Break

“Didn’t look like that from where I was standing.”

I narrow my eyes on him, “How long have you been standing there, Lance?”

“Long enough. I called Katerina.”

Fucking narc.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” I say.

“Drink this,” Lance says, smashing my iced coffee into my chest.

I take the coffee and beeline for the bathroom. Lance didn’t even congratulate me on getting into Ballet Arts Studio Company. For a second, it felt like a real feat, and now, it feels like some kind of curse. Nothing is ever easy for me. I have this long list of achievements, yet I’ve never been able to celebrate or enjoy a single one of them.

In the bathroom, I run the water ice cold and splash it on my face, bringing my hands to the back of my neck, and taking the heat out of my skin.

I step into the stall to pee, and a crowd of girls walks in from the commons. Studio classes are about to start, and I don’t know if I can even get through barre with how out of sorts I am.

“Dash Cunningham is such a fucking hottie,” I hear one of them say.

The other girls giggle, and I squint through the crack to watch them apply lip gloss and adjust their small breasts like they’re at a club and not about to get tortured in a super-elite ballet class.

“My God, did you see him dance? I mean, I’d fuck him in the dressing room if I could get my hands on him.”

“Did you see the finale of Dance Props? I almost died when he did the piece in leather pants. That man is an Adonis, and I can’t believe we might get to partner with him this semester!”

“I’d cream my tights if he put his hands on me.”

I snort and then cover my mouth just as quickly. One of the girls whips around, and I step onto the toilet for fear of discovery. What is Dashiell now, some kind of rock star? Cream her tights? It’s so funny, I almost want to tell Dashiell himself what they said.

I stand there in silence, barely breathing until they leave. Maybe I’ll stand here all day so I don’t have to fear running into Dash in class—or anywhere for that matter. My stupid, pain-in-the-ass life just got a whole bunch more complicated.

Then the bathroom door swings open with a bang.

“Sam!” Dashiell yells.

I put my hands over my mouth while my eyes widen.

What the fuck is he doing in the girl’s restroom?

“Sam, don’t fucking pretend and make this worse than it has to be,” he says. “Let’s get it all out in the open right now. Clear the air once and for all since we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask, cracking the door open. I mean both in this bathroom and this school. What’s he doing in my life again?

Dash walks to the stall I’m in and I slam it closed. He pulls the door open, snapping the small bolted lock like it’s made of plastic Legos.

I’m back to standing on the toilet, still covering my mouth. He takes me in from head to toe and shakes his head slightly while “tsk-tsking” with his mouth. He licks his full lips like a wolf about to consume me as an afternoon snack. I know I’m small, but Dash makes me feel like a tiny, insignificant thing.

“Natayla Koslova. Well, some things haven’t changed.” Dash leans against the stall wall and slips a toothpick between his lips.

He’s larger and wider, taller and more muscular. His eyes are still smoky, and his smile is still electrically charged and mischievous. I already know that I look exactly the same. Haven’t gained a pound because I’m not allowed.

I can barely breathe in this tiny space with Dashiell taking up all the room. He’s wearing low-slung ripped blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt that hugs his bulging biceps. Somehow, he makes me feel like he’s gone and transformed into a grown man while I’m still a little girl seeking everyone’s approval.

I plop down to sit on the toilet, cross my arms, and stare at the floor. “What do you want from me, Dashiell. Leave me alone.”

“How’s your mom, Sam?” His tone is condescending, borderline menacing.

“She’ll be thrilled to hear you’re the new darling of the indie dance world,” I spit at him.

“What’s the matter? Why so hostile?”

“I don’t feel well. I think I’m coming down with something.”

He leans back against the door and his arm muscles flex as he crosses them around his super-developed pecs. He smirks at me. “You still haven’t learned that you’ve got to eat to live? I saw you drinking a fucking iced coffee for lunch. You gonna dance on that? You still pulling that shit?”

I straighten my shoulders, staring him right in the eyes, and lie. “No, I ate lunch. You weren’t there.”