Pirouette

2: Passing By

Fiona screeched up at the guy and jumped out of his arms the very next second. Her reaction caused him to let out a chuckle as she shuffled away like he had boy cooties.

"You okay there?" He asked her with a little grin and rose a bemused brow.

"How the hell did you get in?!" She exclaimed and wrapped her arms around herself. She could've sworn she had locked the door – she knew she had. Did he bust in or something? Wouldn't she have heard that?

"You do know that none of the locks here work, right?" He informed and shot a thumb over his back towards the door. "They're just for show. The only working locks you'll find are on the stalls to the girls bathroom."

"How do you know that?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? The only place you'll find a working lock is in the girls bathroom."

Fiona shook her head, but then instantly snapped out of it. "I had the blinds closed. Were you creeping on me?"

"Well, I was passing by and I glanced in through the cracks and saw you spinning like a fidget spinner, but then I saw your feet—"

"You were creeping on my feet?"

"—and then I noticed you were twisting your foot wrongly," He finished, and then to Fiona's surprise walked into the middle of the floor. Her eyes widened when he stepped into fourth position and held out his arms into a perfect arch. "You want to watch your foot when you go en pointe in your fouettés so that you don't travel, and more importantly, don't break your ankle."

Fiona took a quick step back when he then set off and made a clean fouetté, kicking his leg out and turning perfectly. He spun three perfect spins, then came back into fourth, ending as elegantly as he started.

"You dance ballet?" She asked. She hadn't expected that from the hiphop boy, but maybe that was presumptuous of her.

"I dance a little of everything." He grinned, then eyed her up and down. "But I don't think I've seen your tutu around here before. You new to the Dec?"

"No. I usually just dance in the evening." She averted her eyes to the floor. Why were they talking? She should be dancing, not talking with some random guy with a foot fetish.

"The evening?" He responded. "Little dangerous walking home that late, don't you think?"

"I grew up in Harlem, I know my way around."

"I grew up in Harlem too, but you don't see me walking the streets at night."

"You grew up in Harlem?" She asked and couldn't help the pinch of surprise in her voice.

He smirked slowly and crossed his arms. "What? Can't a gringo grow up in the hood? That's racist, baby."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as well. "That wasn't what I was implying. I was just surprised."

"I'm full of surprises, baby girl. So, you wanna try that fouetté again?"

"What?" She blinked rapidly when he switched subject faster than she could spin. "The... fouetté?"

"Yeah, it'll only take a minute to teach," He said and took a step towards her. "It's really easy once you get the hang of it."

"Uh... no, thank you, I'm good," She declined and stepped back when he came closer. He stopped up and raised a brow.

"I don't bite, tutu. It really only takes a minute to learn, I'm not kiddin—"

"I said I'm fine!"