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All the Right Moves | ockeroid and colada

Pina Colada

Pina Colada

Planetoid
Joined
Jun 11, 2011
As always, Kirov Yury Antokolsky was the first at the dance studio – a habit he picked up after Audrey passed six months ago. Staying in a home meant for two held no appeal for him and he was never one to just sit in his depression. They’d only been together two years and while he enjoyed every moment with her, had he known she would suddenly be taken away from him Kirov would have done things differently. He would have loved her better, harder. But that was what they all said, right? Shaking his head, Kirov dropped his duffle bag next to the door and removed his grey sweats and hoodie, revealing the black ballet tights and undershirt that he wore underneath. The early morning light that filter through the windows made it so that Kirov had no need for extra lighting and simply began stretching with the thirty minutes he had before his students arrived.

The raven haired man was still adjusting to the title of instructor and teacher. It was only four months ago that he was offered the position at The Marinsky Ballet Academy but he was grateful for it. Before this he’d been traveling with his troupe to various parts of Europe and he’d been having the time of his life. Audrey travelled with them as their photographer and they’d celebrated every performance together. Funny how such an uplifting thing as celebrating could result in her death. A few too many drinks and a car ride back to the hotel turned into his car being wrapped around a tree with broken bones and a dead wife…but he didn’t want to think about that right now. Ballet had been in his life for over sixteen years now and he wouldn’t let it go when it was the only thing he had left to keep him going, so when they offered him a position to teach, he accepted it with open arms. He knew he could never perform again but that didn’t mean he had to leave entirely.

He’d just finished his splits and pirouettes and was working on his leg swings when the first few students flittered in with their shy smiles to their instructor. “So you all made it through the weekend, hm?” Kirov found out early on that the previous instructor had been female and a bit older than his own twenty eight years but he didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable around him. He was fully aware that didn’t exactly present himself as a dancer. Tattoos didn’t elevate your standing as a dancer, neither did shaving the sides of your hair and dying it blue. However, with the strong shoulders and well muscled legs he acquired over the years, Kirov certainly proved himself as a dancer time and time again. He moved with a smoothness that few could compete with, he was driven, and liked to think he cleaned up nicely when the time called for it. Kirov was one of the lucky few who proved to the ballet world not to judge a book by its cover. That being said, many of the women and some of the men seemed to have taken to him in a way that wasn’t really professional.

“Okay guys,” Shaking the rest of the tension from his body, he did a quick headcount to make sure everyone was present as he made an announcement. “I want you to start warming up and I’ll tell you a bit about the upcoming audition I’m sure you all have been whispering about.” There was a new student that was supposed to be in his class but as she had a few more minutes before class actually started. “In three months the academy will be putting on a performance choreographed by the director and she is picking one student from each class to be a part of the performance. Now from what I’ve seen from you all so far has been great but…” The door opening had Mikhail’s blue eyes glancing quickly in the direction, only for him to do a double take as he paused in the middle of his sentence, his hands frozen mid-gesture as he took in the sight before him. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

The grey eyes that stared back at him could belong to anyone else but Audrey. The slightly mussed hair, the oddly pointed nose and lithe frame had all been Audrey. His Audrey. But the longer he stared, the more his brain had time to process the apparition the clearer it became that this girl wasn’t the woman he’d fallen in love with. Audrey had been taller and her hair a rich auburn. She also lacked a dancer’s body, preferring to eat to her heart’s content and having the curves as proof. Even so, it didn’t stop his heart from beating faster or his throat from tightening Clearing away the tightness, he mustered up a smile and lowered his arms, attempting to cover up his lapse though it was pretty much impossible.

“You must be Charlotte. You can start warming up with everyone else. I’m Kirov Antokolsky.” He watched her for a moment as she walked across the room before focusing his attention on the whole class once again. “As I was saying, many of you have a good chance at being chosen but you still need a lot of work.” There were a few sighs and he smiled good-naturedly. “Hey, the hours will be well worth it when you see your name on program so if you need some motivation think of that. I’ll even ask for your autograph.” He gave the more time to stretch before beginning the days lesson, certain that this was going to be one of the longest days of his life.

