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“In Venice or Europe?” Paige asks as she pulls her bleach-blond hair back into a tight ponytail, her eyes lighting with suspicion that tells me it was probably a dumb question I would know if I’d been listening.
Oh, man.She might have just caught me daydreaming in the middle of her story. “Both?”
“Well, mostly we spent the summer in my parents’ summer home in Nice. But we did a week in Venice.”
She doesn’t seem to care too much that I wasn’t paying attention because she resumes her story without another word on the subject. That’s when I notice the shy blonde stretching at the far edge of the room, away from everyone else. She has a pretty face, delicate features, with deep-blue eyes that hold an intense kind of sadness. But that’s not what really captures my attention. I recognize the threadbare clothes, the well-worn dance shoes she’s probably had since ninth grade–or even earlier depending on how much her feet have grown.
An immediate sense of comradery flares up inside my chest as I realize this new girl comes from the poor side of town, like me. But I don’t want to freak the girl out by jumping right at her. She looks about one shocking word away from fleeing the university, so I wait to introduce myself. No need to frighten the poor girl when she hasn’t had a moment to acclimate. And I’ve been told I can be a bit much sometimes. The twins have made sure I know it.
“But what about you? Are you ready for school to start?” Paige presses, forcing me to focus once again.
I flounder for a moment, then say the first thing that pops into my head. “I’m so excited to be in Professor Moriari’s class this semester.”
“I’m a little scared,” Paige says, shuddering. “From his notoriously strict tutelage, I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up in tears at some point.”
I wouldn’t be surprised, either, but I don’t say as much. No sense in being mean. Paige finally falls silent as we continue to stretch, and I turn my attention to watch the pretty blonde once again. She’s got a perfect dancer’s body, lean, tall, flexible. I can tell she’s graceful just from watching her stretch. And as she gets into the rhythm of it, she even seems to relax some. Now would be a good time to approach her.
But as I rise to head over to her, the studio doors burst open, and Professor Moriari strides purposefully through the door, his eyes elevated above our heads as though we’re chairs in a history classroom.
“I expect you all to be fully stretched and prepared at the start of each class,” he states, making his way to the far side of the mirrored room before turning to face us. “I waste no time with meet-and-greet practices or social interactions. You can manage all of that outside this class. Here, I expect you to be at your best, prepared to perform and learn to your utmost potential. You’re upperclassmen now, and as such, you will be one of the several classes performing in the autumn showcase in a month. I expect each of your performances to properly display your talents as well as prove your potential.”
Goodie.Meeting the new girl will have to wait, but after my freshman year at Rosehill and knowing how lonely it can feel as the poor student no one knows, I really do want to introduce myself. Maybe we’ll have another class together. But right now, I can’t wait to get my ass kicked into shape by the toughest teacher in class.
It’s a grueling hour in which Professor Moriari puts us through the paces again and again and again. I’m panting and soaked in sweat by the end, feeling like my summer of leisure is more of a punishment now that I have to make up for any muscle I’ve lost as well as build on it to meet my professor’s expectations. Not that I was completely slacking. I know how to stay fit and ready for dance, but holy hell, this guy is more of a drill sergeant than a dance professor.
What’s more shocking is that the new girl actually managed to receive a compliment from the strict professor. On her first day. That she could catch Professor Moriari’s eye so quickly has me burning to know this girl even more.What drives her so intensely that she could be that good without a lick of training at Rosehill College? And where did she come from?I have to know now.
“For the autumn showcase, you will each have a partner,” Professor Moriari explains as he brings the class to a close.
That’s new and interesting. Up until now, all my dance has been focused on solo performance.
“I will assign them since you are limited on time to prepare. You will be in charge of choosing a performance piece that will emphasize both of your strengths. Keep in mind, this first showcase will springboard your following assignment, the winter showcase. Where you will be expected to choreograph your own piece based in the tradition of ballet. I will post a list of partners before tomorrow’s class. I expect you to find your partner and choose a performance on your own time. This class time will be used to practice together. I would highly recommend you spend time practicing outside of class as well.”
I glance around the room, wondering which person I might be paired with. Fin Tanaka, the shorter and well-muscled Japanese dancer in our class, would probably be every girl’s favorite, seeing as he’s one of the best male dancers we have. I just pray I don’t get paired with his friend Logan, who’s tendency to blurt every asinine thing that comes to mind makes me want to slap the freckles right off his face. But we have enough girls that not everyone will get a male partner, and I wonder what that would be like.Would it be an advantage or a disadvantage to have a same-sex pairing?I imagine there would be pros and cons to both sides. Pro–it would give the advantage of knowing the physics behind both bodies. Con–every ballerina has to face the challenge of lifts at some point in their life, and I’m always of the mind that sooner is better than later.
I head to the cubbies to switch back into my combat boots, and the new girl is already there and changing. She’s up and out the door before I arrive.So much for introducing myself.But that’s alright. With the size of our school and both of us clearly focused on ballet, I’m sure to have at least one other class with her.
The rest of my morning is full of new classes that are more focused on the academic side, which means my afternoon is going to be jam-packed with the physical ones. And my lunch is earlier this semester. At least I have dance theory with the twins in the middle of my afternoon to break up the physically taxing routine.
The hardest part of getting through my morning, though, proves to be the thoughts of Ilya that continue to trickle into my mind. I need to find a new perspective to help me let it go. Rather than reading into the force with which he took me this weekend, I can just accept his education as my Dom. Only this lesson I think is best applied across the board for Ilya. Don’t get too personal.
The reason he’s paying for my schooling is he wants a woman without the complications that come with deeper attachment. And he’s right. It doesn’t matter how I interpreted his unexpected arrival and need to talk. As his sub, I’m his toy, not his therapist, and definitely not his girlfriend–no matter what I’ve led the twins and my mom to believe. I’m there to make him feel good, not dig into the details of his life that draw up shit he doesn’t want to address. And clearly, the topics of his dead parents, his childhood, and most importantly, the love he may or may not have for his sister, are most definitely off limits.
With that in mind, I can finally stop ruminating over the rough sex we had. It still unsettles me a bit that he took his anger out on me, even if I was turned on by his aggression and I like it when he fucks me hard. I’m still hurting from the rough handling I received this weekend, which is new. Normally, it doesn’t last so long, but I’ll get over it. And next time, I’ll keep my mouth shut about his personal life.
This is the space I’m in as I enter my dance theory class and immediately spot the new girl. I head straight for her, checking as I go that Tammy and Tori aren’t already in the room. The new girl looks distracted, half listening to Fin and Logan, who are apparently in this class, too, and sit beside her.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask boldly as I grip the back of the chair next to her.
The pretty blonde whips around to face me, her sad eyes growing wide.
“Oh. No. You’re welcome to it,” she says with a shy smile.
“Good.” I sink into the chair with an appreciative groan, aware of the way my body protests noisily after all its recent abuse. “I think if I continue to repeat it enough times, I might convince myself that ‘I love my major,’” I add lightly, trying to ease into an introduction.
The pretty blonde laughs lightly, her shyness permeating even that quiet gesture. “Say it loud enough, and you just might convince me too.”
Shy but funny. I like it. “I’m Whitney.” I extend my hand.
