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I nod silently and remain seated as the teacher walks up to his desk. He doesn’t comment on the two of us not standing up, and Araminta winks at me. I’m starting to understand what it means to be a Firstborn.
“Stick around and you’ll learn,” my new friend murmurs in my ear. “You’ll have them eating right out of the palm of your hand… Just like I do.”
* * *
Araminta and I don?
?t share another class that day. I am mostly in beginner classes, being dubbed an uncivilized, undereducated individual during my preliminary examination held by the uptight Mrs. Robinson.
The classes are nothing like I’d imagined. I have an etiquette class, riding lessons, drawing lectures and finally, my day ends with a dancing class. I’m already dreading it because it’s run by the same woman as the preliminary exams. She already looked at me with distaste the first time – I don’t even want to know how she’s going to act around me today.
I arrive to the changing room to find it full of girls who go deathly quiet when I walk in. Fear cripples me, stopping me from snapping at them with a witty remark, and I put my bag down in complete silence, digging through the pockets until I pull out my leotard and the ballet shoes we’re forced to wear. I glance around the room, unsure whether we’re supposed to get changed right there. My school before had some privacy, but this seems almost too brutal. All the other girls are dressed already, and I sigh, admitting defeat.
Slowly, I unbutton the blazer of my uniform and peel it off my body. The blouse follows suit, then the plaid skirt. I leave my knee-highs on and quickly get the leotard on. Then, I expertly snap my bra off under the fabric – the other girls don’t look like they’re wearing them. Once I finally straighten back up, they’re all still staring at me, and I pale at the thought of them examining my body in excruciating detail.
“Girls! Come through please!”
We follow the sound of Mrs. Robinson voice to the studio. It’s attached to the building’s main gym, and I hear laughing and shouting coming from there. I glance at the expansive hall behind me, catching a glance of a blonde-haired boy tapping a ball and smirking at his tall, dark and handsome opponent.
Dexter.
“What’s so distracting, Miss Oakes?”
I keep watching him, his muscles rippling under the fabric of his shirt and his smile deadly and striking all at once.
“Miss Oakes, are you still with us? Do I have to send you to the principal?”
An elbow hits me between the ribs, and I snap my attention to the girl who dared touched me. She pales under my scrutiny, but motions to Mrs. Robinson in warning.
“Lily Anna!”
I look up and it finally hits me the old witch was calling out my name. I still haven’t gotten used to the new one.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Sorry?” she repeats. “Is this how you act in all of your classes? I must say, Miss Oakes, they warned us you would be… well, a tough cookie, but this is just sad. Have you taken ballet before?”
My mouth sets in a thin line and I shake my head.
“No?” She’s practically smirking at me now, and I feel the atmosphere changing as my classmates snicker.
These girls apparently think it’s okay to treat me this way and are only being encouraged by the old ballerina.
“How tragic, Miss Oakes. You can’t even do a basic pirouette?”
I refuse to answer, staring at the annoying woman and hoping she’ll be smart enough to back down from this argument, because it’s one fight she has no chance of winning.
“I’m waiting,” she reminds me instead, crossing her arms and tapping her foot on the floor.
“First of all,” I start, my voice sweet and slow, like I’m speaking to a child. “Do not call me Lily Anna. My name is Pandora.”
She snickers, looking around the room for support. But the other girls are quiet yet again, waiting to see how this plays out before they pick sides.
“Now, ballet’s not really my thing,” I go on, making a sad face at Mrs. Robinson. “So, I don’t think I particularly want to be in this class. That’s not going to be a problem, is it, Mrs. Robinson?”
“It’s part of your curriculum.” She furrows her brows at me. “You can’t pass the year if you don’t complete your ballet training.”
“But I don’t feel like it,” I purr, taking a step closer to her. “So, I’m going to go back and get changed, and go home early, because I don’t feel like spending another hour and a half in your delightful company. That way, neither of us needs to tolerate the other. How about that?”
