Prima Ballerina *Jelena Ballerina Series* (Part 1)

Chapter 1: A Mini Subway Adventure

Selena's P.O.V.

The cold air of the apartment's air condition sends chills throughout my room with a high-pitched trill. My arms go through the holes of my jacket and leave it unzipped to expose my leotard. Already the mellifluous intro song of Swan Lake plays throughout my room. When I glance at the old clock hanging on the bricked wall, I notice that I am already running more behind than usual. This I have to blame on Resa Landing; who lives one level below me and was blasting music until the break of dawn, on top of the mixed chants from her rowdy party guests. To make matters worse, she is my ballet nemesis who I have been duking it out with for the best solos and main roles in productions at our studio, ever since I could remember.

The worst part is that we have been in every class together since we were 2-years-old. We attend the same University with all the same courses, and we live in the same apartment complex. However, as I mentioned before, I live one level above her with my best friend in the entire world. Resa lives by herself and brags to me of how this is an advantage since she is able to work even more on her ballet. (Wasn't she throwing a party last night?) As for me, I love living with my best friend. Plus I needed to live with her since I couldn't afford to pay rent by myself.

Half of the money I make from working my diner job (which I believe is a giant time-waster since it takes away from my dance time) goes to my father, to help him pay for my dance classes. We all don't have it easy like Resa Landing, who will not ever have to work a day in her life. Her dad is the CEO of a big company that is continuing to expand. Either way, I do find having a roommate as an advantage since I have trained her well enough to  be critical of my ballet. (It helps that we have been best friends for as long as I have been in ballet.)

The front door opens and the scream of the air conditioner becomes louder. Hurriedly, I rush over to my white vanity and begin to tie my hair back into a tight proper bun. Bobby pins hang from my mouth as I fight with my hair to place it in a ponytail. Once it is pulled back, I grab my hair and begin to twirl it into a perfect ballet bun.

Straight after the front door closed, there is a loud annoyed grunt as multiple bags are dropped on the floor. Something rolls until it hits one of the giant pillars. There are pitter-patters of her feet crossing the wooden floor to pick up what I am guessing is a soup can. Across the house, over my elegant music, she yells, "Selly can you please help me with the groceries?"

Rolling my eyes, I refuse to reply and continue to tend to my hair. It is still fighting against me. Two out of seven days, my hair decides to be difficult. Of course, it chooses this glorious Saturday afternoon to be difficult. After our last match, I win with the assistance of a load of hairspray and an abundance of bobby pins. With a last glance of myself, I take a deep breath and assure myself that I look fine.

On my tip-toes, I travel across the floor to my stereo. However, the process becomes lost when I become deep in thought. The music takes over me and I begin to dance along with the song. Instead of the usual choreography since I have yet to learn the Swan Lake dance steps, I use my own choreography that displays my strengths.

Next thing I know, the fluid music abruptly stops. Gracefully, I complete my turn that stops directly in front of my stereo. My best friend/roommate has her lean dainty index finger pressing the mute button. Her light eyebrows raise as her red lips curve with annoyance. She looks me up and down and groans louder than before. She unplugs my iPod and the tosses it onto my bed that is  across the room.

"I was listening to that!" I whine

"Why are you in your leotard and have your hair in your bobby pinned ballet bun?" she questions walking over to me. Her footsteps are light against the wood due to how tall and skinny she is. Her short blonde hair bounces until she stops in front of me.