15

"WHERE THE HELL have you been!?"

My mother's voice is so loud over the phone I have to remove the phone from my ear for a quick second so I don't go completely deaf in one ear. Wincing, I bring the cellphone back to my ear making a face as if she could see me. "In the hospital soon if you don't calm down with all that yelling, Jesus Christ."

"I have been calling and texting you for days and you haven't responded to any. I thought something had happened, that you had gotten hurt and God forbid something worse." She says into the phone and I let out a small sigh.

It's true I haven't been the best at communication lately with my mom but it's just I've had a lot going on these last couple of weeks. Between school, Miss Sharon's constant criticism about my dancing skills, and the brooding mafia boss who seems to know my every move I just haven't had the time or courage to talk to her. As someone with a very open and honest relationship with their parents, it just doesn't seem right talking to her knowing I'm hiding something. I mean I tell my mom everything. I told her when I got my first boyfriend when I was ten and when I broke up with him two days later because he didn't share his Oreos with me. We don't keep secrets from each other but somehow telling her about Stone is just something I can't bring myself to do.

"Mom I'm fine," I reassured her as I made my way through the university quad, the phone call blocking out the sounds of the many students and their conversations. "I've been doing the same thing every day since when I first arrived like a sim. I wake up, go to class, go to rehearsal, and then repeat. It's not the most exciting thing to talk about." I force a humorous tone in my voice but I don't think it works on her because she exhales a dragged-out breath.

"Still Kylo when I call you or even send a simple text I expect a response back," I can hear the other medical personnel in the background. "I don't say that to sound overbearing and strict but it's just your safety is my main concern and how am I supposed to know you're safe up there by yourself if I don't hear from you for a couple of weeks?" I fumbled with my fingers nails, a habit of mine I thought I dropped when I turned fifteen but now and then I find myself picking at my nails, mostly in times like this when I'm being lectured by my mom and I knew if she could see me right now she would shake her head at me and tell me to stop.

"I'll work on it," I tell her.

There's a silence throughout the line for a moment before my mom clears her throat and I can imagine her fixing the glasses on her face as she sat behind a computer. "So is there anything I should know about? You haven't talked to me in weeks there has to be something other than school and dance on your mind."

I wanted to scream "There's this big scary man who gives me money to clean his office and walk his dogs and he kills people who are mean to him" but I refrained and kept my mouth closed as I thought of something else to say that won't give my mom a heart attack at work. "Well, we got a new dance instructor," I tell her instead.

"Oh? That sounds interesting."

My eyes rolled to the cloudless sky above. "I wish. Mom, she's a stone-cold bee-itch." I said into the phone earning a small laugh from my mom. "Really?" she replied through her snort.

"Yes she's so strict and she's always criticizing me which is weird because then she'd give me a compliment right after which throws me off because like do you like me or not?"

"Who is this bitch?" I can imagine my mom raising a brow over the phone as she spoke and I let out a chuckle of my own.

"Her name is Sharon Bussell. She's a former pro ballerina so she's basically like a certified legend in the dance community and she's kind of a big deal and the fact that she's teaching us is sorta a big deal as well but —"

"But that still doesn't give her the right to be an asshole to you or any of the other students." my mom finishes for me taking the words right out of my mouth.

"Exactly, see me and you always on the same page."

She smiles through the phone. "Two pieces of paper from the same book, what can I say?" I can hear her shuffling around in her desk chair meaning she's doing a little dance and I immediately let out a soft groan. "What did I tell you about spending too much time on social media?"

"What? The little clock app is fun. I can't stop doing the catchy dances." She shuffles around in her seat again before letting a small snorting laughter take over her for a moment. She has one of those contagious waves of laughter that make everyone around her laugh and before I know it I'm joining her. It's times like this when we giggle together that I'm reminded how laughter was part of the loving bond we made, and we were so free to feel that way because we were safe in each other's hearts and it's time like this I'm reminded just how much I am my mother's child in the purest form.