OOC | Hopefully it's to your liking c:
 

As the child of a retired prominent danseuse and a choreographer, it was only natural that Charlotte Konstantinov took to ballet at the tender age of eight — even younger, in fact, though pre-ballet classes were not an impressive addition to any résumé. Her father, foreseeing a future of great success in the way his four-year-old daughter twirled around the house with such grace, had made an attempt to enroll her in a professional program when she was still convinced that a goblin named Kog was living under her bed. Her mother, furious that her husband would consider enrolling their daughter in professional level classes when she was so young (“her bones are too soft for that kind of physical exercise,” she had angrily told him), had suggested pre-ballet classes as an alternative option until she was older.

Not that she remembered such a conversation, of course. It had been fourteen years since her father picked up on what would become her walk of life. She lived and breathed dancing as she progressed from an imaginative four-year-old to a modest and mature eighteen-year-old, and at the suggestion of her former high school dance instructor she had put in an application at the Marinsky Ballet Academy. Charlotte was almost positive that her application would be shot down based on her less-than-adequate résumé. There was nothing in specific wrong with her résumé, save for the fact she had limited experience in what her mother deemed professional work — the most experience she had with “professional work” was when she scored the lead role in Polovstian Dances as a sophomore in high school. Aside from that, her experiences were as basic as they came. She was a recent high school graduate, having been in dance classes through the entire length of her education. She was a former student of a local junior dance company. Height: five-feet, six-inches. Weight: one hundred and eleven pounds.

When she received a letter stating that the company had accepted her, Charlotte wondered if her physical appearance had persuaded those in charge of admissions. She had what many considered to be a classic ballerina body — long, slender arms and legs; a long neck; a short torso; small hips; and small breasts. In fact, her figure was as far as feminine as possible. The mop of short black hair did not help, either. The only thing feminine about her was her face — she looked like a doe-eyed girl, with her long eyelashes and large owlish eyes.

Regardless, Charlotte was pleased with how the application process had gone. She even went to bed a few hours sooner the previous night, and when she woke up the next morning she felt rejuvenated beyond belief. “Today is going to be a great day,” she thought to herself as she changed from her sleep attire into a black leotard, a pair of pink tights, and her ballet shoes. She had just enough time to wash her face and brush her teeth before her mother insisted that they would be late unless they left soon. After a few more minutes had passed she was sitting in the passenger seat as her mother drove off to the academy.


“Hurry or you’ll be late!” her mother hissed in warning as she parked in front of the academy, checking her watch to see that Charlotte had less than a minute to find the class room.

“I love you too, mother,” she replied in a huff, sighing in response to her mother’s nagging. It was always the same reaction. Maybe it had something to do with her mother being retired from the dance scene, Charlotte was not entirely sure, and she harbored no desire to find out.

Charlotte gave her mother a quick hug before she dashed out of the car, her duffle bag scraping against gravel and pavement. “Okay. I can do this. I just need to . . . oh, oh shoot, do I have the map with me?” It was quite a comical sight. Charlotte was sprinting up the stairs of the academy while she searched through her duffle bag for a map of the building layer, and fortunately she was able to find the paper before she collided with the main entrance door. What a way to start the day. She unfolded the paper, pausing long enough inside the building to get an idea as to where she was going. The studio for her class was on the first floor to the left. Her grey eyes memorized the layout of the first floor, and with seconds to spare she shoved the map back into her duffle bag and managed to find the right studio.

Or so she thought.

Charlotte heard a man’s voice before she opened the door, yet the moment she opened it and stepped inside silence ensued. She froze in place, wondering if she had picked the wrong studio. “God, no, please no . . . please tell me I didn’t pick the wrong door . . . how embarrassing.” Her cheeks flushed from the mere thought, though she did not lose her composure and sulk in humiliation. She stood with proper posture, her back straight and her head held high.

The flush of her cheeks disappeared almost as soon as the man said her name. That meant she found the right room, after all. She gave a small nod of the head, indicating that she was, in fact, the Charlotte who would be joining his class. She did not think twice about the odd way he behaved; instead, she put her duffle bag aside and, with an air of elegance, she walked over to the barre and found a spot to herself. She used the wooden bar as support while she stretched, her ears perking up as she listened to Kirov — she would refer to him as Mister Antokolsky — talk about what sounded to be a performance. The thought of audition did not cross her mind, at least not yet. As the newest member of the class, it would have felt awkward to even dream about landing such a desired role in a short period of time.

