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“Ah, yes, I forget you don’t like to be addressed so formally. Xeno, why don’t you stick around. You can introduce yourself to all my dancers when the remaining two decide to turn up.” Madame Tuillard says, looking at her wristwatch and tutting. “They’d better hurry. I’m not averse to rescinding my invitation.”
“There’s no need for that, Madame Tuillard.”
My head snaps around as York walks into the studio, Zayn following closely behind him. They briefly nod at Xeno who keeps his face neutral.
No. Fuck, no!
I half expect Dax to follow, but he doesn’t. I don’t know if I’m relieved or not by that fact.
“Oh, shit!” Clancy mutters, taking the words right from my lips. This can’t be happening. “Looks like Zayn got in after all…” her voice trails off as she takes in my expression. I can’t even acknowledge her. I want to be sick.
“Good of you to turn up,” Madame Tuillard states, unimpressed. “Lateness will not be tolerated. Whilst you’re attending my school, you follow my rules.” She folds her arms gracefully across her chest, glaring at them both. “I don’t care who you are or what circles you move around in. All of that is left behind the second you walk into my studio. Understand?”
“Circles they move around in?” Clancy repeats under her breath. Yeah, I picked up on that too but now is not the time to start discussing just what circles she’s referring too. I know exactly what she means, but I’m curious as to why Madame Tuillard does.
“That applies to everyone. Whatever baggage you have gets left at the door. I don’t care what happens outside the studio, but the minute you enter, you’re here to dance and dance only.”
I can’t even look at the Breakers to see whether they’re nodding in agreement like everyone else seems to be doing, because I’m too busy fighting my emotions and trying not to throw up.
Madame Tuillard starts to pace up and down in front of the mirrors, continuing her tirade. “If I ask you to meet me at eight am, I expect you to be here on the dot. If it’s five am, then get here for that time and not one second after. No excuses. There are a thousand dancers willing to take your place, just like that,” she says, snapping her fingers. “This might be the settling-in week, but that doesn’t mean to say you can ignore my instructions. This is your one and only warning. Each of you were personally selected by me because I saw something in you worth my time. Don’t make me regret my decision.”
By the look on Zayn’s face, he’s about to say something wholly inappropriate to the principal of this school. Fortunately for him, York interrupts.
“It was my fault. I delayed us this morning. It won’t happen again. Apologies,” he says, fixing his icy-blue eyes on Madame Tuillard.
Always the mother hen. Always bailing his friends out of trouble with polite words and respect. No one would ever believe what he’s truly capable of when pushed too far, when backed into a corner. He’s loyal to a fault and more dangerous than he appears.
Madame Tuillard purses her lips and nods. “Apology accepted. Let’s get started. Bags at the back, then find a space. Xeno, I’d appreciate your input.”
Xeno nods, flicking an angry glare at York and Zayn that is missed by the other students who are busy dumping their bags and finding a spot in the room. I’m currently at the back of the studio as far away from the Breakers as I can get. Next to me is the only guy I haven’t already met. He’s tall and slim, wearing a loose t-shirt and leggings. Definitely a ballerina given his attire. He glances at me and grins.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey.” I try and smile back, but it comes out more of a grimace.
“Clancy would you step forward please,” Madame Tuillard asks, waving her forward.
Clancy gives me a wide-eyed look then moves to the front of the class, her cheeks flushing a little as everyone watches her with varying shades of interest. Bitchface keeps a neutral face, but if you look close enough there’s daggers in her gaze that are unmistakable. Clancy lifts her chin, ignoring her. Good girl.
“I want you all to introduce yourself. Give us a little of your dance history, your choice of specialism and anything else you think might be interesting. You’ll start, Clancy,” Madame Tuillard insists.
Clancy smiles broadly, her awesome personality shining through. “My name’s Clancy. My specialism is tap. Gregory Hines is my idol. The man was a genius. I’ve been dancing since I was five, and starred in Annie the Musical when I was thirteen, starting out as the understudy and then taking the lead about six months in.”
“So you can sing as well as tap dance?” York asks her, a note of respect in his voice that makes my mouth go dry.
“Yep.” She grins.
On the other side of the room Tiffany scoffs, muttering some nasty comment under her breath that she covers with a cough when Madame Tuillard glares at her, unimpressed.
“Thank you, Clancy. Tiffany, you’re next.”
Tiffany moves gracefully towards the spot Clancy just left and turns to face us, a pretty smile on her perfect face. It doesn’t cover the fact that she’s a bitch though.
“My name’s Tiffany,” she begins, stopping when I cover the word bitch with a well-placed cough. The look Tiffany gives me is murderous and I raise an eyebrow, winking at her. Don’t dish it out, if you can’t take it back,bitch.
I meet Clancy’s gaze in the mirror, her grin is huge, but she quickly smothers her smile when Madame Tuillard lets out a long, frustrated sigh.
“Clearly, there’s something in the air today. Need I remind you all what I said no more than ten minutes ago? Baggage is left at the door. Final warning.” Madame Tuillard looks at me directly and I nod. Understanding perfectly.
