Change It To Save It

Chapter 7

SATURDAY

I slowly open my eyes, the sun shining into my room. Looking over, Lula sits against the headboard and scrolls through her phone. I close my eyes for a few seconds more before sitting up to stretch.

"Morning, Ellie." Lula calls me by my childhood nickname.

I roll my eyes, "Morning." I say, too groggy to tease her back.

I reach for my phone, unplugging it then pressing my thumb for the Touch I.D.

"Did my mom come in?" I ask, opening Twitter on instinct.

"Yeah. She said she's sorry about last night. And she's going to make pancakes." Lula answers.

I rub my eyes, everything too. blurry for me to read. I yawn and flop back on the bed, scrolling through.

The scent of pancakes wafts through my open door, making me smile a little bit.

I reach for the remote, turning on the T.V. I switch it to a news station to check the weather.

"...more often. The same arsonist is suspected to be at fault, no word yet on his description. Tyra Fox, ENN news, Richmond Hill."

"Another fire there? That's like the third this week." Lula adds. I shrug and flip through channels after I find what I'm looking for.

I stop at Real World, not really caring anyways because I was just gong to scroll through Instagram anyways.

Under Lula's username is a picture of me watching intensely watching T.V, shoving popcorn into my mouth. I didn't realize I was tagged in it, and when I click the picture to check the tags, Ben is tagged on the T.V. I silently roll my eyes and post a quick comment under the picture.

I finish typing, then swing my legs over the bed, jumping out and stretching out. I open the blinds and the room becomes even brighter.

"Breakfast's ready!" Mom calls from the kitchen. I reach my arms high above my head and stretch my back out. The cracking of joints music to my ears.

I'm hit in the head by something soft but dense. I whip around and Lula stand by my open dresser.

"Hurry up, I'm hungry." She says. I bend down and pick up a pair of socks, rolling my eyes and throwing them back at her. She ducks and squeals, running downstairs to the kitchen. I can't help but smile.

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"Make sure those hands are flexed to the max!" I yell over the music. My eyes scan the room, making sure that the energy is up and technique is as good as six year olds can make it.

On Saturday evenings I volunteer at the studio, helping with mini classes. From five o' clock to nine I have four classes, jazz, ballet, ballet and jazz n' hop, all with kids ages four to eight.

I don't mind teaching, but sometimes the kids can be a handful.

The music stops, and they finish in their ending poses, half-smiling.

"Make those smiles bigger!" I shout. The ends of their mouths lift to their ears.

"And, good." I let the kids relax. They all drop to the ground, but with one hard stare, they're all up on their feet in seconds.

"You still need to work on your faces. I still need tons more energy from you. Get in your curtesy positions then you guys can go." I say sternly. They all avoid my gaze and drag their feet across the room.

I press play and a soft, short, classical piece starts. It brings back memories of a young me, a little bit too cocky, curtsying with a little bit too much snobbiness.

The kids do their curtsy's lazily, but I let it slide because I've kind of pushed them a little hard.

But they need it.

The music finishes and I send them off. They get changed and one by one they leave as the next class enters.

As the next ballet class comes in, Ben comes in, laughing with one of the kids who's pulling on the gold chains that wrap around his pants. He makes his way over to me with a wide smile.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "Hey." He almost whispers.

"Hi," I try my hardest not to groan and roll my eyes, instead wiping my sweaty palms on my leotard and look around the room.

"These kids any good?" He asks. I look back at him, kind of surprised he spoke.

"As good as any average kid can be." I reply. Ben laughs and I smile a bit too.

Most of the kids have entered and are changing, the rest stretching. Ben and I stand in awkward silence.

"Hey, um, I know that you aren't really that find of me but I just want you to know that I'm not, I'm not like, a serial killer or something. Scout's honour." Ben admits.

I bite my lip. I was waiting for this.

I grab the back of my neck. "I don't expect you to be a serial killer. Lula really cares about you. Like a lot."

He chuckles, twiddling his thumbs.

"I don't want her to get hurt, and I don't know you. Also, no offence, but you're kind of hard to read, so I can't tell how you're gonna treat her. And that makes me nervous."

I don't tell him that I know what it's like to be left in the dark.

"Non-taken. I'm not gonna hurt Lula. I just want people who are gonna accept me. You and Lula seem like those kind of people." Ben smiles.

He obviously can't read people.

I remind myself that this is what Lula wants, and sometimes you have to take risks, even if you might get heartbroken.

"So now that we've established that you're not a serial killer, you're not a pervert, right?"

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Sorry for the short filler chapter!

More to come soon!