Page 113 of The First Taste

I give him a shy smile. “Yeah, especially the last one. That releve développe sliding into that pas de bourrée was really tricky.”

Eric nods, digging through his duffel bag. “I think that move is featured pretty heavily in The Nutcracker. So if we have any hope of getting picked for any ballet company, I guess that’s a move we really have to nail.” He pulls his water bottle out of his bag and takes a swig.

As he drinks, I look at the way his head is thrown back. His throat arches, his whole body effortlessly shifting to balance. I watch the motion of Eric swallowing, my eyes tracing the path of the water moving down his throat.

Will he ever ask me out?I wonder.

I’ve never been on a date or had a boyfriend, but I have definitely had the hots for Eric for years.

He snaps the lid closed on his water bottle and catches my longing expression. He arches an eyebrow. “What?”

My face goes red and I turn away from him, heading toward my own duffel bag. I fib a little. “Did you know that I can get extra life out of my pointe shoes by using floor wax? I dab a little inside the box, put the shoes in a preheated oven that’s been turned off. When I take them out and let them cool overnight, they feel better and last longer.”

He squints at me. “You are really thrifty, Kaia.”

I am. I have to be.

There is no magical force out there, guiding me toward making money. Just me, trying to scrimp and save and cut corners to get by.

I flush, looking down at my hands.

Eric continues on, as if I had never started off on a weird money saving tangent. “I’m just wondering about what company I’ll end up in. Imagine if we both got accepted to the New York Ballet.”

Manon is standing by the wall where my bag is. As I approach, she turns around, her lip curling into a delicate sneer.

“There is no way that Kaia will be chosen by the NYB. They only recruit five graduates from every ballet academy in the world each year. You just…” Her eyes scan my body, a smirk appearing on her lips. “Don’t measure up. You should apply for Cincinnati or Birmingham or somewhere that they need second rate ballerinas, honestly.”

My heart drops toward my feet. I open my mouth to return her snarky comment, but Ella walks over, inserting herself in the situation. Ella refuses to let anybody talk to her or her friends with disrespect… and I’m lucky enough that she has adopted me as one of her besties.

Whatever that means for ballerinas, anyway.

“Shut the fuck up, Manon. Don’t you have a broomstick somewhere to polish up before the next full moon?” she says, making shooing motions with her hands. Her Southern accent is thick as molasses and twice as syrupy-sweet.

Manon’s lips twist. “Go back to whatever hillbilly town you’re from. Leave the rest of the world alone.”

“First of all, I’m from Marietta, which is a suburb of Atlanta. And second, you’d better watch your mouth before I clean it out with a fucking bar of soap.” Ella says.

“Ugh, bitch.” Manon storms off, disappearing through the studio door. I look at Ella, beyond grateful.

“Thanks,” I say, shaking my head. “You always have the best retorts. I wish I was more like that.”

Ella squeezes my upper arm. “Everybody does, boo.”

She slides her gaze to Eric, her gaze tightening just a little. She doesn’t completely approve of Eric for some reason and makes that pretty clear.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asks.

Eric gives her an odd look. “It’s late Saturday afternoon. We’re done with practice for the day. Where is it exactly that you think I should go?”

Ella puts her hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. She turns her attention back to me. “I’m going to see a play tonight. Any interest in attending?”

I wrinkle my nose and pull off my point shoes. “I can’t. I have to work. Raincheck?”

“Sure,” she says with a shrug.

Ella pulls a pair of dark sweatpants out of her duffel bag, quickly swapping her white skirt for the pants. I unwrap my laces and pull off my shoes. Eric is pulling on a pair of pants and a tight ivory sweater.

For a minute, the studio is quiet, the sound of everyone changing and moving out of the room dominating the space.