The Heir

Chapter 10

I'm finishing up the third routine of the night when there's a light knock on the studio's door. I glance at the darkened door frame in the mirror. Will tentatively steps inside, photography bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey," I smile at his reflection.

"Hey," he smiles back.

"You're a bit late today," I say, gesturing to the clock hanging against the far wall. It's inching towards one in the morning.

"I almost got caught sneaking out," he says, situating himself on the floor beside my bag. "Had to convince the night time house matron that I got lost looking for the bathroom."

I laugh and shake my head, "I'll show you the secret door when we go back."

"Thanks," he murmurs.

I tap at my phone a few times and music begins to play overhead. I take my spot at center stage, breathe deeply, and begin the intricately choreographed routine.

It's a new one; Madame is having casting auditions next week for the upcoming season. I'm always the point person, center stage and in the spotlight. But that doesn't mean that I can slack off. Who knows? Maybe one of the other girls got better over the summer.

I watch myself as I dance, trying to catch any mistake or misstep. Chassé and grand jeté pas de chat. Shit; my back leg was bent. It's okay, that's something I can fix.

"Wow," Will murmurs as the song comes to an end.

My brows lift, "what?"

"You're just- you're really talented," he says earnestly.

I flash another smile, "thanks."

He has no idea what dancing is supposed to look like. There's no way that he caught my bent knee or stuttered movement. But it's still nice to be complimented. Especially in a way that doesn't revolve around my ability or willingness to put out.

"Did you get the chance to go to the dark room yet?" I ask, grabbing my water bottle.

"Yeah," he nods fervently. "Look."

He shuffles around inside his bag before pulling out a new stack of pictures. He spreads them out across the polished floor and I kneel down beside him. The photos follow the same theme as before but this time they're central to Montrose.

There's carved words dug into desks; different languages overlapping one another. A close up of someone's hand, nails bitten to the quick. The tiniest bit of a screw peeking from its place in Ms. Hess' glasses.

"These are great," I tell him firmly. "You should submit some of your stuff for the art show."

"I don't think so," he begins to pack them away. "Like I've told you, I don't really show this to anyone."

"And like I've told you," I retort, "you should."

His dimples poke into his cheek as he bites back a smile. I sit back with self satisfaction and begin to take off my pointe shoes. Will doesn't move, he just watches as I put on a pair of sweatpants and some running shoes.

"It's late," I explain vaguely.

He nods in agreement and stands, offering me his hand to help me up. I take it and rise to my feet as well. I sling my bag over my shoulder, disconnect my phone from the speakers, and lead him away.

He holds open the door for me and we begin our trek back to the dorms. Just like the first time, we stick to the outskirts of the woods. As we round the corner towards the tree line, Will slips his hand into mine.