She merely pondered the thought of a performance, continuing her stretches as she remained quiet and reserved.




ooc: I hope mine is just as lovely. c:
 
OOC | I added a video c: You can stop it at 1: 58 to get the thirty seconds of the routine.

Kirov started off the class with the five basic positions of ballet and general routines to gauge Charlotte’s skill level and give the rest a lighter day. Tomorrow would be back to normal. He watched how her body moved, his eyes zeroing in on the arc of her pale arms and the position of her feet both of which formed a precise pointe. She had the perfect body; one women would kill for if possible. She was weightless…perfect. It was to be expected of course. One didn’t get into Marinsky if they didn’t have the basics down or the look and she definitely wouldn't be in his class but he still felt it necessary to see for himself how each individual moved and transitioned.

“You have nice form…remember to let your head follow the movements. Limbs move together and in the same direction as your head.” Kirov’s fingers pressed against the center of her back and moved upwards to the nape of her neck, applying pressure in the direction it needed to turn before letting go. Her turnouts were straight and she had impeccable posture he was sure she had the fortune to be blessed with in addition to well practiced routines. However, it that seemed to extend to her transitions as well making her appear stiff. From the second she entered the studio he could see that she was a reserved girl and wasn’t surprised it carried over to her dancing.

“Okay good. Return to first position.” He walked past each dancer, straightening postures, repositioning arms, and tucking in hips where they were needed before standing in the middle of the classroom and addressing his students.

“I’m going to teach you a new set. When I’m finished I want each of you to repeat it for me. A good dancer knows the steps. A great dancer experiences them. You need to learn how to follow through with the movement and let it flow. It will feel odd, sometimes even sloppy but we will work on that later. For now I just want you to feel it.” While ballet would always be about control and precision it had changed over the years, often times mixing with modern dance. It was no longer good enough to have good isolation, letting go and making use of the whole body was now needed as well. He also happened to hear the director’s performance was a mix of traditional and modern dance. She wanted versatility and he wanted to give her that. Adams was interesting that way. She embraced the changes in dance while most of her colleagues looked down on it. It made for interested faculty meetings.

Taking a deep breath, he began the routine. It was no longer than thirty seconds but he knew it wasn’t something that would come easy to all of them being that it was totally different from what he’d been teaching them the past four months. This was the type of dance that he first fell in love with but he thought it was necessary for him to learn ballet first before delving into other branches of ballet. Needless to say, he stuck with the traditional but it was nice to loosen up sometimes. He finished the dance with a sweep of his hands to the floor as his back curved into a perfect C. When he stood back up he could see a few people smiling with excitement while others appeared nervous or annoyed. “No pain, no gain guys. The first victim can come up.” He found that even the more eager students couldn’t complete the whole thirty seconds, and if they did, their movements were that of the most trained ballerina. Even so, they some were better than he’d expected. He stood behind each of them, guiding their movements so they wouldn’t injure themselves and could better feel the movements, all the while waiting until Charlotte’s turn arrived.

Up until that point Kirov managed to keep his head on his shoulders, doing his job like he would each and every day prior to her arrival but as the class neared its end he found that he wanted to a closer look at her, wanted to figure out if the scent that followed her was lavender or chamomile. He wanted to see if she felt like Audrey in his arms. He knew he the thoughts were inappropriate, she was too young to be anything other than a pupil and as long as he kept that in mind he wouldn’t overstep any lines, real or imaginary. He just wanted to make his heart cooperate with his mind. Kirov wanted to heart to realize Audrey was gone and she wouldn’t be coming back. Hm, but Kirov you know things such as this aren’t coincidences. You may have outgrown the Russian fairytales but they certainly didn’t outgrow you.

All except Charlotte had completed the dance and all eyes turned to her with curiosity. He was sure many of them wanted to know what she was about, if she was competition. He could feel his arms tiring from spotting the dancers and his cheeks held a flush that could only come from exertion but he had more than enough energy to spare. Holding out his hand, he cocked a brow and tilted his head.

“Why don’t we see if we saved the best for last?

 

Charlotte glided through the basic positions with ease. It was years of training that allowed her to move with grace, her exemplary poise appearing natural instead of forced. Her pointe was executed with flexibility and suppleness. There were no awkward positions as she progressed through the exercises. In essence, there were no mistakes.

