sit down in the chair.
“What’s on your mind?” Her eyes are hard. She’d rather be working on whatever it was she was doing instead of talking to me.
My words come out in a rush, not at all like I practiced in my head in the hallway. “I know we’re getting partners today. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”
She glances up at me quickly before focusing back on her computer. “You’ve danced with a partner before. You have nothing to worry about.”
I play with an invisible spot on my tights. I want to tell her what my concern is, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about my life. She doesn’t care about people leaving, about my trust issues, about my injury. It will only add to her doubt of my abilities.
“I haven’t partnered in a really long time and I just think it would be better if I could partner with someone I’m starting to get comfortable with. Like Adam.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you asking me if you can partner with Adam?”
I take a deep breath, unsure I should even answer her question. Her tone scares me and I don’t want to dig myself in any deeper than I already have.
She folds her hands on the desk in front of her and continues without my answer. “I told you the first day of class we don’t give breaks. If I allow you to partner with the person of your choice, I have to allow that same consideration to every other student in this program, and I can’t do that. Even if I could, the partners have already been chosen. This doesn’t just affect you. It affects every other student here.”
I look down at my hands in my lap, unable to look her in the eye any longer. This was a huge mistake. “I understand.”
“Do you? Because it doesn’t look good on your part, asking for special treatment in the second week of class. Keep in mind we don’t just look at technique and abilities in a dancer when we’re considering someone for London. We consider the dancer as a whole, including how agreeable they are.” Her eyes flick to her computer for a couple of seconds.
My cheeks burn. I want to be as far away from here as possible. What even made me think this would work in the first place? This conversation will spread like wildfire to all the teachers and no one will want to work with me anymore. I’ve just turned into the high maintenance, needy dancer. Awesome.
She doesn’t bother to look at me anymore, focused instead on a piece of paper lying on her desk. “If that’s all, you can go. You can’t afford to be late for class right now.”
I walk out of her office. I never should have talked to her in the first place. Such a stupid mistake.
Brielle catches me in the hallway. “Did you just talk to Miss Catherine? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I keep walking.
“Is there ever anything you do want to talk about?” She crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s expecting me to spill my guts for her now.
I glare at her. “Sometimes.”
“Sadie?”
I turn at the sound of my name. Owen, a guy in my dance history class, jogs up beside us.
“Hey, how are you?”
I smile. “Good.”
I don’t know him that well. It’s weird that he’s making an effort to come talk to me outside of class.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner this weekend.”
My smile falls. The Hit List hasn’t even been around that long and I’m already sick of it.
He looks nervous. “I’m not part of that game, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Brielle laughs beside me. “Does that actually work?”
He looks offended. Maybe he really isn’t part of it. He could just actually want to date me.
“She’s not interested.” Brielle pulls me toward the studio.
Owen doesn’t say anything back. He shuffles back down the hallway the way he came.
I watch him walk away, but wait until he’s out of earshot to say anything. “That was mean. He might not really be playing.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you want to go out
“What’s on your mind?” Her eyes are hard. She’d rather be working on whatever it was she was doing instead of talking to me.
My words come out in a rush, not at all like I practiced in my head in the hallway. “I know we’re getting partners today. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”
She glances up at me quickly before focusing back on her computer. “You’ve danced with a partner before. You have nothing to worry about.”
I play with an invisible spot on my tights. I want to tell her what my concern is, but I can’t bring myself to tell her about my life. She doesn’t care about people leaving, about my trust issues, about my injury. It will only add to her doubt of my abilities.
“I haven’t partnered in a really long time and I just think it would be better if I could partner with someone I’m starting to get comfortable with. Like Adam.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you asking me if you can partner with Adam?”
I take a deep breath, unsure I should even answer her question. Her tone scares me and I don’t want to dig myself in any deeper than I already have.
She folds her hands on the desk in front of her and continues without my answer. “I told you the first day of class we don’t give breaks. If I allow you to partner with the person of your choice, I have to allow that same consideration to every other student in this program, and I can’t do that. Even if I could, the partners have already been chosen. This doesn’t just affect you. It affects every other student here.”
I look down at my hands in my lap, unable to look her in the eye any longer. This was a huge mistake. “I understand.”
“Do you? Because it doesn’t look good on your part, asking for special treatment in the second week of class. Keep in mind we don’t just look at technique and abilities in a dancer when we’re considering someone for London. We consider the dancer as a whole, including how agreeable they are.” Her eyes flick to her computer for a couple of seconds.
My cheeks burn. I want to be as far away from here as possible. What even made me think this would work in the first place? This conversation will spread like wildfire to all the teachers and no one will want to work with me anymore. I’ve just turned into the high maintenance, needy dancer. Awesome.
She doesn’t bother to look at me anymore, focused instead on a piece of paper lying on her desk. “If that’s all, you can go. You can’t afford to be late for class right now.”
I walk out of her office. I never should have talked to her in the first place. Such a stupid mistake.
Brielle catches me in the hallway. “Did you just talk to Miss Catherine? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I keep walking.
“Is there ever anything you do want to talk about?” She crosses her arms over her chest, like she’s expecting me to spill my guts for her now.
I glare at her. “Sometimes.”
“Sadie?”
I turn at the sound of my name. Owen, a guy in my dance history class, jogs up beside us.
“Hey, how are you?”
I smile. “Good.”
I don’t know him that well. It’s weird that he’s making an effort to come talk to me outside of class.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner this weekend.”
My smile falls. The Hit List hasn’t even been around that long and I’m already sick of it.
He looks nervous. “I’m not part of that game, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Brielle laughs beside me. “Does that actually work?”
He looks offended. Maybe he really isn’t part of it. He could just actually want to date me.
“She’s not interested.” Brielle pulls me toward the studio.
Owen doesn’t say anything back. He shuffles back down the hallway the way he came.
I watch him walk away, but wait until he’s out of earshot to say anything. “That was mean. He might not really be playing.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you want to go out
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