Friday Barnes Oneshots!!

Ballet and Blood

I know this whole premise seems a bit far fetched but i rlly like the idea of it 🫶
Warning: Alcohol - underage drinking
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   Friday was never fond of ballet. That wasn't to mean she wasn't good at it.
   You see, it was hard not to be when that was all the girl did. For the eighteen hours of the day that she was awake, all Friday Barnes would do was read and practise her ballet.
   Now, she didn't want to. If it was up to her, all she'd do was read. A weird choice of hobbies for child, yes, but it was all she wanted to do. It was her parents who made the decision for her.
   Dasia and Rabi Barnes were scientifically driven people, every choice they made was logical to them (even if it was perceived as insane by others). Academics was a top priority, yes, but once Friday's father had read an article on how physical activity boosted the mind, the decision that their children would participate in it was made then and there. Quasar, for example, had done track and field racing. Orion was put into swimming. Halley had chosen for herself to do fencing. Quantum, who was very against the idea as a child, chose archery as it didn't seem like it would be as exhausting as the other choices. Friday didn't get a choice. She had profusely â€" with all her toddler might â€" to not do any sport. She'd seen enough of Quasar's bruised knees and the way Orion would slump onto his books asleep to know it would be bad news. But, no. In actuality, it was all Bernie's fault, considering he'd been the one to put the idea in her parent's minds. They'd been drinking coffee one day when Bernie began reminiscing on their younger days. Friday's aunt had done ballet, once getting Bernie to help lift her for practice. The man joked about how it had been fun and thus implanted the idea. So when Friday was only about three and a half, they'd place her in dance classes (they also reasoned that it was a great way to get more alone time to focus on their work).
   Initially, Friday had been very uncooperative, running away from her instructor and hiding in the small lockers to read. The other children hardly talked to her either, mainly because they didn't really talk to each other at all. Her parents had reasoned if they were going to put her in a dance school, she'd go to the best, which meant all around her were children of other dancers and those who took it very seriously.
   Once she realised there was no getting out of it, she began to actually try, because Friday Barnes did not half-arse things. It also began seeping into her daily life. Now, along with her detective novels and science textbooks, she was also reading books on ballet. Sometimes, she'd go straight from reading to practising, or straight from practising to reading, or sometimes both at the same time. She found it gave her a good excuse to avoid her family as well, instead holing herself up in the practice room immediately after primary school. Due to all of this practice, she became good.
   Extremely good.
   The best in her class even. In fact, she'd gotten the most attention from others in her entire life at that point because she was the best. Now, if one were to go into the future from this point to when Friday entered Highcrest, the girl wouldn't even be able to do the splits. Four years of doing absolutely no physical activity as rigorous as ballet dancing stripped her flexibility, but Friday didn't mind.
   When she was just twelve years old and in the sixth grade, she was given the opportunity of a lifetime. Her ballet instructor â€" named Jean Allard â€" had told her she'd been chosen to perform a special pas seul. She had wanted to decline, at this point, the other girls had caught up and they were all practically on equal footing. Friday had also started attending less and less, focusing more on her advanced studies and appreciation for detective novels, but her teacher insisted. A family function was coming up anyway, so Friday agreed, reasoning that this would give a suitable reason to miss it.
   The British Royal Family were to attend.
   Friday didn't know that until a week before.
   For a grown adult this would be confronting news, but to a twelve-year-old? Friday was in complete and utter shock. There was nothing else to describe it. She didn't even care for royal affairs but she hadn't realised the mass crowd this would attract, not to mention a mass crowd of elitists. Multiple times did she try to hand the role off and many times were the other girls thrilled, but Jean insisted it had to be her. Friday had tried to ignore it. Who cares if she danced in front of them? She had danced before in recitals, sure, but her biggest worries then would be whether or not Bernie (who was always the only person who showed up for her) brought her books from home so she could read them when she went off. But it couldn't be helped. Her stomach constantly ached, her heart raced even looking at her pointe shoes, she could hardly eat without feeling the bile rise in her throat. She would only be doing a small solo, one before the main dancers who were much older, but she'd have to stay on for a bit afterwards as the other dancers her age would come on.