The only ‘mistake’ that could be accounted for was the rigidness behind her transitions, something her mother insisted on ingraining into her mind despite the fact that such firm movement did not belong in twentieth century ballet. She smiled with gratitude as he complimented her form, and she was compliant as he used his fingers to mold her back into a more appropriate stance.

She loosened up a little as Kirov told them to return to the first position, and even more so after he finished his rounds and reappeared in the middle of the studio. She listened with inquisitiveness as he spoke to the class as a whole, describing a routine they were expected to perform. Not that description did a lot for her, so she paid close attention as he performed the routine. She could not help but to furrow her thin eyebrows as he continued his routine. “This is . . . so different. Huh.” Coming from a background of performances such as The Nutcracker and Swan Lake, Charlotte found this contemporary approach to be unlike anything she had experienced. Needless to say, it also provoked her interest, and she found herself growing deeply attracted to what she considered an exotic style. It was something her mother would disapprove of in a heartbeat. The thought of rebelling against her mother’s preferences definitely improved her outlook of this routine.

So, she waited patiently as each student in front of her got their thirty seconds of fame; all the meanwhile, she played out the routine in her head, trying her best to remember each minor detail. She knew it was impossible to perfect every little attribute of the performance, though she still wanted to do her best. As the newest student, she had no clue what she would be up against. She watched the others as the line grew shorter and shorter, and when it was her turn she assumed her spot next to Kirov. The scent that lingered around her body was neither lavender nor chamomile, though it imitated the latter — sweet, apple-like, and herbaceous.

She should have been nervous, at least more nervous than she was. Fortunately, Charlotte was able to tune out distractions — in this case, the students who were eager to see how well she measured up — and focus on the goal. As she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, she could tell he was tired. The subtle flush of his cheeks was more than enough of an indicator. Smiling so that the dimples of her cheeks were evident, she shook her head in polite refusal as he reached out his hand. “I really don’t need someone to spot me,” she said, hoping she had not sounded arrogant. Just to be safe, she chimed in with, “You look like you’re exhausted.” She merely assumed that he could have used a break, and besides, what was the worst that could happen? She had fallen countless times and could reminisce about sprained ankles and broken toes. If anything, she would bruise her ego. She could live with that.

Charlotte played out the routine once more in her head before she dived right into it, the rigidity of her previous exercises almost gone as she nailed the spins, twirls, and pirouettes that comprised the routine. There were a few instances when her mind blanked, forgetting how the original routine had gone, so she improvised with whatever classical ballet move came to mind. She could not completely forgo the stiff movements that her mother prized, yet she still managed to make it seem elegant and flawless.

Almost.

She pulled herself from the final stance, allowing her back a moment to straighten out. It was at that moment her knee decided to lock up, which in turned caused her to stagger backwards. She would have toppled over on the ground had Kirov not been standing where he was; unintentionally, he had broken her fall as her back brushed against him. Now she was embarrassed. Biting down on her lower lip, she twisted away with no regard for how her knee was feeling. “I’m sorry, Mister Antokolsky,” she exclaimed, now tending to her knee with her fingertips. “I’m not sure why my knee decided to lock up.”
 
The smile that sat on Kirov’s face faltered a bit at Charlotte’s words as he folded his arms and bit his lip to keep his own words in check. “If that’s how you feel.” He took a few steps away from her, away from the heat she radiated. To say he had expected her words was an understatement. She had a bluntness that bordered on rude and her face certainly didn’t let on to such a character trait. As a student, his physical stamina had nothing to do with her and wasn’t something most would have to courage to even talk about yet there she was refusing his help and belittling his endurance, in so many words. Rather than calling her out on it, he decided to let her put her money where her mouth was.

Charlotte moved into the routine without much effort – the stiffness he’d seen prior to this seeming to melt away with each movement. Her muscles strained and bunched with each bend and reach and her breathing complemented the moves. As was expected she conquered the technical aspect of the dance and he could see the effort she put into falling into each step but he could still see shadows of restraint in her movements and it reared its head as finished the final steps. His watchful eyes caught the way her knee refused to bend as she landed and causing her body to jerk and stagger backward into his chest from the shock. It was at the moment that he felt just how fragile she was, the impact of her body doing little to move him from his original position. She quickly righted herself and Kirov moved so that he could face her and the rest of his class. A few of the students seemed to take pleasure in her error while others look impressed with how well she did the routine to begin with.

