I know that the money would be a big help for me. But of course, I would never admit that. I would never let myself be that vulnerable. I convince myself that I like my life the way it is now. What a joke.
It's always refreshing to step into the cool hall and let off steam. The room is spacious enough for everything I can't do in my small one-room apartment. I'm the first one here today, improvising a bit or dancing some choreography I already know until more of my students arrive. Some follow my lead while others are actually familiar with the steps. Some just run a few laps to warm up.
Training always makes me feel like I have my life under control. Or at least one part of it. That moment when you walk out of the studio, all sweaty, exhausted, happy, and satisfied, and the cool night air dries your sweat—those are the moments I live for.
Knowing that I make money doing something that brings me so much joy is amazing. I ignore the fact that this money isn't enough to live on. I don't think about the fact that tomorrow I'll have to go back to my main job, which isn't necessarily bad but would never make me feel this good. A job that takes away all my time and mental health.
On our way out, Robin, one of my best dancers (also the only girl I know who you can actually be friends with after breaking up) hands me a brochure. She tells me it's about a dance competition in our city, which is so big it's even being broadcasted on TV. The top three groups will receive prize money of at least one thousand pounds. And even if we fail, we could at least expand our reach because it's being broadcasted.
"That's awesome!" I say, excited about the idea. "Where can we register?"
"Here's the problem," Michelle, Robin's best friend, says. "There's a registration fee and the tickets for competitors are really expensive."
"How much?" The two girls look at each other and hesitate. "How much?" I ask again. "Maybe we can gather the money somehow. Everyone can chip in."
"It's a hundred pounds for registration, thirty-five for tickets per person."
"A hundred?" I ask in shock. "Jesus, what the hell?"
"They probably want groups to participate that are already successful and can afford it," Robin says, chewing her fingernails. I suppress the urge to push her hand away. She used to chew until she bled.
"What if we split the amount?"
"One ticket per person is already thirty-five. Plus this? We have students in our group."
"We could borrow some money?" Michelle suggests. "We can figure out how to repay it later. And if we win, the problem's solved anyway."
"That would be irresponsible. We can't just assume we'll win," I say.
"Then that's it? We're not competing?"
"When's the deadline?"
"In a week."
"Impossible," Michelle says.
I try to find a way. Honestly, this amount of prize money would save my ass, and not only that—god, how much I want to be seen for what I'm actually good at. Our group consists of nine members. A hundred divided by nine plus thirty-five... "Everyone would have to pay about forty-six pounds."
"That's absolutely crazy."
For a desperate second, the man I met the other night flashes through my mind. Five hundred pounds. That's a lot of money. But I'd have to... I shake my head. I wouldn't go that far just for a silly competition.
"It's a shame," Michelle sighs disappointedly. "It sounded really good. I thought this would be our chance to finally get closer to our goal of renting our own studio."
And I could give up my full-time job and only work in the studio... "Yeah, it's disappointing," I sigh into the night. "I'm sorry, girls."
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Teen Fiction"God, you're adorable," he chuckled, stepping towards me. When I felt his warmth right in front of me, a soft moan escaped my lips. He was close enough for me to catch the musky scent of his cologne. "Do you want me that bad?" My breath hitched, and...