••••

Today's rehearsal wasn't like the usual. The dance studio wasn't filled with spinning dancers trying to execute their best ballonné or perfecting a glissade across the floor, instead, the only thing that filled the dance studio this afternoon was the crippling anxiety that radiated off of everyone in the room as Miss Sharon made all of us line up behind a weight scale placed in the middle of the room.

She stood with her clipboard and pen in her toe as she watched us with keen eyes, one of the older students behind her with a white measuring tape. "Next!" Sharon called, gesturing for the next to step forward and step on the scale. She measures their height and then gets their weight and calculates their BMI, and if she approves you earn a simple head nod in the direction of the barres on the other side of the studio, but if she doesn't approve you get a nod towards the changing room which can't have a good outcome whatever that may be.

"This is psychotic," Penelope says from behind me, I turned back to the panicked redhead, her arms wrapped around herself. "like this has been unethical teaching I'm sure this is against the ballet rules or something."

"If it is I doubt someone like Sharon Bussell cares," I tell her, my eyes wandering to the font where Sharon had the student wrap the measuring tape around another student's waist and then their necks. I turn back to Penelope to see her sinking into herself still, her arms hugging around her tighter than before the closer we got to the scale. It's no secret that Penn is one of the curvier dancers in the school but even still she's one of the best I've ever seen. Her confidence and stage presence are something I could only wish to have so to see her standing here with sweat forming against her forehead as she nervously waited to hear measured made me sad.

The line moved again and this time it was Aurora's turn to step on the scale. Even she looks a little annoyed as she waits to be measured, her doll-like brown eyes rolling to the ceiling as she holds up both her arms letting the measuring tape wrap around her small waist. "24 inches exact," she announces matter-of-factly, and the student measuring her reads the tape to make sure before nodding in agreement towards Miss Sharon who writes down on her clipboard.

Time seemed to be moving at a standstill in the studio, everyone's cautious about this new method Sharon was implementing. Before I knew it was my turn to step on the scale. I exhaled a low breath as I placed my feet on the white metal square. I try not to look down as the scale configures to my weight, my eyes bouncing everywhere else. I know I'm not the usual build for a male ballet dancer due to my broad shoulders and chest but I can't help how I'm naturally built, and as much as I wish I could tear myself apart limb from limb and reconstruct myself in the way I want to be I simply can't.

When the scale finally stops moving I lose the urge to ignore the numbers glaring back at me on the scale. Since that conversation with Miss Sharon where she told me to watch my weight, I've taken her words to heart. My entire diet has changed since then. I'm not eating the things I used to eat anymore, my portions are getting smaller, and some days I just don't feel like eating at all. Is it bad? Probably. Is this unhealthy? Maybe so but then I see the numbers on the scale and then the slight tug of Miss Sharon's lips as she looks at me with approval. Suddenly the lightheadedness that's been clouding my thoughts all day doesn't seem to bother me anymore, and the grumbling in my stomach seems to subside as well.

They take my measurements, my waist and neck falling in line with my recorded height and weight. Miss Sharon's stone grey eyes linger on me for a while and I can feel the judging radiating from her cold pupils but then there's another slight smile to her lips, this one showing a little teeth. Rows of white behind red-stained lips.

"Perfect, Kylo." She said.

If I were a dog my tail would be wagging uncontrollably right about now, but I'm not a golden retriever so instead the only thing I could do was stare in awe as the legendary prima ballerina herself just called me perfect, a compliment I'm sure is not granted to many — by her at least. However, I didn't have enough time to take it in before she waved her clipboard at me.

"Next . . ." she calls shooing me off the scale.

I stumble off the scale and fall in the direction of the others who have passed the height and weight test. I stand beside Aurora, her slim arms folded across her chest. She turns her nose up at me. There was a slight curl to her top lip that gave me a feeling of satisfaction and I looked down and wiggled my eyebrows at the already annoyed girl which in return only caused her to let out a scoff.

