Page 4 of Captive Vows
She patted my foot. We sat side by side with our legs crossed, but she wasn’t in her tights and leotard. A car accident had ruined her chances of ever dancing again. Sitting like this with her knees apart and ankles crossed was a feat for her. Regardless of her inability to dance any longer, she remained a true friend at the studio, a supportive person when I had no one else.
That’s the whole problem.
I had no one. I came from nowhere.
“No, it’s not fair. But maybe one day, that will change,” she said quietly as we watched the lesson carry on for those who were “good” enough.
I didn’t have the same kind of faith and hope she enjoyed. When would anything change? I was born in a shitty neighborhood. My mom was killed in a drive-by. My dad was a loser deadbeat.
No money. No prospects. No future.
I winced, watching one of the dancers totally botch a step and leap that I could do in my sleep.
Every one of the dancers up there had wealthy parents to afford all the classes and private instructors they could find. The men and women on the floor were the rich and privileged ones who got to go to fancy camps and courses to further broaden their skills. They knew the right people in the business.
I, on the other hand, knew Amy and her mom, the owner of this small studio. I taught myself a lot from YouTube videos and tutorials, dancing in my tiny bedroom. I got these classes only because I did all the housework for my dad and I bartered with him to pay for these classes. That was all I had going for me.
So, yeah, it was freaking hard to watch others get ahead when all I’d ever dreamed of was to dance. When all I’d ever wished for was to lose myself to the magic of being on the stage and moving my body like a form of art.
“It’s just ’cuz they knew these people from that group,” Amy whispered, on my side.
She wasn’t wrong, though. These classmates of mine were only getting ahead because they were familiar to the guest instructors. As frustrating as it was, I tried to look past the envy and figure out a solution. Being scrappy was how I’d taught myself to live. Without much money and nothing else to lean on as far as a supporting and loving home, I’d had to be resourceful. I’d formed a deep dedication to working my ass off for what I wanted.
Maybe this wouldn’t have to be so different.
Paying attention to a pathetically hopeless redhead with theworstform ever, I noticed how much the guest instructor smiled at her. How he watched her. How he checked out her ass in that pink leotard. She could barely fill it out, too flat overall.
Dancers tended to have a small percentage of body fat, but I was secretly thrilled I could hang on to my assets while being fit.
Maybe I could be familiar with some of these instructors too…
During the entire class, I let myself dare to dream. To scheme as well. By the time the “chosen” ones were done with their lesson, I couldn’t think of a reason I shouldn’t go through with this impulsive brainstorm that had come to me.
I could smile and flirt with that instructor. I could get his attention on me—on my body, at least.
If I couldn’t have the means to get to know these elite instructors and be familiar with the staff who could grant me permission to be included in more advanced lessons like this one, then I’d need to use what I had. It was one more way to think outside the box. And that was what I’d do.
“What’s that one’s name?” I asked Amy with a sly smile lifting my lips.
She furrowed her brow as I pointed out the one I’d watched the most. Tall, thin but muscled, and with a roguish mohawk cut that made him look edgy.
“Why…?” she asked slowly, suspicious of me.
I shrugged. “No reason.” Done with taking my ballet shoes off and stowing them in my bag, I slung the small sack over my back. I wrapped my fingers around the thin straps, almost like it was a shield to give me protection.
Hitting on a guy wasn’t something I ever wasted my time on. Flirting with an instructor had never crossed my mind before. In all the years I’d succeeded in getting my dad to pony up money for some dance classes, I’d been a diligent, obedient student. I’d listen to their every word, intent on doing my steps right. I’d watch them for how they moved and used their muscles, eager to replicate their gracefulness.
Checking out a dude on the dance floor had never been an option. But hey, I’d do whatever it took.
“Oliver,” Amy said at last, still eyeing me like she didn’t like what I had in mind.
“And he’s in charge of picking who can go for the preliminary auditions in the fall?” I asked, smiling wider. The thought of actually auditioning to go to school for ballet excited me. It was a long shot. It was a pipe dream. But it wasmydream. Dance was my life and it was all I’d ever wanted to do. That was why insteadof accepting a teeny scholarship for a nursing community college outside the Bronx, I got a part-time clerk job at a store so I could perfect my dancing on my own.
Amy winced as she reached out to grab my arm and stop me from going toward Oliver. “Yes, he is. But, Gabby?—”
I stepped out of her reach, grinning fully. With a wink for her, I hoped this mischievous feeling could carry me into successfully seducing him.
Whatever it took.
