Page 4 of Freestyle (Academy of Stardom 1)

“She’s Madame Tuillard, founder of the academy and the principal.”

“I thought Madame Tuillard was ancient?”

“Nope, not exactly ancient, she’s forty. Set this place up five years ago. She was a prima ballerina for some of the most famous ballet companies in the world. Danced with the greatest. Have you ever heard of Luka Petrin, he stopped dancing when his wife committed suicide? Rumour has it that she killed herself because he was such a manwhore. Madame Tuillard danced with him too, perhaps they shagged…”

“Awesome,” I cut in, not particularly interested in ballet and even less so in some famous dancers’ sex lives. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate ballet and its place in the world of dance, but it’s just so…controlled. Every step has to be perfectly executed. A ballet dancer has to have perfect toes, perfect hands, perfect legs, perfect posture, perfect face, perfect body, perfecteverything.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

I like to move my body in a different way. I like the imperfection of hip-hop, of break dance, even contemporary allows for it. I like the freedom those dances allow me, and the fact I can improvise in those dances without pissing off someone like Madame Tuillard who epitomises perfection with her willowy figure and coiffed hair. I like the way I can express myself through those dances.

“And the guy?”

“Ah, that’s Duncan Neath, or D-Neath to the dance world at large.”

“He’sD-Neath? Fuck!” I glance back over at the guy and a thread of nervous energy lashes through my stomach. That explains why he’s vaguely familiar. I can’t believe I’m about to audition in front oftheD-Neath.

“You’ve heard of him then?”

“Heard of him? He’s a bit of a legend where I come from. He grew up not far from where I live. The guy’s known in all the illegal underground dance clubs. Believe me, his reputation precedes him, and it isn’t all about dance either.”

“So I’ve heard…”

“You have?”

“Yup. My dad’s a lawyer in a big law firm in London. They represented him. Got his sentence down from fourteen years to just five for drug racketeering.”

“How come he’s here then?”

“He was released a year ago. Apparently they’re fucking…” Clancy explains, her eyes widening with glee as she looks between D-Neath and Tuillard.

“Shut-up! Those two?”

“Opposites attract and all that…” Clancy’s voice trails off as Madame Tuillard coughs, her pretty grey eyes falling on us both. She arches a brow and we both shift uncomfortably under her stare.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” she says, glaring down her nose at both of us.

Nervous energy ripples beneath my skin as she picks up a clipboard and runs her fingers over the list of names before her. Around us, the chatter dies down and everyone holds a collective breath as they wait to be called.

“First up isZayn Bernard,” she says, looking up from her clipboard and towards the back of the studio.

“What thefuck?” I whisper-shout, my whole body going rigid. Next to me Clancy flinches, my abject horror startling her.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

“What is it?” she hisses, but I can’t answer her. All I can do is shift my gaze to where Madame Tuillard is staring.

“Why? How?” I grind out, my mouth drying up as I watch the boy I once loved unfurling from his spot in the furthest corner of the room. I hadn’t noticed him when I entered, too distracted with my residual anger at the receptionist and that stuck up bitch Tiffany, but by the look on his face, he sure as fuck noticed me. He’s scowling, a sneer pulling up his lip as he stares directly at me and unzips his black hoodie. Shaking it off, it falls to the studio floor at his feet, and all I can do is stare open-mouthed at his muscled physique and tight black t-shirt. Both his arms are covered in multicoloured tattoos that work their way up from the crook of his elbows to his shoulders, disappearing beneath the material. The last time I’d seen him he didn’t have any tattoos. None. He wasn’t as broad or as tall either. He was a boy on the cusp of manhood. All four of them were.

Zayn, Xeno, Dax and York were my Breakers and I was their girl.

Wasbeing the operative word.

Now Zayn’s a man. A man who’s looking at me like I’m an enemy, not a long-lost friend.

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