It's Penelope turn to move forward. She steps on the scale with a slight hesitation in her foot. I watched with concentrated eyes as both of Pen's feet fell flat on the scale. Miss Sharon's cold eyes immediately went to the numbers showcased before her eyes darted back up towards Penelope, a questionable brow raised following shortly after. I can see the red-haired girl swallow the swelling lump in her throat. When the measuring tape is around her waist I can tell she's sucking in her stomach but even then Sharon doesn't seem satisfied with the results. After writing down on her clipboard some more Sharon looks Penelope in the eye, an unyielding sternness in her storm pupils.

I can see Penelope's entire world collapse when Sharon nods toward the dressing room instead of the other side of the room. She turns her head in my direction, light eyes starting to fill with tears. She steps off the scale and walks over to the dressing room door before disappearing behind it and my chest tightens at the scene.

Height and weight went on for a little while longer until the entire class was separated into two categories: those who passed and those who didn't. The number of dancers had dwindled by only a few but even still it was noticeable in the air, in the way everyone stood so secluded from one another. Miss Sharon had finally placed down her clipboard and came over to us, wrinkled hands clasping together into a slow drawled-out clap that bounced off the walls of the room.

"Congratulations, you all passed the first test." Her voice echoes through the quiet studio as she steps in front of us.

First . . .

"Who are the Principal dancers for this class again?" she asked, eyes scanning around the studio for those who held the title.

A Principal Dancer is a dancer at the highest rank within a ballet company. A principal may be male or female. The position is similar to that of a soloist; however, principals regularly perform not only solos but also pas de deux. They are the best in the room, the perfect picture of elegance and grace. It's an honor to be chosen as one. We only had three here.

Opal McNeil raised her hand. She's a senior. After her, the next hand to go up was Kristen Black. I like Kristen. She's nice and always makes sure to send me a smile when we pass each other around campus. Not to mention she was one out of the four black people in the class including myself so we kinda have that connection. The last hand to go up made my eyes roll. Aurora couldn't help but smile brightly as she lifted a perfectly manicured hand. Though I don't agree with Aurora being assigned as one of the Principal Dancers I couldn't knock the her dancing ability. Even with her father's connection and money, it's undeniable that she's good on her own and has earned the title of Principal but that still doesn't excuse her nasty attitude and rude remarks to me and the other dancers. There's nothing I hate more than a bratty nepo baby.

"If your hands are up I'm assuming your last instructor thought you were the best of the best," Sharon paced around in front of us, light eyes shooting from one dancer to the next. " however after watching and examining you all for the last couple of weeks, I've come up with my own opinions. I haven't seen you dance on stage, only in this studio so those titles mean nothing to me and you can easily be switched out. From here on out those positions are invalid and I'll be deciding for myself who should earn the titles."

Subtle whispered and gasps sounded off throughout the studio. That everyone talking now. Everyone except Aurora whose bright smile from earlier seemed to switch into a more confused one.

"That means any of us can get it." Someone said from beside me.

"Now," Miss Sharon clapped her hands together. The sound roared like thunder through the studio and everyone became quiet again. "with that being said I'll give you all a little heads up on our next upcoming performance. It's Swan Lake — a pas de deux meaning there will be both female and male lead. We'll hold auditions next week where I'll pick the pair and we can move on from there."

Swan Lake is one of the most known ballet performances. The story is not just amazing but the choreography is renowned for both its technical difficulty and its dramatic cohesion. It's not easy but this is an opportunity I've been waiting for, something to show and prove to everyone that I know what the hell I'm doing. In the story of Swan Lake the two leading roles are always the Swan Queen and Prince Siegfried. I have to score the part of the prince. There's no other option.

Rehearsals ended fairly quickly after that. Everyone was packing up their things and leaving the studio while Sharon went to the dressing to speak with those who didn't pass height and weight. I could get a peak of Penelope in the dressing room as Sharon entered through the door, her arms still clinging around her body like she wanted to shrink inside herself. The brief eye contact we made my chest tighten, the worried look on her irises clinched at my heartstrings but before I could utter a single word the door closed in both our faces.

I walked out of the studio confused and conflicted. I was confused because what the hell had just happened back there was surely something unethical, but even still when Sharon praised me for my body I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment which I know I shouldn't especially after seeing the way she treated Penelope and the others who didn't fit her criteria. Oddly enough I did fit the criteria.

