A Beautiful Life

Born to Make You Happy [Britney Spears]

Sakura felt alive—cold striking air filling her lungs, a shiver of goosebumps lifting the hairs on her body. Every time she danced this way, it felt like a rediscovery of the meaning of life.

And for that short time, she forgot everything that ailed her, every sad moment ever inflicted on her. The feeling of euphoria was dizzying, blinding. And she saw nothing but the stars in her eyes, felt nothing but the elation that began from her toes and took her entire being captive.

The small third place prize she held meant nothing to her. Even if she had won first place, or hadn't placed at all. It didn't matter. Because that night, she graced the stage as herself—unapologetic, unyielding to shift into what was expected of her as a dancer. It was cheap plastic, that she could feel its cold ridges, tracing each point of the star with her fingers to see if she could prick herself with it.

And all her friends—new and not so new—surrounded her. That she was shrouded with flowers and praises, and it should have all made her feel very special. But the peace she felt from within was enough to comfort her.

She changed into a more subdued outfit, ditching the luminescent sequins for a dark purple dress that only lightly hugged her figure. She paired it with opaque black tights and low-heeled Mary Janes. There was glitter everywhere, spilling from her hair, dousing her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. Even specks of it caressed the air with every flutter of her lashes.

The weight of her coat felt heavy as it neatly draped over her forearm, their group standing together as they gushed over her performance in the lobby of the arts building. There was a small bustle of other dancers and their supporters, and a soft light encompassed them. Sakura rubbed the heel of her shoe into the white tile, watching the floor scuff beneath her.

And it was the showdown that was inevitable—Tyler and Teresa and Matthew. She was curious to see, and it was no way avoidable at this point. How would the three of them interact?

It was very smug of Tyler to hug Teresa. God, he could be such an asshole. Her reaction was very stiff, a placid frown pressed into her mouth as her cheek grazed the fuzzy fabric of his sweater. Even more awkward was their eye contact—his very penetrating, while Teresa looked at him like she was placing a curse on him.

Her hair was styled in a very high and very messy updo, butterfly clips sprinkled along her scalp, wearing denim on denim and platform heels. Her makeup was very similar to Sakura's, probably because Teresa was the one to do both their faces.

Immediately after the hug, Matthew took Tyler's hand, and Sakura noticed the tautness of his grip. He stood taller than Tyler, his posture friendly yet firm. He shook his hand once, then twice.

"Hey man, what's up, I'm Tyler—"

"I know exactly who you are." Still overly polite, smiling.

Tyler pulled away suddenly, a squirm to his lips, and the arrogance that once belonged to him shifted to Teresa. She was beaming as she took her boyfriend's arm, fingers curling against his jacket with pride and possessiveness.

His cavalier attitude and posture vanished swiftly, leaving him stripped and suddenly sheepish as Sakura watched him rub his beanie. Almost immediately, a very slender and delicate finger tapped him from behind his shoulder. He briskly turned around and looked down at the source.

Long tangled black hair, dark bags under her eyes, defined cheekbones. She looked like heroin chic, minus the chic. Light denim snug against her legs, a baggy tee shirt messily tucked into the waist. She gave him a very glazed look. Sakura was positive she had smoked something potent before coming here. She could smell it blended into whatever expensive perfume she wore.