The New Girl | 𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘡

Rude

After a grueling battle with my hair, I manage to fasten it into a bun on top of my head with the help of about half of a pack of bobby pins. In the interest of time, I grab both my pointe shoes and regular ballet slippers and rush into the studio with both pairs in hand. Most of the girls are already stretching at the barre, so I slip in behind a caramel-haired girl that is easily half a foot taller than me.

"Are those the shoes you chose for class?" She asks as I slide on my ballet slippers that my mom gave me. They're worn out beyond relief, but I want to have a small piece of her with me today.

"Um, yes?" I glance back down at my feet in confusion, and then look up at her.

"Oh that's cute," she grimaces at me condescendingly. "You must be taking this class for fun, yeah?"

"This is a requirement for my major," I correct her. "Believe me, I wouldn't be taking classical ballet if I had a choice."

"My mistake, you'd think a dance major would invest in some decent shoes." She scoffs with a slight roll of her eyes. Rather than indulge this girl with a response, I choose to keep my mouth shut and wait for class to start.

One of the other boys from the mall comes walking into the room in joggers and a tee shirt, causing the entire class to erupt in whispers. He pays them no mind as he walks up behind me, mumbling incoherent things to himself as he does so.

"Are you in the right class?" The rude girl asks him, and he just rolls his eyes at her.

"Yep," he snarls at her. "Got a problem with that, Miss Priss?"

She gasps at his reply, the insult and shock on her face making me snicker. She glares at me, but the boy smiles when he sees that I found his comment funny.

"Not in the slightest." The snotty girl chirps back with forced composure. Her smile is as sickly sweet as the cinnamon rolls in the dining hall, and from the look on this guy's face, I'm not the only one who isn't fond of her.

"Miss Wang, I don't remember giving you permission to speak during class." Our instructor comes striding into the room with her chin tilted up and her crimson hair tied into a tight bun.

"Sorry," she squeaks in cowardice at the redhead. At least someone knows how to put this girl in her place.

"I guess we can get started then," our teacher smiles at the class while her piercing dark eyes scan each of us. "Welcome to Ballet Fundamentals. I am your instructor, and you may call me 'Madame'. Let's begin with a review of the positions..."

"You." She points her finger at the tall boy behind me, who until just now, wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention. He freezes in fear when he realizes he's being called upon, but makes no effort to respond.

"What is your name?" Madame asks in a low voice.

"Mingi," he answers softly, and Madame tuts in disapproval.