Thread: All the Right Moves | ockeroid and colada

Furrowing her eyebrows at her own audacity, Charlotte decided it was best to bite her tongue and cease her attempts at apologizing. It was more than obvious she had overstepped her boundaries by refusing his help and she did not want to create more damage. Instead, she reverted to her reserved tendencies and listened to Kirov as he gave her a lecture. Her eyes flickered down to the floor of the studio as soon as he glanced her way her cheeks were still reddish in hue. She understood the logic behind his lecture, though she wondered if there was more to it why had she made such a careless mistake? She was usually so careful. After all, her parents were not dishing out five-figures just for her to come home to scrapes and bruises. She followed him in silence as he led her to the benches, and she sat down on one as he kneeled in front of her and examined her knee. She turned her head to watch the other students, but was just as quick to look at Kirov as he began to speak. He complimented her again, yet this time she remained poker face, hesitant to speak unless she was certain it was expected of her. The hesitance wore off quickly. Im sorry, she said, her voice naught but a whisper as he continued to poke and prod her knee. Im really sorry if I offended you. I just . . . and she paused, sighing as she decided how to continue what she dared to start. I suppose I was being nave and wanted to impress you. She did not utter another word until he was finished with examining her knee. She extended her leg as he took a seat next to her, allowing herself a moment to massage the bony surface of her knee. Thank you, Mister Antokolsky, she quickly said as he finished his assessment she would have to remember to find an ice pack as soon as she got home, without her mother seeing, of course. The last thing she wanted was a lecture from that woman. She finished massaging her kneecap and folded her hands across her lap, equally intent on watching as the other students started to grab their belongings and depart. Much to my mothers dismay, yes, she responded, a lopsided smile appearing on her face as she thought about it. My mother, being the old-school woman that she is, wanted her only daughter to follow in her footsteps . . . well, I decided to take one class in high school that did not revolve around classical ballet, and I swear she almost had a heart attack. Charlotte could remember that semester well. Her mother had called admissions in an attempt to change her schedule, and when her request was refused she tried to convince Charlotte that no one would take her seriously with that garbage as her mother affectionately called anything not related to the classics on her rsum. Obviously, her mother was wrong. This dance academy was accepted her, and she vividly remembered her mothers tears of joy at the news. Of course, that class only lasted a semester, so my experience with modern ballet is . . . less than adequate, poor even. Charlotte straightened up, her hands no longer resting in her lap but on the bench itself. If I may ask, she began, tilting her head to the side to face him. Is this going to be a common occurrence modern ballet? I was under the impression I applied to . . . oh, how did the website put it, one of the worlds leading classical ballet academies? The tone of her voice was light and cheerful, joking even, in an attempt to make up for her reserved behavior from before. It took her a few minutes to realize how empty the studio had become. Charlotte thought it was their moment of silence, but when she glanced across the studio she realized the other students were long gone. How long had they been sitting here for? She frowned for a split second. I didnt mean to talk so much and keep you here, as Im sure youre quite the busy man. Charlotte lingered for a mere second before she stood, and for the first time today she walked to her belongings in a rushed manner. She was supposed to call her mother when class was over. She lived close enough to the academy, though she did not really feel like walking home in nothing more than a leotard when the sun was starting to set. Charlotte kneeled on the floor as she began to rummage through her duffle bad for her cellular phone, and upon searching her eyes wandered over to the only other duffle bag in the room. She assumed it belonged to Kirov. It was also unzipped. Normally, she would have never dared to look at another persons belongings without permission, but her eyes had wavered for a moment too long. Charlotte practically froze when her eyes focused on what appeared to be a photograph of her. That was silly, of course. She had never seen the man before today, and she was certain that personal pictures of her were not floating around the streets. The longer she stared, the more obvious it became that the picture was of another woman, the telltale sign being the feminine body that Charlotte lacked. She felt a shiver crawl up her spine.