Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 36

A big thank-you to @chloe_yi05 , who has now been with me for a few chapters! You are beyond appreciated!

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Watching Ann strip my bed of its sheets and pillowcases is still weird.

The maid works with brutal efficiency as she comes in and out of my room. Each time, she carries something new, from expensive bars of soap to a feather duster that I tell her not to waste her time with. Ann wipes down my bathroom sink, erases invisible smudges from my windows, and vacuums around me as I sit on my plush couch, watching some reality TV show that I don't pay attention to.

I'll never be used to living in this loft. Not only is it the same size as the entirety of my family's apartment, but it's equipped with a maid service of a five-star hotel caliber. Apparently Tiberias Calore makes it a priority to treat his dancers like princes and princesses, for those who are interested. In spite of the fact that any of us could afford a nice apartment in Manhattan with our dancer's salary, a good number of the younger, college-aged Academy dancers actually live here.

I don't blame them. It's free, and ballet exhausts us. I don't have time to clean or do laundry, not to mention I was never particularly good at either. Gee and Mom did most of the housework back at home when I was too busy with dance, and Mom never poked the subject as long as I was pickpocketing. The Academy maids save me from my incompetent self, and the more I think about it, I'm near-certain I would've gotten fired as a maid in a week's time.

"You actually watch that crap, Mare?" Ann calls. I can hear her shuffling the bottles of washes, bars of soap, and scented candles—the Academy doesn't provide the latter, but I've come to the conclusion that Bath and Body Works sales are my kryptonite, dammit—I've accumulated in my bathroom.

"No," I mutter, staring down at my hands. I was channel surfing when she knocked, and when she came in, I lost any motivation I had for finding a good show to watch.

However it happened, Ann's a member of the Scarlet Street Fighters. Not a week ago, she delivered me Shade's note with a cheery smile and a fake laugh, and I haven't seen her since.

We can't talk about it, though. My door's wide-open, and I wouldn't trust whispering Scarlet Street Fighters within a block-radius of this place anyway.

So I sit on my couch instead, waiting for her to be gone.

I'm not usually around when a maid comes, and I just leave my laundry in a heap by the door, along with a note saying what I need. With Ann shuffling back and forth, I feel frozen.

"Your laundry will be back in an hour and a half," Ann calls again, forgetting about my reality show. A moment later, the maid comes out of my bathroom with a faint smile. She glances around my room randomly, then to me. "You should put a little more of an effort into decorating your loft, you know," Ann says, as though she's only realizing this now.

She's only somewhat wrong. The first time I set foot in it, my loft already looked like a team of interior designers had swept through, with its beautiful furniture, tasteful paintings, and pretty kitchen and living room knick-knacks. It comes with a full dinnerware set and my own towels, and I really only have to buy a few things that the Academy doesn't provide itself.

But I know what she means, even as I have no idea what I'd buy that wouldn't be a waste of money. I came with nothing but the clothes on my back, a duffle bag, and a photograph of my family that I've since taped to my fridge. I've purchased some new clothes in the last weeks, but . . . aside from shoving my leotards and shirts and pants into my massive closet and buying some scented candles, I haven't made any effort to make this place my own. It's somewhere to sleep and recover from the horrors of ballet, and that's it.