Page 44 of Just One Bite
“Her name was Olive. She named me specifically after her while my sisters got our dad’s family traditional names that start with an E. Ballet was her entire life, and she was a legacy. Noxx House was her house too. I knew when I filled outthe test I’d get into the same house. Just a feeling.”
“So you’re like a miniature version of her?”
My cheeks heat and my heart stutters. It feels like a compliment.
“Yeah … that’s how I like to view it.”
“She sounds amazing,” he says it with a big tight-lipped smile that seems too genuine for me to find any faults with.
“I came to audition.”
There’s a blue-haired girl with a pixie cut blocking the entrance to the dance studio. Her pointed glare and black nails clicking on the stone next to my face have my bitchiness dialed up a couple notches. I let it show only through the disinterest plastered on my face and the way I try to weasel past her in the door.
Ballet is a competitive art, so I’ve grown up learning to deal with competitive people. It’s a reflex at this point but requires a level of confidence if you want them to back off. Even if you don’t believe it, you have to show it; they smell fear.
“You can’t.”
“This says sign-ups right here.” I motion gracefully to the piece of paper pinned to the door.
“Humans almost never make the Doxlothia company.” She sniffs the air, and I have no idea if she’s Were or vampire.
Maybe there are subtle signs I should have learned. Yet another thing to graciously thank my father for when I see him again.
“You’re Parker Owens’s mate, aren’t you?”
Guess the scenting worked. My mind flashes to the long sniff Parker took of me before he left me for the ice rink. His ears reddened and he beamed.
I sigh, trying to emphasize how bored I am. “Can you move? I need to warm up for the audition.”
“There’s no point. I’m saving you the trouble.”
I’m contemplating how hard this girl can punch versus starting my warm-upoutside when another girl strolls up.
She’s got straight, shiny cinnamon-colored hair, and freckles peppered across her cream skin. She is in head-to-toe pastel pink and puts an arm around me like we’re friends.
“Don’t listen to her. The company takes anyone with talent. Don’t think having boosted strength and extended stamina will gain you a spot alone. They take all things into account, including technique and artistry and those who work hard.”
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m sorry. I’m Octavia Vix.” She holds out her hand in a greeting as if she hadn’t already welcomed me by drawing me toward her and her floral perfume. Her nails are also pink. I think Emma would squeal. And then I remember Emmadidsqueal. When Octavia entered the dining hall with the other members of the council.
“You’re on the council.” I inhale. “I’m Olivia.”
“I know. Your name has come up quite a lot lately at breakfast. I’m one of two other humans on the council, the daughter of the director, and a second-year if you really want to get specific.” She turns her attention back to the blue-haired girl. “Fia, move.”
And then promptly thanks her as she lets me inside.
“You’re the daughter of Mrs. Vix?” I ask.
“Yes! You’ll love her. I help her out in the studio with things like organizing her calendar and setting up the room. I might have seen your video submission.” Octavia fluffs her hair, like she’s testing my reaction. “I’m in charge of handling emails for her. Your fouettés were so clean. I could never.”
“I’d be happy to run through them together sometime. I’m here a lot.”
“Really?” Her eyes sparkle, and she grabs my forearm.
“Of course.”
I miss being in ballet school for that reason, to mingle with people who understand it and crave it. The satisfaction of helping each other work through weak spots. I wasn’t always good at fouettés till an older girl helped me practice and refine them after class. You learn so much from watching others.
