Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 50

Chapters 51 and 52 will be all about drama on the Calore's yacht!!! (spoiler: Evangeline will be there, and you know she be stirring up some drama . . .) I, unfortunately, cannot think of a good song for this chapter, so do let me know if you think of one. You might get tired of me saying it, but star and comment! I love talking with you guys! <3 <3 <3

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My sister, unsurprisingly, picks a chain restaurant smack in the middle of Times Square.

It's warmly lit, contrasting the harsh electric signs that wait on the other side of the tiled windows. Dim red, blue, green, and yellow cylindrical lights dangle overhead, more sets of them falling down over the winding stairs where we came from. TVs sticking out from corners and mounted over the colorful, liquor-filled bar across the way play a Yankees away-game, and unfortunately, Maven's favorite team is ahead.

Our table for two looks out over a field of more polished tables and red-cushioned booths, each one filled with tourists. Natives don't exactly come to Times Square for food on Friday nights.

Yet I'm here anyway, staring down a table that threatens to overflow with food. We've pushed the stand-up pamphlets and table caddie to the side, right to the balcony rail that the table borders. The first floor contains a similar scene of loose laughter and the faint buzz of the baseball game.

Only for my sister would I go all-out like this. A mango lemonade—the second of the night, I should add—a half-eaten Caesar salad, a tray of appetizers and dips, and a plate bearing grilled chicken, shrimp, mashed potatoes, and broccoli rest before her. It's like she was fasting before she got to the Academy.

Not that my side is much different. I've been dancing since six this morning, and now my eyes bore into the appetizers and fries I've shared with Gee and my own cheeseburger of ridiculous proportions. We haven't hit dessert yet, though I'm already planning what I want, and I'm sure Gisa is too.

"Well. This is fun," Gisa says between two sips of lemonade that down her mouthful of potatoes.

I smile back at her. "It is."

Gisa, after Shade and Kilorn, is the third person to hear the lengthy tale of how I became a Principal dancer at the Calore Dance Academy. I have to take out the part about Cal and the "botched pickpocketing attempt," as Shade likes to call it, but the rest stays. After telling the story twice, it streamlines the third time, falling in between bites of decadent food.

My fall, my audition, the trip with my partner to a dance emporium, the first day of class all come spilling out. My turning contest with Evangeline and my promotion to Principal come later, along with my glimpses into the lives of Manhattan's elite.

I, in turn, hear about our family.

For the first time in a long time, our bank account is going up. Bree and Tramy are both working again. Last week, Gisa made a commission off a design for the hefty price of six-hundred dollars from some arty fool who lives in Tribeca. My envelopes keep coming. Dad got a new disability check last week. Mom relented when Bree, Tramy, and Gisa all cornered her and told her to stop taking extra shifts at the diner, and with more arguing, she agreed to buy a fancy stand-up mixer for herself. She's wanted one for a while.

Those things, the mundane things, are the ones that I find myself out-of-touch with.

Gisa's had her cast off for three weeks. Her wrist is still a little weak, but it's fine for sewing, and as soon as she got the clearance, she got right to work and made that six-hundred dollar dress. She comes down to Midtown after school most days, and just like how I used to at the studio, she spends entire weekends at the company. Her apprenticeship is right back on.