Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 26

Around eight-forty on Monday morning, I walk into Blonos's studio.

My moon boots pad across the floor to my usual barre at the far end of the room, and my bag drops to the ground with a clunk. Rolling out my shoulders a couple of times, I settle into a lunge.

I get murmured "good mornings" from a few others at my barre who currently stretch, and I echo the words, smiling at the people that I barely know. But a moment later, I'm turning my eyes to the floor, where familiar grey vinyl stares back up at me. I know it as well as the rest of this room.

The first week, I'd look around this place every morning and try to hide my wonder while staring at the story-high mirrors, the "overseer balcony"—Maven's words, not mine—and the dozens of other ballerinas and dancers in the room. Everything was so perfect, so . . . imperial. I was in constant awe of where I was and who I was around, and I could hardly get enough of watching all of the other dancers turn and leap and do so much more.

Over the course of six weeks, everything's changed.

I train with some of the best ballet dancers in the world on a daily basis. I do warm-ups with them, I get drilled by Blonos with them, and I sweat with them for hours as we go through the merciless choreography of Elara Merandus. The best part: that choreography isn't a part of anything. It's just for training, just to build up stamina.

So somewhere along the line, I realized that I was just as much of a dancer as anybody else in this room. This place . . . it's become like a home to me, and I don't give anything a second look today.

My body aches every night when I go to bed, and I wake up every morning wanting to do it all over again. I still leave my loft early to practice in Julian's studio most mornings, only to spend another six hours dancing ballet. Any technique or ability I lost when I wasn't in the studio has now fully returned, and my legs have regained all of the muscle I lost in those months, and then some. I'm not far from having full-blown abs, either.

Over the course of six weeks, I've become a professional ballet dancer.

I mean, I wear moon boots before class now, these weird cushioned shoe-things that keep my feet warm. I take baths with Epsom salt, and I get massages from this masseuse that the Academy keeps on hand. My foot care routine has only become more intricate, and I blow through five pairs of pointe shoes a week. Every Sunday, Lucas knocks on my door with a cardboard box full of them, courtesy of the Academy and each pair custom-made from that shop Maven took me to.

Then there are the instructors I dance around every day. Blonos, Elara . . . world-class and the best of their kind. And they're only a small part of the Academy when you look at everything through a wider scope and see the teachers and choreographers they employ, the musicians and directors, the seamstresses and set designers. I've never felt like a part of something so big.

Sliding into a split from my lunge, I brace my hands against the vinyl. Thirty feet away, my reflection stares back at me from the mirrors. I'm wearing my usual sweatshirt and thermal pants over my leotard and tights, and my bun peaks out over my head.

You wouldn't know it, but I'm tired. Really tired. I barely slept after what happened with Will yesterday, and I had to force myself to eat this morning. Though I had no problem downing three cups of coffee. I'll have to wait and see how long the buzz of caffeine lasts today.

But nope. I'm not going there right now. Not after I spent half the night—

Nope.

I focus on stretching. I come out of my split and switch to a lunge on my left side. It's the same old, same old routine, but it's something to focus on. A distraction.