“It’s not every semester you get the chance to work with a choreographer who’s worked with One Direction and Lady Gaga.”
“Why aren’t you in it?” I ask her, forcing myself to shake off thoughts of my failure and my miserable self-pity. I’ve only been here for three days. I really do need to give myself more time.
“Because Mr.Conrad assigns us to our classes, and he obviously decided that I’m not worthy of working with the fabulous Melanie Duncan.”
“Drama, Mae,” Zoe says dryly.
“I think drama is very appropriate right now.” Mae pouts and stands up. “But it’s okay, lyrical jazz is also cool. I have to go now, see you later!” She blows us a kiss and glides out of the room.
Slowly, the studio fills up again. Zoe and I change out of our tights and into black leggings and put on loose shirts over our leotards.
“Oh, shit,” she suddenly says softly. I follow her gaze. Two girls are just entering the room, one small and brunette and the other slightly taller, petite and blond and pretty.
“This isn’t good,” Zoe whispers next to me, but I don’t understand what she’s talking about.
“Why?”
“That’s Lia, Jase’s sister.”
“So?”
“Jase is in this class too, and the two of them don’t get along with each other at all.” Zoe’s forehead creases with worry. I’m about to ask more when Jase walks in with Skye. His laughter stops abruptly when he sees his sister. She sees him at the same moment and goes pale.
Seeing both of them together, the resemblance is unmistakable. The same blond hair, green eyes, and outrageously attractive features. Hers are softer than his, but now, when Lia sees her brother, her expression hardens. Her smile disappears just as quickly as his.
Jase stiffens, then comes over to us while his sister turns to her friend.
“Hey,” Zoe says quietly. He doesn’t say anything, just kisses her gently on the temple and looks at her in a way that makes me feel like I should look away. She asks him a question, but I can’t hear what it is. I look over at Skye, who just shrugs and then shakes her head with a barely audible sigh.
“Hello, everyone.” A bright, cheerful voice gets our attention. A woman with short platinum-blond hair and bright eyes rushes into the studio. She’s younger than I expected, maybe in her early thirties. “Nice to see you all here! I’m Melanie Duncan, but please just call me Melanie.” Some of the students begin to whisper to each other, but she continues speaking. “I’m very excited to be teaching you this semester. Does anyone here have experience with contemporary dance?”
Most of the students shake their heads, and one boy raises his hand briefly.
“What about modern dance?”
Lia and her friend raise their hands, along with another girl and guy. Five out of thirty-five students.
“Great, then most of you are at the same level. That’s good. I’ll tell you what my plans are, and then we can get started, okay?”
We nod, and she gestures for us to sit down on the floor. She sits in front of us in one fluid motion and crosses her legs.
