by Maya William
What happened to all those calm and relaxing weekends I used to spend at Saint Magdalene?
Different Kind of News
“Hey, flexible little bird,” Frederik says when he approaches me the following day at my locker. “I heard you’re an expert in other exciting areas outside of ballet.”
My arms wrap around my body, and I flinch when he grinds his hips at me.
“Back off, Sullivan!” Darcy shouts.
He glances at her dismissively. “Why hang out with an O’Flannagan when you could be with the cool kids?” He points his thumbs at himself. “I’m sure we can make your time with us worthwhile.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“Stop it!” Darcy puts herself between us.
“Do you want to join the fun as well?” He steps closer. “A threesome sound like something we could all benefit from.”
Threesome?
“You heard them, Sullivan, back off!” Portia shouts from the other side of the hall.
Darcy stiffens as she joins us.
“You can be such a pig sometimes.” Portia’s eyes move from Frederik’s head to his feet, her face twisting in disgust. She grabs my hand and pulls me away. “Come on, Samantha, let’s ignore this idiot.”
Not wanting to leave Darcy alone with the guy, I take her hand with my free one.
“Don’t be such a party pooper. I wanted to ask her number to hang out sometime,” Sullivan calls after us.
Ewww, no thank you.
Once we put a safe distance between us, I let go of Portia’s and Darcy’s hands. “Thanks.” My voice comes out in a whisper.
“What was that even about?” Darcy asks, trailing behind us.
“This is all about a stupid rumor that started yesterday.” Portia rolls her eyes and shakes her hand dismissively. “Don’t let Sullivan near you if you don’t want the story to spread further, Samantha.”
What rumor does she mean? Honestly, Big Guy, I never led him on. He practically cornered me against my locker.
Darcy’s eyes narrow on Portia. “Isn’t he one of the guys you hang out with?”
With one quick, sharp move, Portia turns around, startling me.
I halt just before running into her, and Darcy crashes into me. The impact makes us stumble to the floor.
Portia rolls her eyes at Darcy and extends her hand to help me up. “O’Flannagan, you’re as clumsy as they get!” She shakes her head, exasperated. “Samantha, if I were you, I’d keep my distance from this one, or you’ll find Anya’s wishes coming true.”
Darcy’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “What wishes do you mean?”
“Nothing serious, just the usual joke between us ballet dancers. You know, the whole break-a-leg thing. Obviously, she means no harm.” She waves a hand as if dismissing Anya’s comment before she glares at Darcy. “Unlike you, who could inflict actual harm to our principal dancer.” She turns and widens her eyes at me as if telling me to beware. “Besides, you need to hang out with the right crowd, and with one that doesn’t represent a risk to the production we all worked so hard on over the last couple of months.”
My mouth falls open. No matter her reason for the suggestion, her words are still awful.
Darcy’s eyes brim with tears, and red splotches cover her face.
I step closer to her and extend my hand to help her stand, but she shakes her head and slaps it away.
Portia’s hand closes around my arm, pulling me away. “Come on, Samantha, we need to get to class.”
“Wait!” I yank my arm away and return to Darcy. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be okay, but you should follow your friend’s advice.” She stands and straightens her skirt. “Remember the ricochet effect. Don’t let your good nature get sucked into my clumsiness vortex.” She shrugs and drops her eyes from mine.
“Now, come, or we’ll get detention for being late to class.” Portia takes hold of my arm again and pulls me away from Darcy, who runs off in the opposite direction.
I can’t stop thinking about Darcy during my morning classes, and my chest tightens.
By lunchtime, I make up my mind to straighten things out with my friend. Unfortunately, I can’t find her.
My mood sinks even lower when I realize I’m probably to blame for her disappearance. I approach my family’s table, where they’re discussing something.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Portia calls out from a nearby table. “Come and join the ballet group.” She motions with her hand for the girls sitting near her to scoot the chair farther down, then points to the seat next to hers.
They all wave at me, inviting me to join them.
Uh? Don’t they usually sit on the opposite side of the cafeteria?
“Uhm…” I eye my usual table, then theirs.
My family is still deep in their discussion. If they’re talking about something from their investigation, I don’t want to interrupt them. My presence will either sidetrack the discussion, or they’ll just ignore me like the last few times.
Finally, I sit next to Portia.
“The homecoming dance is going to be ah-mazing,” one of the blonds mentions, apparently continuing what they were discussing before I joined them. “I bet Geoffrey asks me out.”
Portia laughs and whispers in my ear, “No, he won’t. He already asked me, but shh! Don’t tell.” She pulls away and winks at me.
That sounds kind of mean, letting the poor girl get her hopes up.
A brunette loudly sighs. “I wonder who Knightley will take.”
“He only has eyes for Anya.” Portia gives the girls at the table a stern look.
“No, he doesn’t. Lately, he barely pays any attention to her.” The blond keeps her eyes on me, raising one eyebrow. “Besides, everybody knows Anya is the one pursuing him.”
Portia narrows her eyes on the girl.
She brings her hands up, palms facing us. “Of course, he would be dumb to ask anybody else. After all, Anya and Knightley make such a cute couple.” She blinks rapidly while correcting herself.
A black-haired girl with blue eyes quickly changes the subject. “Do you plan to go to the dance, Samantha?”
I shrug.
“Oh! I bet Mr. Hot Stuff will ask you out, Samantha. He is so, hmm…how do you say it? Caliente!” The blond giggles, tilting her head toward the table where my family sits. “Of course, if you aren’t afraid to be alone with him.”
Me? Scared of being alone with Samuel? A month ago, probably. Today, I really enjoy it.
“Who?” I ask innocently, trying not to be obvious about my feelings for him.
“Samuel, of course! He’s so dreamy.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “But Anya tells us he’s awful! Such a terrible person.”
Samuel?
My back straightens, and my jaw juts out. “He is not.”
“Anya always says how rough he treats her, and how her body is covered in bruises because he holds her too tight,” Portia confesses. “He always reprimands her about her postures and lines, which are perfect, by the way.”
How can they believe such an unreliable source?
“I’ve never had a problem dancing with him. He keeps a firm hold because he doesn’t want you to fall over, but I’ve never gotten any bruises because of it, and believe me, I would know since I bruise easily. Plus, he’s an excellent ballet dancer. One of the best I’ve met,” I explain to the rest of the girls.
They stare at me in shock and surprise.
Sorry, Big Guy, I don’t know how accurate my last statement is since I hardly know any male ballet dancers other than the Calvary ones. But based on the videos of professional dancers that I studied back at Saint Magdalene, I can tell his technique is flawless.
Portia gives my hand a tight squeeze and promptly lets go. “Samantha, don’t lie to us.” She nervously chuckles. “We’ve seen Anya and Samuel dance. When he holds her, her face twists in pain. I don’t envy her one bit.”
She simply reflects externally what a big pain in the butt she
really is. Sorry, Big Guy, I owe you one Hail Mary.
“Well, I do,” the blond replies. “I would be happy as a clam if he would lift me with those sexy arms of his and hold me tight against his muscular, defined chest.” She blushes and covers her mouth.
Her words set my stomach on fire. Selfish little me wants to be the only girl he dances with, lifts, and holds in his arms.
But why does it matter? I’m just his friend.
“Has anyone asked you out, Samantha?” Portia turns to fix her gaze on me as she waits for my answer.
Not wanting to confess that Archie already did, I shrug.
“Or are you waiting for somebody special to ask you out?” Portia raises her eyebrows.
Honestly, yes. I want Samuel to ask me out.
“Well, you’ll probably get, like, a ton of options,” the chatty blond girl quickly steps in. “What with all your brother’s friends to choose from. Besides, everyone in the junior class can’t stop talking about you.”
Really?
“Chloe!” Portia’s head snaps toward her.
Chloe’s eyes widen. “What? She hangs around with the O’Flannagans all the time or with her brother’s friends.” She straightens and eyes the rest of the girls. “In fact, I want to ask her to introduce us to her group.” She turns and smiles at me. “Maybe give your brother a hint that he could take me to the dance? Or perhaps one of the O’Flannagan twins?”
Big Guy, what can I say to that?
“Somebody told me Zach already has his mind set on asking someone out,” Portia states, slamming down Chloe’s hopes. “And one of the O’Flannagans, Chloe? Really?” She raises her eyebrows and twists her face in disgust.
Chloe slumps in her seat.
“Who?” one of the girls asks. “Who is Zach taking to the dance?”
Portia shrugs.
“I’ll bet it’s the Asian one. She’s really cute,” the black-haired girl guesses.
Joy and Zach together? Nah! They couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Chloe, do you really want to eat that French fry?” a curly-haired girl who’s kept quiet the whole time asks the moment Chloe touches her food.
Chloe’s hand stops inches away from the fry. “The doctor said I need to keep my weight and not lose any, or, you know…” She eyes the rest of the table and slowly withdraws her hand.
“Then eat an apple,” the curly-haired girl takes the apple from her own tray. “Remember, a moment in your mouth, and a lifetime on your thighs.”
Chloe glances from the fry to the apple. Option B is clearly not her preferred choice, but she reluctantly takes it.
From my goody bag, I remove a container of mixed nuts and cranberries and offer her some. She smiles but keeps the apple in her hand.
“She already gained a lot of weight,” the curly-haired girl explains. “Nuts are not the—”
“They are a good source of protein and natural fat,” I interrupt before she crushes option C. As an example, I eat a couple. “At today’s training, we’ll burn the calories from them off. Plus, the protein will give us more energy.”
Chloe takes a few nuts from the container.
“Thanks.” She smiles and pops them into her mouth.
I offer the rest of the girls some, noticing how they barely touched the food on their trays.
Could this be the group I need to keep a close eye on? Clearly, Miss Milstein has gotten to them.
Scavenger Hunt
During ballet class, I could almost kiss Monsieur Pietro when he asks me to work with the girls for the group dances instead of the solo with Knightley.
This should keep Anya calm. Right, Big Guy?
Chloe and some of the girls from lunch teach me the group choreography while making me feel welcome.
After some practice, we run through the choreography at the end of the class. We get an approving nod from Monsieur Pietro and a reluctant one from Miss Hathaway.
“Miss Brontë, lift your arms higher and open them more. Spread your fingers to soften the move,” Monsieur Pietro corrects the girl who Anya called BLT last Tuesday.
“Of course, Monsieur,” she replies and follows his instructions.
Her body is fit, with legs that go on for miles, and her moves hold certainty and elegance. With her brown hair up in a high, tight bun and bangs that almost reach her beautiful hazel eyes, she looks like the perfect ballerina. But her technique needs a few modifications. With a few twitches and changes, she could easily outdo most of the girls here.
“Now, messieurs, your turn.” Our instructor cues the guys, giving the girls a small break.
I take this opportunity and approach BLT. “Hi!”
She glances up, her eyes widen and her forehead creasing as she realizes I’m talking to her.
“Is it all right if I sit here next to you?” I ignore the questioning looks Portia gives me.
“Sure. No problem.”
We comment on the guys’ dance and chuckle when one performs a funny part from the choreography. She gasps when Samuel makes a bold move and nails it perfectly.
This girl knows ballet!
“Have you studied ballet for long?” I turn to study her reaction.
She shrugs. “Mom took me to different studios when I was little, but I started taking it seriously a couple of years ago when I entered Calvary.” Her head turns toward me. “How about you?”
“I’ve danced for a few years,” I generalize, not wanting to confess that it’s been twelve years since that sounds like bragging.
“I never believed it would be hard, but since I entered this class, my opinion changed.” She stares at her hands. “Somehow, I can’t do anything right, even in the beginners’ class, Miss Milstein constantly corrected me at first. Now, with Monsieur Pietro, I dance like Miss Milstein taught me, but I still feel like I suck.” She shakes her head.
Well, Miss Milstein wasn’t exactly the perfect teacher. At all!
“How about I help you with some minor corrections?” I offer.
She tilts her head to one side to glance at me. “I don’t want to take any of your time and trouble you…”
“You’re not troubling me,” I correct her. “I get the feeling you need some minor tweaking on your technique to achieve the poses Monsieur Pietro requires.”
She bites her thumbnail, considering my proposal.
“How about after class,” she whispers.
“Perfect!” I like the idea of helping this girl, and as a bonus, I’ll avoid Anya in the locker room.
Out of sight, out of mind. Right, Big Guy?
After practice, we stay behind, and she shows me her moves. As expected, her technique has Miss Milstein written all over it. But after I correct her, she can easily surpass most of the girls in the group in technique.
“Let’s try it again,” I say.
We work together on the choreography I learned today, and I ask her to do the modifications. The changes make a world of difference.
After we perform the dance together, applause from the studio’s entrance distracts us.
I turn to find Samuel leaning against the doorframe watching us.
“That was beautiful,” he congratulates us as he walks over to where we stand. He extends his hand toward me, then after I take it pulls me in for a hug.
Oops, I totally forgot about Samuel waiting for me.
“Sorry, I got lost in the ballet world.” My words die in my mouth when his big smile and amazing gaze tells me it’s no trouble at all.
“Oh, hi! I’m Samuel, by the way.” He steps forward and offers his hand to BLT.
Bad Samantha! I’ve been with the girl for at least twenty minutes and never bothered to ask her name. Sister Agatha would give me an earful about my behavior.
“I know.” She steps forward and shakes his hand. “I’m Beatrice.”
“Now, the two of you should go and change before you get in deeper trouble with your sister.” He points his finger at me before walking toward the changing
room.
Darn it! I forgot about the whole being-grounded thing.
Beatrice and I share a glance, and she nods, understanding the situation. “We’ll be quick.”
We both run off to change.
When silence greets us inside the locker room, a grin reaches my lips. It can mean only one thing: no Anya.
But as we walk in together, my hand flies to my forehead in horror. My locker door hangs wide open and empty.
No!
“What’s wrong?” Beatrice walks up next to me and gasps.
“My things! They’re not here!” I slam my locker door shut.
She runs over to her own locker, and her hand flies to her heart in relief. Unlike mine, her locker remains untouched.
Tears fill my eyes, and my gaze falls to the floor where I spot one of my notebooks under the bench. I drop to my knees and pull it out.
“They took your stuff and hid it.” She sighs.
“Who took them?” My eyes travel below the length of the bench and then move up, desperate to find my things. I’m running short on time. “And where did they hide them?”
“Anya and her minions. They usually hide them close by.”
She gets on her tippy toes to search on top of the lockers, stretches her arm, and lifts down one of my shoes. Then she moves to the next line and finds the other one. “How about I help you?”
“Thanks, Beatrice.” I go through the locker room, searching high and low for my books, my clothes, and the rest of my belongings.
Ten minutes later, we’ve found most of my items. They hid my clothes in the shower and took the liberty of cleaning them. My notebooks ended up in different trash cans inside the locker room, but thankfully, they’re in one piece. Unfortunately, my cell phone is still missing.
No! How can I explain this to Archie? Breaking it, plausible. Losing it… Shift, he’ll label me as a scatterbrain.
“If it’s nearby we can probably call it.” She takes her phone out from her backpack. “Give me your number, and I’ll call you.”
After I tell her, she dials. We wait for the ring to give away its position, but we don’t hear anything.