Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 14

Yesterday, I gave myself . . . a break.

I didn't go into Will's store to yell at him about the Scarlet Street Fighters or to demand if he knew where Shade or Farley was. I didn't steal the family phone from Gisa—it's a miracle our apartment has free Wi-Fi—to search for information on the gang. I didn't even reread Shade's letter, because the wording wasn't going to change. I remember it clearly.

I also haven't so much as flipped open the pamphlet or gone through the papers nestled in my bag or considered how to tell my family the news. I came home, put another hundred of my savings from Wall Street on the table, retreated to my room, and stashed the bag under my bed.

Gisa was in bed when I knelt down to stow it. Up until this week, I rarely carried anything, but with the maid's job, having something to put a spare set of clothes in was nice, even if it seemed weird to my family. Fortunately, none of them noticed the change during the two days, and Gisa was too mopey to ask about it last night. Mom and Dad especially don't care to notice anything related to my old profession.

Because that's what it is now. Pickpocketing is dangerous, you've said it yourself. You can't risk injury any more.

If she wasn't so damn right, I'd be constantly angry with the rational half of me.

This week was the last time I'll ever pickpocket if this whole dance thing works out. Though I haven't the faintest idea of how it will.

My fellow passengers almost shove me off the subway with them at the stop before mine. I cling to the metallic bar at the end of a blue bench, keeping a close eye on my bag, its handle resting on my shoulder. The crowded areas are where you're most susceptible to theft, and the subway is among the worst. I should know. I've pickpocketed on subways and in subway stations plenty.

The subway doors glide shut and the metro starts up again, the speeding, gliding motion returning me to my thoughts.

First off, my partner doesn't like me. Though I was as flabbergasted as he was at his father's proposition—no, not a proposition, but an ultimatum. Either have me as his partner or have no partner at all. And Maven's not wrong: he doesn't know me like he knows the girls who have taken intensives at the Academy all summer long, in preparation for their auditions.

And I just blew all of those girls out of the water.

But if he has a grudge against me because of where I'm from, then we'll have a problem.

Not my problem for now, though. Tiberias seems to control his son well enough, and I have no power over the situation. When classes start, then I'll try to make friends with him, make our partnership less miserable for both of us.

The big problem I've previously mentioned is my family. I've figured the Academy is a four-mile walk from the apartment, or more realistically, a thirty-minute commute, between walking a few blocks and taking the subway.

The transportation part is easy enough, but the class hours will ruin me. A lot of my questions, including those concerning my soon-to-be schedule, could be solved by looking in the pamphlet, the fabric of my bag the only barrier between it and my hand. Out of some fear, I've avoided it.

Lucas said classes start in a week, next Monday, after they announce placements on Saturday evening. I have time.

But no matter what, I will be getting home late. Late to the point where I'll have to tell the truth about where I am all day long, or else come up with a hell of a story to cover me. I shouldn't have to lie to my family, achieving a dream I thought was lost, and yet . . . I'm still responsible for breaking Gisa's hand, hurting her dreams. It doesn't feel okay for me to be the sister who comes out on top so soon.