   As the week went on, the dread inside only grew and grew. The news didn't help as it was flooded with the Royal Family's visit to Victoria. Everyone in her dance classes was ecstatic, constantly was she being stopped in between breaks by the other dancers due to their excitement. Friday was spending more than half of her day every day in those dance rooms practicing, the voice of her instructor barking out orders in French ringing in her head all day and night.
   It was at that moment that she decided to quit ballet after the performance, not caring a bit about what her parents said.
   Sometimes she found it funny how they forced her into it yet never showed up for anything. It was always Bernie and if the man couldn't go, it was nobody. Friday figured if she didn't even tell her parents about her quitting, they'd never notice.
   As the show came closer and closer, Friday became more nervous. At this point it was just human instinct, her fight or flight response was happening and her body chose flight. It was also weighing on her considering all the other dancers started to become snippy with her, the girls specifically. Friday knew how competitive this sport got, it was inevitable, but the crushing weight of the other girls' glares and snide remarks only made Friday more paranoid. The worst thing about it was that her brain knew this whole thing was illogical. She had no reason to be nervous. Her skills were well and truly fine, she knew the dance like the back of her hand, but she still felt like throwing up every time she even thought about it. Her costume for the dance, a black platter tutu and bodice decorated with pearls and crystals, haunted her nightmares. It even hindered her reading, making it hard to read about covalent bonding when all she could think about was toppling over the stage.
   Yet, for some reason, the day before her performance was unusually calm. It was a night show, starting at around seven o'clock. When Friday woke up, she felt oddly at peace. She even read a few books during her free time, but throughout the day it felt like her heart wasn't beating. Like her heart had just stopped and was waiting for the right moment to beat.
   Bernie took her to the Palais Theatre where the performance would be held. She was certain only Orion, Quasar, and Bernie would be there, considering Orion would never miss a chance to gloat in front of his friends and Quasar enjoyed gaslighting Friday into believing she was her biggest fan (it never worked).
   The whole procedure of getting ready went by smoothly too. Her hair was put up into a bun (she hated buns), they painted her face with makeup (her eyes kept watering because the makeup artist wouldn't stop putting his brush in her eyes), and she was fitted into her costume (it was so tight she could hardly breathe).
   It was only when she was putting on her pointe shoes did her heart begin beating again, and beat it did. It pounded against her chest, feeling as though it was beating against a brick wall. It beat so hard she could hardly breathe. Never in her twelve years of life did it ever beat this fast. Her instructor stood next to her and spoke to her, but Friday didn't hear a word. The performance had begun and she was to go on soon. Her vision spun and she could hear herself taking in ragged, deep breaths. She looked around, wondering if she could run away when she spotted something. A metal bucket filled with ice was off to the side near the dancers who had just gone off. In it were glass bottles with long necks. Friday walked closer, wondering what was inside.
   It was alcohol. Fancy, branded bottles of vodka, whiskey, champagne, and wine wrapped in pink and white ribbons. Friday assumed they were for the older dancers who had just left and suddenly, an idea came into her head. A foolish one, definitely. Even as she got older she still cringed thinking about it. You see, Friday had recently read a mystery novel. In it, the killer (which should've been the first red flag) had been so nervous after their first murder that to appear calm, they drank. It was only a shot, but nonetheless it worked. So Friday, twelve years old and stupid (for her at least), decided, why not a small amount? Of course, she didn't take into account anything. She didn't take into account her age, gender, weight, the amount of food she's eaten or any other factor that affected getting drunk Her nerves must've been horrible since she knew all of this too.
   She'd only drank about half a plastic cup of vodka (it tasted disgusting and she almost spat it out) but after a few minutes, she actually felt… calmer. As though suddenly everything was fine.
   It wasn't in fact. It was horrible. She'd almost missed her cue because she was too busy talking to one of the other dancers who she didn't even know and her instructor had to confusedly push her out. The beginning of her dance went alright. She felt quite sober really, performing quite well for the solo part. Normally, a solo didn't take long, but hers was extended. Yet, she still felt… normal. Normal to her at least.
   But, when the other dancers came on, that was when disaster struck.
   It was going well, or so she'd thought. Her moves became more sluggish and messy. The lights were too bright and her head pounded, like someone was inside it and continuously banging a hammer against her brain. What made it worse was that she was trying to diagnose herself and see what was wrong but then she'd become too focused on her moves and the fact that a golden crown was glinting back at her from the crowd.
   Crown? What crown…
   Oh.
   Oh.
   Her foot had slipped, and suddenly she stopped in her tracks, feeling faint and wobbling. A girl behind her â€" she didn't know her name â€" who was also too focused proceeded to crash into a prop and send the other girls next to her toppling, crashing hard into the floor. With the way they were positioned, it was as though a set of dominos were falling, landing on the hard stage.
   Then Friday saw it through her haze. Blood. Everywhere. Streaming down the other dancers' faces as their noses broke. Maybe it was the drunken haze, adding to it, but it seemed uncanny, unnatural, the way the blood streamed down. Her ears were ringing and she could hear the sound of the crowd gasping. She could hear her instructor from the sidelines, swearing.
   Friday had never been scared of blood in her twelve years of life. Blood was but just plasma, red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets coursing through her veins.
   Yet, in this moment, when the stage floor was filled with splotches of the deep red liquid. When her vision blurred and suddenly the entire theatre was filling with it. When all she could see was red. Friday felt her mind spin, her balance was off. She felt dizzy and her vision started going black.
   Friday fainted for the first time, landing on the wooden stage with a thud.
***
   "And that's about it," the girl said, now a sixteen-year-old sitting on her bed while her friends sat around her. "That's why I used to have a phobia of blood," Friday finished off, reaching over to pop a gummy worm into her mouth.
   Her friends stared back at her in horror. Immediately they began asking questions.
   "Why on earth would you do that?" Susan exclaimed.
   "You of all people?" Trea reiterated.
   "What happened after?!" Rajiv asked, gaping at her from the floor.
   "Were you okay?" Ian fretted.
   "Were the others okay?!" Mirabella asked from next to her.
   Friday shrugged. "I was twelve, it sounded like a good idea at the time. And everyone was fine… after a month," Friday mumbled the last bit.
   "Sure you were twelve, but you're Friday!" Susan exaggerated. "What you did sounds like some stupid thing Wai-Yi would do now!"
   "Hey," Wai-Yi scoffed, frowning.
   "It was a horrible choice, I don't think I was in the right mind during any point of that time," Friday reasoned.
   "So? What happened after?" Rajiv asked again.
   "Nothing. The performance was cancelled and I'm pretty sure someone tipped off the news outlets to not speak about it. I had already told the studio that I was quitting afterwards so after I apologized to all of the other dancers, I just left."
   "So, wait, how'd you stop your blood phobia?" Epstein asked, sitting next to Friday.
   "Oh, that was me," Melanie pitched in. "Every morning for a few months now I'd show Friday a photo of blood, gradually increasing in size until she stopped fainting. It took a long time, but I researched for a bit before doing it. As a final test, I pricked myself with a sewing needle and shoved my finger near her face. She just stared at it for a minute until I pulled away."
   "That was all it took? Why didn't you do that before?" Epstein asked.
   Friday shrugged. "I don't think anyone cared enough to help."
   The clocktower bell rang, signifying dinner. The group got up and stretched, retiring to their respective dorm rooms to get ready for dinner. Ian paused at the doorway and looked back, not being able to help the grin on his face.
   "It's always something with you, isn't it?"
   Friday sighed and fell back onto her bed. "It just happens."
   "Sure, I'll believe that when I see it," the boy said with a laugh.
   He closed the door and Friday got up to sit next to her best friend. With a sigh, her head fell onto Melanie's shoulder.
   "We don't have to go if you're tired," Melanie said.
   "No, it's alright. Mrs Marigold made your favourite, remember?"
   Melanie smiled. "Oh, yes, you're right. I almost forgot."
   "Don't worry, I remembered."
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