Perfect.

That's what she said. Sharon Bussell — prima ballerina of her time said I was perfect. I don't know if I have a praise kink or whatever but that startled something in me.

When I hit a corner of a street I'm met with the cooling air New York air of the night. It's getting colder now. It is the type of coldness that reaches into my bones, as if my rib cage were a door left wide open to the icy wind, slamming only to open again. The only thing to do is keep moving, keep heading toward home and the steady warmth of my movements. It doesn't help the only thing I have to cover myself is my clothes from rehearsals which consisted of nothing more than sweats and a jacket with my gym bag slung lazily over my shoulder.

I see headlights flash from behind me and oddly enough I don't feel the need to turn around like I usually would. I halt my steps, the sounds of the wheels of the car pulling up beside me filling the air around me. The warmth from the expensive car warmed my skin through my clothes a bit.  "Following me again Stone?" I don't even wait for the tinted windows of the black Rolls Royce to roll down before I speak.

"I wasn't following you," The dark tinted windows start to comedown and I'm met with one of the most dangerous men in the city, face all serious and stiff like he's always stuck in timeout. "I was handling some things not too far from here actually."

"What kinda things?" I found myself asking out of curiosity, my arms wrapped around myself as the chilled air brushed against my cheeks again.

He doesn't answer right away, a knowing look coming on his face as he cocked his left brow at me.

"Oh . . . those kind of things," I answered my question.

Stone looks at me, brown eyes scanning me up and down. "You cold?"

My shoulder shrugged. "I'm fine. It's not that bad-"

"Get in." He doesn't even give me time to finish my sentence, rolling up his window in my face. Before I even have time to think about what just happened the passenger door opened and one of his men got out in their usual uniformed tailored suits to fit just right and opened up the backseat door for me. I'm immediately met with Stone's eyes already on me, and I don't know if I'm shuttering from his intense gaze or the icy wind that blew against my neck. Either way, I know there's no point in arguing with him so I get in, my body falling right in place next to him.

As I cautiously settled into the plush leather seat of the sleek car, I found myself face to face with the imposing figure of Benavonté Bellerose. No matter how many times I end up around him I always have the lingering thought of how he's a notorious mafia boss known for his ruthlessness and cunning. My nerves were on edge as I braced myself for whatever conversation lay ahead.

"Where you coming from?" His gravelly voice broke the tense silence.

I glanced at him, trying to gauge his intentions. "Rehearsals," I answer plainly. Is he trying to create small talk?

He raised an eyebrow, studying me with a calculating gaze. "Oh right, you did say you dance. Ballet, correct?" I hesitated, caught off guard by his unexpected remembrance. I don't remember if I ever even told him that directly but then again Stone knows a lot of things about a lot of people that I'm sure his little mob men help him find so I shouldn't be too surprised.

"Yeah . . ."

Silence overtook the car and for once I'm grateful. I'm doing my best to maintain my composure but my stomach chose the worst possible moment to betray me. A low, rumbling growl echoed through the car, causing my cheeks to flush with embarrassment almost immediately.

Stone glanced at me, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "Hungry?"

I felt a surge of panic as I scrambled for an excuse. "Oh, uh, no, it's nothing. Just... uh, indigestion."

His left brow twitched into a knowing raise. "Indigestion? Well if your stomach is that upset you should eat some greens or rice to help settle it. There's a restaurant not too far from where we are right now."

"No Stone," I turned to him and said. "I'm not that hungry, seriously." my stomach becomes the biggest bitch in the world and turns against me, another growl sounding off throughout the car. My heart sank as I realized there was no escaping the situation. "Fine but nothing that's gonna take too long. I still have to get home, it's my night to do dishes." I tell him.

Stone let out a low chuckle, signaling to his driver to change course towards a nearby restaurant. As we made our way through the city streets, I cursed my growling stomach for betraying me at the worst possible moment.

••••

EXCUSE ANY MISTAKES OR ERRORS

Kylo: hi-

Miss Sharon: