Forbidden Dance

The weather outside is frigid, matching my mood, as my stepmother Sadie runs a single manicured finger over the windowsill of my dorm room, lifting it to her face a moment later to inspect the dust that has settled on the tip of her perfect finger. She makes a face, shooting a glance over her shoulder at my father who has been standing awkwardly to the side as she tears apart every little thing about my room.

"It's dirty," she announces to no one in particular. My new roommate isn't here yet, thank God, and I'm hoping she won't show up until after my dad and step-monster finally leave me in peace.

"I don't mind," I say, trying to usher her along faster. "It just needs a little wipe down. I can do that."

Sadie turns in my direction, her nostrils flaring like they do when she thinks I've said or done something stupid, which is almost always. "Your father and I aren't paying for you to be here and clean," she huffs. "That's the school staff's job."

I bite my lip to keep myself from reminding her that whatever money is being paid into this institution for my schooling doesn't come from her; not even a single drop of it. My father is funding this excursion, which is even worse because Sadie got to choose which college I enrolled in, and the only one I actually wanted, far away from her and far away from Seattle, wasn't an option. But what Sadie says, goes. It's been like that for years since my mother died and my father remarried a woman who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was his mistress.

Fucked up, right? Yeah, I think so too.

"I'd better get settled in," I say to the room, hoping my dad will take the hint and guide Sadie out. I'm so tired of being under the scrutinizing gaze and thumb of my prude of a stepmother. Finally, I'm free, eighteen, and in college ... and I still can't get rid of her. Even now, sitting in my new dorm room, I've been forced to dress in what Sadie refers to as appropriate clothing. A knee-high skirt from the stone age, leggings so I don't show too much skin, and a sweatshirt that makes my skin itch uncomfortably against the itchy fabric. Even now I can't get rid of her influence.

"Honey, Faith is right," my dad says, finally finding his balls to speak up. It's rare, but it has happened before. "Let's go and let her get settled in."

As Sadie considers this, the front door opens, and a young woman who must be my assigned roommate poked her head in, flashing the three of us an awkward smile as she pulls a suitcase full of luggage in after her. I rise from the bed with a grin, holding out my hand, grateful for the distraction. Maybe now they'll leave.

"Are you Tara?" I ask. "I'm Faith. It's nice to meet you."

"Yes," she's beaming as she shakes my hand, and I'm silently filled with glee as I take in her ripped skinny jeans, tie-died tank top, black pixie cut, and nose and eyebrow piercing. This girl is the last sort of influence Sadie would have picked for my roommate, and that fact alone has me silently gloating. "Nice to meet you, too," she says, and it's impossible not to catch the way her eyes dart over my conservative, ridiculous outfit. Anything to appease the step-monster, I want to tell her. But we'll get to that later.

"Darling," my father says, trying to snag Sadie's attention again. He's bored, I can tell, and I don't blame him. "Let's leave the girls to get to know each other, shall we?"

Sadie tears her disapproving gaze away from Tara for a moment before she wheels on me again, hands poised on her hips like she's preparing to scold a toddler. "Rules," she says. "What are they?"

Heat rises to my neck and cheeks as anger boils in my chest, but I close my eyes and recite what she wants to hear. If I don't, I'll never hear the end of it, no matter how humiliating this is about to be.

"No drinking, no smoking, no parties, no boys," I say, inwardly cringing as the words leave my mouth. From the corner of my eye, I see Tara's jaw drop as she settles herself on the empty bed, but I can't meet her gaze.

"And?" Sadie persists, her cold blue eyes boring into mine. As I meet her gaze again, my jaw locks, and I resist the urge to knock her flat on her ass.

"And no dance," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the floor. I'm weak. I can never hold my own against her.

"That's right," Sadie says. "We're paying a pretty penny for you to study economics at this school, and I refuse to sit by and watch you throw it all away for a chance to show off your half-naked body to a bunch of men."

I grit my teeth without answering, wondering what Tara thinks of me now. With my luck, she'll have requested a new roommate before Sadie even leaves campus.

"Time to go," Dad says, crossing the room to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Call if you need anything, Faith."

Yeah, right.

"Sure, Dad."

"Behave," Sadie says, not bothering to hug me goodbye as she follows my father to the door. Behind me, Tara waves cheerily at them.

"Nice to meet you," she calls, but Sadie pretends like she's heard nothing as she leaves the room, shutting the door forcefully behind her.

Finally, I can breathe.

A migraine is tugging at my skull as I turn around to look at Tara, embarrassed she'd heard the lecture. But she doesn't look disgusted by me, not at all. She looks amused.

"Stepmom?" she asks as I cross the room and sit back down on the edge of the not-so-cozy bed. I don't care that it's not expensive or fancy. I'd sleep on a concrete floor before returning home and living under her roof.

"How did you know?" I ask, reaching for the outrageously tight clip in my hair to undo it, letting my golden blond curls escape from their prison and down my back.

"The dynamic between you two," Tara says with a laugh. "The hate is real. She seems like a right bitch, that one."

"She is." I can't defend her, not even a little. Sadie is beyond a bitch. Sadie is a fucking monster.

"You seem like a smart, well-rounded woman," Tara continues, her bold brown eyes scanning me, sizing me up. "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

"It's a long story," I say with a sigh. "She might look like a bloodsucking demon from the outside, but on the inside, she's so much worse. Trust me ...you don't want to tangle with her."

Tara shrugs as she lifts her suitcase onto her empty bed and unzips it to begin unpacking. I watch her for a moment, smitten with this girl already. She's unabashedly her, and I like that in a person. It's been a long time since I could be unapologetically me, too.

As Tara unpacks, humming silently under her breath, I figured I should do the same. I unzip my bag and pull out all the shitty, conservative garments Sadie had bought and packed for me. More long skirts, more leggings to go under said skirts, and too many sweaters to count. As I'm folding these things and stuffing them into a tiny drawer on my side of the room, I notice that Tara is watching me.

"Is that all you have?" she asks. "Sweaters and pioneer skirts?"

I laugh, although it's not funny, and shake my head. "The majority of it, yes," I say, shoving a pair of stockings into the top drawer before slamming it shut. "But it's not everything." Nibbling my lip, I pull out the remainder of my clothes, the ones that had been safely hidden beneath Sadie's mess of crap. A glittery, spaghetti strap top with the word Dance scrolled across the front, as well as a pair of fishnet stockings, frayed denim shorts that make my ass look good, and a pair of ballet flats that would have given Sadie a stroke if she'd seen them. As I drape my outfit over the bed, Tara's eyes light up.

"Damn girl," she says. "Maybe you're not the lost cause I thought you were."

"I haven't always been like this," I say, glancing down with disgust at my current outfit. "This is all Sadie's doing. But ...Sadie's not here now, is she?"

Tara beams. I have a feeling I've made my first real friend here.

"No, she's not," she confirms. "So how about you throw that spicy little number on, and we can take a tour of the campus."

I run a hand through my loose curls and lean into my suitcase for one last thing; a small bag of hidden makeup that Sadie never knew about. I hold it up and grin at Tara. "Give me five minutes."

It takes me even less time than that, and I'm feeling so much better about today as I rake a hand through my blonde hair and then follow Tara out of our dorm room and toward the quad, where new freshmen orientation is taking place. Strangely enough, the vile weather seems to have vanished right alongside my evil stepmother, and I raise my face to the sky as the Washington sun peeks out from behind the clouds and basks us in warm light.

"This is so nice," Tara remarks, taking a deep breath of the bitter air. "I love when the rain washes away all the pollution and junk in the air."

"You're in for a real treat, because it's rainy here all the time," I remark, unable to focus for too long on one single thing as we walk through the quad, glancing between the booths showing off their organized activities, sports, and clubs, encouraging new students to join. "Where are you from anyway? Are you a Seattle native?"

"New York," Tara says, and this hardly surprises me. I can see it in her; she's got that hood rat kind of vibe going on, but only in the best way possible. I could guess she lived close to, if not inside, the city.

"New York," I muse. "That was my first pick for school, actually."

"Was it?" Tara glances briefly at me, her silver nose ring catching the sun briefly. "What school?"

I almost lie because it seems so ridiculous and far-fetched now. A child's dream. "Julliard."

Sure enough, Tara giggles at this like I've said something funny. When I don't laugh, she stops smirking, plastering an apologetic look on her face. "Sorry," she says quickly. "It's just, you know-well, it's Julliard."

"I'm aware."

"So, you're a dancer?"

I pause, wishing I hadn't said anything at all. It's easier that way. "I used to be," I say softly. "When my mother was alive, anyway."

Sensing we're on thin ice, Tara nods and stops walking, giving me a moment to compose myself as we look around, watching the students around us.

"What made you stay here instead?" Tara asks, but something in her tone of voice assures me she already knows the answer to that.

"My step-monster," I tell her, and that's the truth. While getting into Julliard had always probably been nothing but a pipe dream, Sadie had ensured that's all it would ever be.

"What a bitch," Tara says for the second time that day, and I nod in agreement. As we step forward to continue walking, the sudden blast of hip-hop music pulls my attention from the sidewalk, and I look over my shoulder, turning in the direction of the music. Out on the damp lawn, a team of dancers unites in a circle, drawing in curious stares from bystanders. I glance at Tara, who is already headed in that direction, and follow her.

There are both men and women on this team, and I watch in awe as they begin their number. Confidence pours from their very core as begin their dance, which I can only describe as a fascinating concoction of hip-hop, jazz, and dancing dirty. Three men and two women shake their asses to the beat. It's enthralling, and invigorating, and as I watch the women grind against the oh-so-sexy male dancers, a tingle between my legs reminds me that I am still human.

"Damn," Tara says with a small whistle. "Hopefully they're using protection."

I silently agree, pulling my lip between my teeth to gnaw on it again, a bad habit I'd had since childhood, one that Sadie despised. It was a nervous tick, and as I watched the dancers on the lawn, my nerves felt sky-high, though I wasn't sure why. Envy, maybe. Apprehension. What would Sadie say if she'd seen this before leaving? She probably would have ripped me off campus and loaded me back into the car.

As the dance number ends, leaving students clapping and hooting on the lawn, Tara glances at me with raised eyebrows. "Check it," she says, nudging me in the arm. "The hot guy has flyers. They must be recruiting."

Before I can come up with some excuse-any excuse-as to why I need to heed caution and stay as far away from these people as possible, Tara has me by the arm and is dragging me towards their little booth, right in the direction of the kid-or should I say, man-handing out fliers. He's one of the dancers who has just performed, and his steady, domineering gaze settles on us as we step into his space.

"Hey there," he says. His sharp, focused gaze is intense and unwavering, and the ice blue of his eyes almost makes me cower. His gaze flickers over the scrawl on my shirt, and I want to kick myself for putting it on before leaving the dorm. I should have stayed in the nun outfit Sadie had forced me into all along. "Do you dance?"

I glance down awkwardly at my shirt and sigh, wishing I was anywhere but here. "I used to," I say. Next to me, a scoff of irritation escapes from Tara's lips and she pinches me, making me jump.

"This is my roommate, Faith," she says. "I'm Tara."

"Danny," the guy says, and I squirm under his scrutinizing gaze as he offers his hand to us. Danny's posture alone is confident and assertive, with a strong, commanding presence that demands attention. He exudes an air of authority, and I can almost tell just by the way that he holds himself that he must be the team leader of this little troupe. As my hand touches him, a shock of electricity pulses down my arm, and I yank away, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Danny is a few years older than me, well-built and athletic, with a toned physique that suggests a commitment to fitness and discipline. This is exactly the kind of guy I used to drool over.

Okay, and maybe still do. A little.

"Here's a flyer," he says, handing one to me and one to Tara. He looks bored with us already, and I can't blame him. I'm not exactly offering enthralling conversation topics. "We're always looking for backup dancers and whatnot." He turns away, making it clear that he's finished with us, and I glance briefly at the paper.

"Thanks, but I don't do hip-hop," I tell him, folding the sheet in half to shove it into my back pocket. "I'm only really trained well in ballet."

At the word ballet, Danny's attention focuses on me again, and his dark eyebrows furrow. "Ballet, you say?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." He glances at Tara as if to confirm this, but she just shrugs. He averts his attention back to me and smiles for the first time since saying hello. "We're looking specifically for ballet dancers," he says. "There aren't a lot around here."

"Yeah, I know."

He scrutinizes me, those blue eyes raking over my body as if trying to determine if I'm lying to him or not.

"How much experience do you have?" he asks. I glance awkwardly at Tara, silently wondering if I could get away with bolting and hiding until Danny has vanished with his team. All I can think about as he drills me for information is what Sadie will think when she catches wind of my little chit-chat with the dance team here. I've been strictly forbidden. And there are no secrets from Sadie. I'm not so sure this is worth the risk.

"Faith," Tara hisses under her breath. "Are you still with us?"

Hardly.

"A few years," I say vaguely. "But I'm sorry, I really don't have time for this. I'm not supposed to be dancing. I need to focus on my studies."

"You're not supposed to dance?" Danny repeats. "Is that what your mommy told you?" He's teasing, but a shard of ice rips through my heart anyway. He has no idea. Nobody does.

"Sorry to waste your time," I say. "And good luck with finding more dancers for your team."

I turn to walk away, holding my breath, but just before I can escape his clutches, Danny reaches out, taking me by the arm and pulling me to a stop. I'm so surprised by this that I don't fight him, and instead turn to face him as that strange buzz of anticipation travels through me.

"Look," he says. "I don't know your story, but there's something about you that makes me think we could use you on the team."

"I don't think-"

"We're holding special tryouts tomorrow evening in the auditorium," he continues, cutting me off. "This tryout isn't on the roster. It's invite only."

"Great, but-"

"Don't say anything. Just think about it. If you think you'd like to kick ass this semester, then show up and show us what you've got. Okay?"

I don't say okay and I don't agree, because I don't want to bid myself to anything, especially knowing that it's not going to happen. Sadie would flip a bitch, and the last thing I need is her wrath coming down on me before the semester has even begun. But since it doesn't seem like Danny is keen to let me go until I acknowledge this, I nod my head, just once, and then pull my arm out of his grip before turning to walk away. Tara follows me silently, and I can feel Danny's eyes on my back as we retreat, putting as much distance as possible between us and that guy before I feel comfortable enough to breathe again.

"Damn, girl," Tara says, jogging to catch up with me. "That was intense. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Tara nudges me as we walk, insisting I tell her the truth. "It's because of Sadie, isn't it?"

I blow out a breath of air between my teeth and nod. Tara is my roommate now, and unless I plan on lying to her about everything, there's no harm in fessing up.

"She's a nightmare," I tell her. "It's not worth the risk."

"Hey." Tara reaches out and pulls me to a gentle stop, deep brown eyes meeting mine. She shakes her head. "I don't know this woman nor your relationship with her," she admits. "But I do know that it's toxic and probably abusive." She must notice the tears in my eyes because she draws me in for a hug. For a second I resist, but then I let it happen. It's been a long time since anyone has hugged me like that. "Fuck Sadie," Tara continues, holding me out at arm's length as she squeezes my arms. "You're free of her now, I promise. It's time to stand up and live your life, girl. Do you understand?"

"But I-"

"No buts," she insists. "Take tonight to think about it, okay? If by tomorrow you think you're ready to escape that witch's clutches, let me know, and I'll escort you to tryouts myself."

As we finish up the short routine we've just done on the lawn, I watch in mild amusement as the girl in the Dancer shirt shakes her head at Danny and folds the flyer in half before cramming it into her back pocket, looking less than enthusiastic about the prospect of trying out for the team. The girl standing next to her with the pixie cut and face jewelry looks embarrassed like she can't believe her friend is acting so standoffish. Both girls are cute, but the one I have my eye on is the blonde.

She's pretty in a subtle sort of way, the kind of girl that you might not pick out in a lineup, but who probably cleans up well. Humble. Sweet. Quiet. She seems like the type who might want a steady relationship instead of a one-night stand, and that's exactly the type of woman I am not looking for. I don't do relationships. Not anymore.

Beads of sweat drip from my brow as I grab a towel and a bottle of water and pop the cap, momentarily forgetting about the girls Danny is talking to as I chug the water, my eyes landing upon one of my teammates, Karen, as she sidles up beside me, no doubt ready to try her hand once more at getting me out on a date. Karen is nice, sure, but she's pushy, and I don't like that. Not to mention, she's not the dancer she thinks she is, and that in itself is a real turnoff. But, as Danny tells us every day, we can't afford to turn away mediocre dancers right now. Not with the competition coming up.

"Looking good out there, Theo," Karen says, grabbing a bottle of water for herself before she takes off the cap and takes a dainty sip. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail and the pointy curves of her hips sway as she walks and moves about. She's attractive, I'll give her that. But again, I don't do relationships.

"Thanks," I say. "You, too." That's a lie, but she doesn't know any better. Girls like Karen think they're better than they are-at everything.

Before she can push for a more mundane conversation, I flash her a polite smile and then move away, reaching into my pocket to check my cell phone, hoping that will be enough to detour her. She doesn't follow me, thank God, but I'm surprised to see that I have a missed call from my twin sister, Sasha. A brief moment of panic wells inside me as I check the voicemail.

"Hey, bro, it's me. I just-well, I wanted to call you and tell you I miss you. We need to get together soon, yeah? Xander is keeping the team pretty busy, but maybe I can sneak out and visit at some point, anyway." There's a small chuckle on the other end of the line, and I close my eyes, hearing the pain in her voice. My hand tightens around the cell phone and I shake my head, wishing I hadn't missed her call. "Um, okay, I have to go. Love you."

I press the save button on my phone before hanging up and pocketing it again. I know if I try to call her back, she won't answer. Especially not if her controlling, douchebag boyfriend and team leader Xander is around, whispering bullshit in her ear.

God, I fucking hate that guy.

"T, my man, why the long face?" Mark, one of my best friends, spots me shoving the phone back into my pocket and furrows his brow before scrunching up his empty water bottle and tossing it aside. Mark, just like Danny, is basically a brother to me. Even if I wanted to hide my anger right now, I wouldn't be able to in front of him.

"Another voicemail from Sasha," I tell him, settling down on the bench on the lawn to compose myself. Mark takes a seat next to me, running a hand through his disheveled blonde hair. As a couple of freshmen girls strut past us, Mark winks at them, drawing giggles from the girls as they continue down the pathway. I roll my eyes. Out of the three of us, Mark is the most charismatic. On the outside, he's perfect. Handsome, charming, street smart, and intuitive, not to mention an incredible dancer. But only those that really know him understand the secrets he holds within.

We all have similar secrets.

"Ah," Mark says, turning his attention back to me. "Your sexy twin sister. How is she doing on this fine day?"

"She sounded harassed, but what's new," I grumble. "I know for a fact that Xander treats her like shit."

"Xander treats everyone like shit," Mark confirms, and this only annoys me more. It was just recently that Sasha abandoned this team to move to a different troupe, brimming with bullshit lies that her new boyfriend and fellow competitor, Xander, would make her the star she always dreamed of becoming. So far, they were no better than us of course, but my sister had always been the gullible one. "Should we go beat him up?" Mark asks. His tone is lightly teasing, but I know damn well that if I say yes, he'd jump at the opportunity to bash someone's face in.

"I'd love to, but we can't," I huff. "Danny would kill us if we got marked up before the competition."

"Might be worth it, though," Mark says with a not-so-innocent shrug, and I shake my head.

"It wouldn't matter. It's not like Sasha would learn any better. All we'd have as a consolation prize is an angry sister and a pissed-off team."

We sit and stew in silence for a moment before my eye catches Danny crossing the lawn towards us. He's beaming, which is a surprise because the last I saw, the girls he'd been talking to didn't seem interested at all in the team. Also, Danny doesn't smile much, to begin with.

"What's wrong with your face?" Mark asks, folding his arms across his chest as Danny stops in front of us, leaning against the closest tree with a smirk.

"Did you see her?" he asks, and Mark frowns.

"See who?"

"The girl I was talking to."

"No."

"I did," I tell him. "Which one are you talking about? The blond or the pixie cut?"

"Both, but the blond specifically."

"What about her?"

Danny is still smirking, like he's hiding some secret he can't wait to break. "I invited her to tryouts tomorrow night," he informs us, and even Mark has the decency to look shocked.

"Private tryouts?" he confirms, and Danny nods. "But why?"

"She's a dancer. Ballet."

I look at Mark, who's now squinting up at Danny with a puzzled frown. "I thought we were set for girls," he pouts. "The ones we have already aren't any good."

"She's good," Danny says confidently. "I can tell."

I almost keep my mouth shut, but I'm too curious to ignore it. "No offense, man, but she didn't really seem interested, did she?"

"No," Danny confirms. "Not really. But it doesn't matter, because I can see it in her. There's something about her that this team needs."

"That doesn't do much good if she doesn't show up to tryouts." I toss back the remainder of my water before crumpling up the empty bottle and tossing it toward the bin. It hits the side, bounces off, and rolls back to my feet. Mark sniggers before standing up to grab the bottle and tosses it himself. It lands square in the middle, just like always. I feign irritation before turning to look at Danny.

"Fine," I say. "But if she doesn't show up and/or disappoints you, I forbid you from pouting about it for the next three months."

"Deal," Danny says, still beaming. Mark leans into me and rolls his eyes.

"As if."

"You'd be crazy not to go to this thing, you know." Tara is lying on her bed in our dorm, flipping through a grunge fashion magazine as soft music plays from my laptop in the background. I'm cross-legged on my bed, munching on a bag of chips we'd snagged from the dining hall, pondering her words. Since we'd run into Danny and his team earlier, she's been relentless in reminding me that I'm a big girl now (her words) and that if I want to dance, I can fucking dance. Also her words. And while I know she's right, it doesn't make the prospect any less intimidating.

I haven't even started classes yet. If Sadie caught wind of my tryouts before my first homework assignment, shit would hit the fan.

"Yeah, you keep saying that," I remind her, licking Cheeto dust from my fingers. Chips aren't the only thing we'd snagged from the dining hall. Cookies, pastries, crackers, and an assortment of other junk food currently litter my bed. Sadie never allowed it in the house, so it's safe to say I've been binging on crap food the last hour or so with no regrets.

"The guy we talked to was hot," Tara muses, snapping her magazine shut to turn and look at me, wiggling her dark eyebrows. "Danny, right? I'd fuck him."

I giggle, mostly because I'm not used to hearing such language used in everyday jargon. As Tara stares expectantly at me, I shrug and toss her a bag of unopened chips. "I would, too. Fuck him, I mean. Happy?"

"Hardly." Tara pops open her bag of chips and stuffs one into her mouth. "I'm serious though, Faith," she continues, staring at the ceiling. "College is supposed to be the time of your life. How would you feel looking back one day and realizing that you didn't do anything you wanted to do and that you just did what your evil stepmother told you to? Is that the legacy you want to leave behind?"

"Wow." I crumple up the bag of empty chips and toss it into the garbage bin at the foot of my bed with a chuckle. "That's deep. I'm almost convinced."

I'm glad Tara and I are friends, regardless of how pushy she seems to be. Deep down I know that a fierce personality like hers is exactly what someone like me needs. I've spent far too long cowering under Sadie's thumb, flinching at every sound, every look, every word. Maybe Tara is right. After all, there's a good probability I won't make it onto the team. I haven't danced seriously in years. So, where's the harm in trying?

"Fine," I say, sliding off my little twin-sized bed to pad across the room to the bathroom sink to wash my hands. I could at least give my father and Sadie this much: they sprang for a dorm that included a private bathroom. Thank God for that. While I wasn't necessarily a prude, the thought of showering naked in front of strangers terrified me. Tara probably wouldn't have given it a second thought.

"Fine, what?" she yells. "Does that mean you'll do it? You'll try out?"

"Only if you stop bugging me about it," I tell her, thinking again of Danny's handsome, serious face. God, Tara is right though; he was dreamy. So were the other guys on the team. Just the thought of being intertwined in their arms during a number is enough to send a chill of anticipation down my spine. All I can hope for now is that I don't humiliate myself in front of these people. But that's bound to happen. It's just my luck.

"Good," Tara says, meeting me at the bathroom door. She leans against the frame and grins at me, then runs a hand through her pixie hair. "I'll try out, too."

"Really? I had no idea you danced." I hadn't meant to sound so surprised, but Tara only chuckles.

"Don't sound so shocked," she says as we walk back to the beds. "I danced quite a bite in high school."

"What kind of dancing?"

"A little bit of this and that," she says with a vague shrug. Before I can push her more, she goes to her half-packed suitcase and withdraws a bottle of red wine, holding it up for me to see. "Would you care for a nightcap?"

"Erm. Is that allowed in here?"

Tara laughs again. It's a good thing I like this girl because it seems like she cannot take anything seriously.

"Loosen up," she insists, prying the twist-off cap from the bottle. "You're an adult now, sis. Act like it."

"I shouldn't."

"Why?" Tara presses. "Because Sadie would disapprove?"

At the mention of my stepmother's name, I cringe, and my hands ball into fists. Tara is right. I'm relying far too much on what my stepmother might think of my college activities. It's hard to convince myself that I am, indeed, an adult, and I no longer live under her roof.

Just her wrath.

"Hit me then." I watch as Tara pours us both a hefty serving into plastic cups and hands me one before capping the wine and sitting back down to drink it. I smell it, grimace, then take a sip. It's not bad, actually. Fruity and sweet. My mother used to drink red wine with dinner and gave me a taste once, but it had tasted nothing like this. More bitter and dry. I never bothered drinking it again after that.

"Cheers," Tara says, air-bumping my cup. "To a successful tryout tomorrow."

"And to a good first day of classes," I add, to which Tara rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, that, too, I guess."

I shoot back the rest of the wine, wrinkling my nose, but I can't deny that I enjoy the warming sensation in the pit of my stomach as I set the now empty cup aside, set an alarm for the morning on my phone, and crawl under the comforter for bed. As I drift off to sleep, images of Danny and the other dancers swim through my mind, and I fall into a slumber with a slight tingling sensation between my thighs.

I wake the next morning to the scent of coffee brewing in our small room. Tara is awake already, sipping a hot mug of brew as she sits at the little makeshift desk outlining her current schedule.

"Good morning," she says with a grin, her eyes landing on me as I sit up in bed. I've slept fairly well for being in a new place, and for that I'm glad. I guess being out of my father's house and away from Sadie did me good. "Coffee?"

"God, yes." With a yawn, I kick the blanket off my feet and swing my legs over the side before going to the bathroom to run a brush through my hair. The time on my phone tells me it's seven thirty. My first class doesn't start for another hour, and then dance auditions are an hour after that.

"How'd you sleep?" Tara asks.

"Like a baby." I stretch my arms over my head and arch my back like a cat as Tara hands me a mug of steaming joe. Sadie was addicted to coffee at home, but she always refused to let me have any. I was never seen as a grown woman or adult in her house; I might as well have been a toddler for the way she treated me. But for now, I was free, and her hold on me would be far less now than it ever was. Or so I hoped.

"You're still going to auditions, right?" Tara says, finishing off her coffee. "You didn't change your mind?"

I consider this briefly, then shake my head. While part of me wants to call it off, a bigger part of me insists that I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. I'd grown up as a dancer, and once upon a time, I'd strived to be the best. My drive and motivation never wavered, even after years of Sadie's relentless emotional abuse. Besides, I'm certain I won't make it anyway. I'm too rusty; it's been too long. But maybe going will at least get Tara off my back so I can focus on my work like Dad and Sadie expect me to. I don't need any reason at all to move back in with them if college fails me, or if I fail it.

"I haven't changed my mind," I tell her. "But I know I won't make it. They're assuming I'm better than I am."

Tara shrugs, gathering up her textbooks and she shoves them into her book bag. "Regardless, I intend to be there to cheer you on and maybe dance myself. So you better show up." She slings the bag over her shoulder and grins at me. "I gotta run. See you in a bit."

Tara leaves and I settle into the desk to go over my own schedule. I hope to have it memorized within a day or two so I don't look like a novice walking around campus with it up to my face. It's a big school, and I'm already nervous that I won't know where to go for every class, but it seems pretty straightforward, and the map. Helps immensely. As I finish my coffee and gather the textbooks I need for my first few classes, my phone dings. It's a text from the step monster.

Call us tonight. Tell us how it went.

I snort and set my phone aside before getting up to get ready for the day. Sadie loves to pretend like she's some doting mother, but nothing could be further from the truth. She's a grade-a bitch, and everyone knows it. I'm dreading the phone call tonight but I know I have to make it. That was part of our deal.

With a sigh of frustration, I dig into my suitcase for something halfway decent to wear for my first day as a college Freshman. There's not much there, and I make a mental note to ask Tara if she'll take me shopping soon for new clothes. I'm trying hard to branch out, to remind myself that Sadie isn't here to dictate my every thought and decision. Once upon a time, I'd been my own person; unique, carefree, and fun. After my mother's death and my father's marriage to Sadie, my self-expression had been squashed to oblivion over the years. I'm no longer the person I once was, but maybe with time away from her, I can find myself again.

I settle on a pair of jeans that have seen better days and a sweatshirt that, while oversized and frumpy, is a beautiful emerald color that brings out my eyes. I go to the bathroom to get ready, bringing my small and slightly useless make of cosmetics with me. There I find Tara's curling iron and other hair products. Hoping she won't be angry with me, I plug it in with hopes to walk out of our dorm looking somewhat decent this morning. If I show up to auditions looking like a homeless person, I already know they'll kick me out before I can even dance.

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

After doing what I can for my freckled complexion and dull blond hair, I grab my phone and bag and set out into the world, making my way across campus for my first class of the day. Intro to Economics. Oh, joy. It doesn't matter though. Anywhere is better than home, even if it is the world's most boring class. I just wish Tara was taking the same classes I am, but beggars can't be choosers. I'll just have to try to make more friends.

I find the Econ classroom fairly quickly but right on time, and as I grab the door handle to enter, it swings open from the other side, and a student barrels out, knocking into me. My book bag comes loose from my shoulder and drops to the tile, and a binder full of papers scatters across the floor.

"Oops," the guy says, but he doesn't bother helping as I bend down in a frenzy to gather it all up. I'm humiliated, but even more so as I raise my chin to look into the eyes of this asshole. A flutter of recognition flits across his face, and it takes me a minute to place him. One of Danny's dancers. I don't know his name, and I don't care to, but he's astonishingly handsome and I hate that.

"Don't mind me," I say, my anger growing as I grab the last of my papers and shove them into my bag. "I'm fine."

The guy chuckles as though he's highly amused. If I was a violent person, I would have hit him.

"No problem, Faith," he says, and I'm shocked that he knows my name. The sound of it on his tongue sounds so out of place, and I want to cringe. I don't like that he knows more about me than I do him. Danny must have spilled the beans about me to his team. I'm a fairly private person, and I don't like that. As I straighten up, coming face-to-face with him, I'm caught off guard by how close he is to me suddenly. His soft brown hair falls loosely into his eyes, and bold, tortured hazel eyes shoot straight into my soul. He's smirking at me, but behind that smirk is pain. A wounded spirit, if you will, and even more so than that is anger. This guy hates me, and I have no idea why. He doesn't even know me.

"Still coming to tryouts today?" he asks, sounding hopeful that I might not. I feel defiant suddenly like all I want to do is piss this brooding guy off further and I don't know why.

"Most definitely," I say, throwing my shoulders back defiantly. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

He shrugs like he doesn't care enough one way or the other, but he's still standing squarely in front of the door, blocking me out, so he must care to some extent.

"You just looked disinterested yesterday when you were chatting it up with Danny," he says. "Kind of like you'd rather gnaw your arm off than dance for us."

I open my mouth to retaliate and then close it again because I know he's right. I didn't even want to go until Tara convinced me otherwise, after the fact.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you," I tell him, hoping I sound braver than I feel. "Not sure why you care at all."

I expect the guy to keep this little tiff going, and just when I'm sure he's going to insult me further, he simply snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head before turning and walking away without looking back.

"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, but it's a lost cause. At this point, I'm not sure if I want to go through with the audition. Can I handle such ego and attitude like that? Better yet, do I even want to?

I'm still seething as I take a seat in the classroom and glance around, feeling out of place for a reason that I couldn't pinpoint. As students piled in behind me, envious heat rose to my neck and cheeks. They were all comfortable, some of them already friends, like high school cliques I dreaded then and especially now. College kids. Happy. Carefree. Well dressed. Nothing like the meek little mouse my stepmother has raised me to be.

Maybe I'm not cut out for this.

Pushing down the tears that settle in my eyes, I clear my throat and sink into my seat, hoping that if I become invisible, I'll survive the first day. The run-in I've just had with the dancer kid outside the door has rattled me more than I want to admit, and I have a feeling that the rest of the day will be equally crappy. Can I do this?

Just as expected, my first class is boring and uneventful, mainly going over rules and curriculums. I can't wait to get out of there, and when the time finally comes fifty minutes later, I jump up from the chair and race out of the room before anyone else has even had a chance to stand up. How I'll get through an entire semester of this class is beyond me, and how I'll someday major in Economics as Sadie and my father want me to seem even further from reality. What a sad, boring existence.

With a huff, I check the time before making my way back to the dorm to change into something appropriate for the tryout. Since being confronted by that jackass from the team, I desperately want to prove him wrong. I can dance, and I can do it well. Sure, it's been ages since I've danced seriously, but my mother used to say, once a dancer, always a dancer. I keep that in mind as I dig through my clothes. Of course, I have nothing that will work well, so I settle on a pair of gray sweatpants and a tee shirt. Ugly, boring, but it's the best thing I've got. It's not about how I look, it's about how I dance.

I have one more class before it's time for tryouts, and I'm far more excited about this one. Psychology. I've always been fascinated with the human psyche. Maybe this class will even help me figure out the men on this dance team. It's evident to me that I'm not the only one with issues.

Following the map, I find the lecture hall rather quickly. It's massive, but somehow one of the first faces I spot in the sparse crowd is Tara, and a flutter of relief passes through me as she waves me over with a grin.

"I guess we should have compared schedules," she says as I take the empty seat next to her. "It would have made this morning easier knowing I had my second class with you."

"Everything okay?" I ask, and Tara nods her head with a tight laugh. "I got lost. I was fifteen minutes late. Fortunately, the professors are lenient today." She leans down and pulls a fresh notebook and pen out of her bag, flipping it open to take notes. "How was your first class?"

"Boring as all get out," I tell her. "I also had a run-in with one of the guys from that dance team. He's kind of a knob."

"A knob?" Tara chuckles. "Or a douchebag."

I sigh. "Definitely a douchebag."

"Which one was it? Danny?"

"No, one of the others. He didn't tell me his name. I imagine we'll see him at the tryouts."

"I'm glad you still want to go," Tara says, and I glance down at my silly outfit of a tee shirt and sweatpants.

"Can't you tell?" I joke. "I'm clearly dressed as a champion."

Before Tara can respond, a hush falls over the crowd as a male professor steps through the doors and settles his things in front of the podium before looking up and scanning the hall, his eyes briefly falling on each of us before moving to the next.

"Welcome to Psychology 101," he says. "I'm Professor Hansen. Let's go around the room and say our names, please."

As expected, Psych is much more interesting than Econ, and time flies by. After our fifty minutes is up, it's finally time for Tara and me to find the auditorium for auditions. It's only now that I suddenly feel nervous, even more so than before, and my palms are sweating and shaking as we find the auditorium ten minutes later. Both of us stop right inside the doors, stepping into the dimly lit, massive area that boasts theater seats and a beautiful stage. At the front of the auditorium are a group of people I recognize as the team dancers, and scattered about the other seats are observers and what I assume are other dancers there for tryouts. Nobody really bothers to glance back as Tara and I slip in and take seats near the back. I need a moment to compose myself before announcing our arrival.

"Next up is Hailey Stanford. Come on out, Hailey." I recognize Danny's voice from one of the men up front, and a sigh of relief slips through my lips. Out of all of them, Danny seems to have the most faith in me. I'm still curious as to why, though, as he's never seen me dance. He's just assuming I'm any good, and for all either of us knows, I'm going to blow this entire tryout.

A moment later, a beautiful girl with legs that go on forever enters the stage. She's dressed in a lovely dance suit that shows off her curves and her golden blond hair is tied up in a ballerina bun. I can tell just by looking at her that she's not new to dance. Not at all.

"How cliche," Tara murmurs to me. "She's like the epitome of a dance snob."

I nod but don't say anything. This girl, Hailey, is probably going to kick both of our asses for the tryout. The thought makes my stomach roll with nausea. If this is what I'm up against, I should probably just leave now.

Wait, a little voice in my head says. Just because she looks good doesn't mean she dances well.

I highly doubt that, but I won't run away yet.

As the music to a familiar jazzy song begins, Tara and I watch intently along with the rest of the small crowd as Hailey begins her routine. I certainly wasn't wrong in assuming that the girl was good, because she is, and anxiety climbs up my spine as Hailey twirls and moves her beautiful body to the music, lost in her own world, taken with the groove and the beat of the music. I swallow, squirming uncomfortably in my seat. Even Tara seems impressed by this girl, and that makes it even worse.

As the music fades and the lights dim to dark, a round of applause cracks through the crowd. I can't help but notice, however, that the men, including Danny, barely clap their hands before leaning over and whispering to one another. I'm sweating now as the second dancer comes up on stage, a male hip-hop star. He does well, really well, and I cringe when he's finished. The applause for this guy is even louder than the last, and anxiety simmers through me. I shake my head and lean in towards Tara.

"I'm sorry," I say, rising to my feet. "I can't do this."

"But, Faith-," she reaches for me but I slip out of her grasp and hurry towards the door to make my escape. As my fingers brush the door handle, the sound of my name stops me. This time, it doesn't come from Tara, but it's a man's voice, one I recognize.

"Aren't you here to try out, Faith?" The voice asks. I turn slowly, my eyes locking with the very man who confronted me outside the classroom. The douchebag. His tone drips with derision and mockery, and anger flares inside my soul. As his eyes stay locked with mine, the rest of the team turns to look at me. I shift my gaze to Danny, and his eyes light up.

"Faith," he says. "You made it."

I open my mouth to respond and then close it again. I can't leave now, not with everyone's eyes on me. Beside Danny, the rude kid speaks again.

"I don't know, Dan, I think she was trying to sneak away instead."

"Cut the shit, Theo," Danny says, his dark eyes narrowing in his friend's direction. "Leave her be."

Theo.

I hate that the name suits him. He looks like a Theo. A very, very hot Theo who, for some reason, has it out for me. Then again, the guy sitting to Theo's right who I also haven't met yet, is glaring at me like I've done something to personally and mortally offend him.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I demand, straightening my spine and throwing my shoulders back. I think of my mother, of her unyielding confidence. She taught me all I know, and I intend to show them all.

"You got this, girl," Tara whispers under her breath, looking proud. Despite my terror, I return her smile and walk confidently down the aisle and to the stairs leading up to the stage.

"Do you have a song preference?" Danny asks, his eyes roaming over my baggy tee shirt and sweatpants. I feel like an idiot and have to remind myself that I'm not here for a fashion show. I'm here to dance. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing.

"Can you play Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake?" I ask, and he nods, looking mildly impresses as Theo leans over his laptop and chooses the song for me. Swan Lake was one of my first competition songs. If I'm going to show them ballet, what better song than this one?

The music begins, and I take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body.

As I begin to move, I feel the grace and elegance of ballet take over me. Every step, every turn, is carefully choreographed, yet still feels like an expression of my soul. God, I missed this.

I extend my arm, reaching out to an imaginary partner, and then begin a series of pirouettes. My body spins and twirls, but I am completely focused, my mind blank except for the music and the movements, just like my mother taught me.

The minutes pass painfully fast. As the music reaches its climax, I leap into the air, feeling weightless and free. I land softly on the ground and hold the final pose, feeling the audience's surprised applause wash over me. It feels so familiar, and a sudden flashback of my mother standing at the edge of the stage after this very dance comes barreling into me like a freight train. I remember her tears of pride, and the smile on her face as she applauded.

That was the night she chose to break the news of her cancer to me.

I straighten up and try to catch my breath, catching sight of Tara who stands in the middle of the aisle applauding loudly. Many of the other dancers are cheering and clapping, including Danny, but the other ones, Theo and the guy next to him, simply stare at me, sneering. I ignore them both, basking in the admiration of the audience. God, I missed this. But even as I relish in their admiration, I know that the true joy of ballet is not in the applause or the costumes, but in the moment when movement and music become one, and my body becomes a vessel for the beauty of art.

"Well done, Faith," Danny calls, sitting back down to observe me. I'm trying to catch my breath; it's been so long since I've danced, I'm surprised I even remembered the routine.

"Well done?" Theo repeats, turning to the kid on his other side. "Sure, she did fine. But don't you agree, Mark, that precious Faith here didn't loosen up for a single moment on stage? She danced like a zombie-or a corpse."

The other guy, Mark, nods, his eyes narrowing in on me. "I noticed that, too," he says. "She doesn't know how to dance without the strict rules of ballet. I was waiting for her body to loosen up, but it didn't. It was an act. A routine. There was no emotion. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed she hated dancing and was just doing it to please somebody."

Crushed, I look at Danny, who furrows his brow. "You were a little stiff," he admits, and I let out a huff but say nothing for a long moment. I'm humiliated and angry and all I want to do is smack all three of these guys in the face.

"You said you were looking for ballet dancers," I say steadily, my eyes roaming over the trio. "That's what I did. Ballet."

"Don't get me wrong," Danny continues as if I didn't speak. "You did well. But the boys are right. Can you learn to loosen your body? To bend to the music? This team isn't just any team, Faith. We need someone hot. Seductive. Someone who can get up on that stage and temporarily be someone else." He pauses. "Is that you?"

My eyes meet Tara's across the auditorium, and she gives me two thumbs up, encouraging me.

"Yes," I say, my eyes traveling back to Danny. "I can do that."

"Thanks for your time," Theo says. "We'll let you know if you made it."

"Will I hear either way?" I ask, and hate myself for caring so much. I missed this, I missed dancing. And I hate that I had to go and remind myself of how much I missed it. Because the truth is, I probably won't make it. And that will be a tough pill to swallow.

"We'll contact you if you make it," Danny says, glancing over his shoulder to where Tara still stands. "Tara, you're up."

It's clear I've been dismissed, so I slink off the stage, all the powerful, beautiful energy I had flowing through me only moments ago dissipating into thin air and leaving me silently begging for more. It feels like coming down after a night of drinking-like a really bad hangover that just won't subside. I want to cry, but that's the last thing I need to do in front of these guys. Forget them. I'm not supposed to be dancing anyway.

"Don't listen to them," Tara whispers as I pass by her to take my seat in the back row. "You did amazing."

"You're up," I say, holding back the tears until she's at least out of range. I take a seat and watch my friend walk up on stage, and that's when the tears come. As Tara dances, bringing a round of applause from all three men, all I can think about is how badly I screwed this up. I might not ever recover what little confidence I had left.

I escape out the back door just as Tara ends her jazz routine, too embarrassed to stick around, then make my way briskly back to the room to jump in the shower before Tara shows up and sees me crying. I stand under the hot water for what feels like ages, eyes closed, rinsing away the day. As I wash suds over my body, my fingers go automatically to the scars on the inside of my thighs. Red, jagged, once deep scars that had carried the burden of stress, anxiety, and self-hate for me. I haven't cut in nearly a year, but when my self-doubt kicks in, sometimes my fingers itch to open those wounds.

When I finally emerge from the shower, my roommate is still nowhere to be seen. I have no doubt in my mind that Danny and the others are probably welcoming her onto the team right now, patting her on the back and shit-talking me. I don't want to be a bitter sap, but I am, and now that I've had my moment to mope, I realized I promised my dad and Sadie that I would call and let them know how the day went.

As if this day could get any worse.

I call my dad's cell phone first, hoping he'll answer and I won't have to call Sadie, but no such luck. I dial her number next, my heart racing. It's not possible, of course, for her to know that I tried out for a dance team, but Sadie never fails to uncover my deepest and darkest secrets. I swear, the woman has eyes in the back of her head and cameras hidden everywhere.

She answers on the second ring.

"Hello, Faith."

"Hi, Mom." I cringe inwardly as the word leaves my mouth. Sadie insisted years ago that I call her Mom instead of Sadie. I resisted for as long as possible until Dad got after me one night. She's not my mother, she never will be, but whatever appeases her is what I have to do. It's easier that way. "Is Dad there with you?" I ask. "He didn't answer his phone."

"He's working late tonight."

I sigh. Sometimes I wonder if he works overtime intentionally to get more of a break from his controlling wife.

"I see." Taking a seat on the foot of my bed, I nibble on my fingernails, a habit that Sadie absolutely loathes. It's gross, I know, but I find myself doing it just to spite her sometimes.

"How was econ?" Sadie asks. "Did you pay attention?"

Of course, no "how was your first day", or "did you make any friends?" With Sadie, it's straight to business every time.

"It was good," I tell her, rolling my eyes. "And yes, I paid attention."

"Good. We expect you'll pass your classes with flying colors."

"Right." Just then, the dorm room door opens, and Tara steps in, her eyes landing on me. Guilt takes hold of me when I see her face, and I speak into the phone. "Mom, I have to go. Homework. Call you guys tomorrow." I hang up the phone and meet Tara's eyes.

"Are you okay?" She asks, and I shrug, unsure of how to answer that.

"I'm alright," I say finally. "I'm really sorry, Tara, for running out on you. I kind of had a panic attack. It was a little stressful. But you-you danced beautifully."

Tara smiles, but it's forced. "No one tonight danced like you did," she says. "And you don't even see it, do you?"

I sigh and cup my hand over the back of my neck, rubbing the kink in it. "I don't think they liked me."

"They're intimidated by you."

I shake my head. "They're not going to call."

"You don't know that."

Tara's insistent support overwhelms me, and before I know what's happening, tears are streaming down my face, streaking my makeup and forcing a red flush to my skin. God, I'm a blubbering mess.

"Faith," Tara says softly, and she gets up to wrap her arms around me as if we're best friends and have been for life. "You're far too hard on yourself," she whispers. "Be proud, girl. You killed it out there tonight."

I have a hard time believing her, but it's useless to argue, so I force a sad smile and wipe the tears from my cheeks, wishing we'd never stumbled across the team in the quad, to begin with.

"Hey," Tara says, nudging me. "How about we blow off the rest of our classes today and go shopping? We can update your wardrobe. I think it's years overdue."

I grin. "Blowing off class on the first day of school?"

"It's one day, Faith," she says. "Before we worry about school, we need to find you again."