“No apologies are necessary. You made your decision.” He wasn’t talking about him catching her fall and it was obvious to all present but he said nothing further on the matter. He could see the way her pale skin flushed with embarrassment and that was enough. “When you land you have to remember to keep your legs slightly bent while in the air. This is important because you’re landing on the balls of your feet in that moment, not your toes. If you put too much pressure there as you did when you landed, it causes the knee to lock and in worse cases you can hyperextend it. It’s something all of you should remember since it’s not a hard mistake to make.” His eyes fell on her knee for a moment before glancing briefly into her eyes.

“That’s all for today. You all can cool down with you stretches while I check her knee.” His students went to form two circles and began stretching on the floor as the sound of their voices echoed in the room while he led Charlotte to one of the benches near the door. He kneeled and front of her and cupped the back of her knee before speaking up.

“You did surprisingly well up there Miss Konstantinov but you should learn how to accept help when it’s offered.” Kirov turned his eye upward to meet Charlotte’s own, the message in them clear as he pressed against her knee cap to feel if liquid had built up behind it. “That being said, spotting you wasn’t an option, if something is, you’ll know.” Kirov wasn’t upset…at least not really but he needed her to know who was the student and who was the teacher. If she could remember that, they’d have no problems. He straightened her leg out and pressed against the knee again before bending it so that it touched her torso, looking for any signs of looseness and noticing the long length of her feet with amusement before he watched her face for any sign of pain. He was sure that nothing was strained and beyond a bit of swelling she would be fine.

“Nothing seems to be wrong. You should ice it to make the swelling go away and be sure to stretch before you go to sleep. It’ll be tight in the morning but nothing that won’t loosen with a bit of work.” Letting go of her leg, he went to sit beside her, watching as his students began gathering their things to leave.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve delved into contemporary ballet before. You’d be one of the only few in this class who have.” Kirov was curious about her because while he could point out the differences between the girl and his wife, the fact that she looked like she could’ve been Audrey’s relative or even a little sister still remained. In the back of his mind he knew something about his interest was wrong but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
 

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. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice naught but a whisper as he continued to poke and prod her knee. “I’m 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 naïve 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 mother’s 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 résumé. Obviously, her mother was wrong. This dance academy was accepted her, and she vividly remembered her mother’s 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 world’s 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 didn’t mean to talk so much and keep you here, as I’m sure you’re 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 person’s 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.
 
Kirov nodded in understanding as Charlotte told him about her mother. While he never had a mother to nag about the path he’d chosen, his father certainly had words. For him real men didn’t do ballet and only say dance as a necessary pain if you wanted to date a girl in high school. It caused some problems at first but he’d finally managed to get his father to come to one of his performances, and while he still didn’t fully approve of what he did. He at least kept his mouth shut about it. “I’m sure your mother will come around. If not she could always talk to the director about it, though she wouldn’t get very far.” He turned to her as she sat back, a grin spreading across his face at her question.

“Oh make no mistake, it is. You were accepted because of you skill with classical and it’ll be my job to sharpen that skill to a point but you’ll only be at the academy for so long. Dance is competitive and all that you worked for may not be enough, learning other forms raises the chance that you’ll still be able to dance even if it might not be the traditional form. There’s more out there now and the academy is making changes to accommodate that.” Even though Kirov liked the idea of it, he’d still been skeptical when the director talked about it. Parents sent their kids to the academy for classical ballet. He didn’t think they’d take kindly to any sort of change. As a result of those fears she decided to have this performance and based on the parents’ reaction she would make a final decision about whether to implement it. Kirov shook his head and sat back for a moment as she stood.

“It’s not a problem. I got to know more about you dance background which would’ve come up anyway.” Kirov let his head rest against the wall for a moment and closed his eyes. He was many things, but busy was no longer one of them. Besides the occasional drink with friends he didn’t do much these days. He would have to change that.

Taking a deep breath he opened his eyes and stood up. He made it through today without trouble, he could do it again. With light feet, he walked across the room to his things, a small frown appearing on his face as he noticed Charlotte’s still form. It didn’t take long for him to notice her eyes were on his bag and his heart skipped a beat.

“Are you alright?” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she saw or that she made the connection. He knelt down next to her a cleared his throat as he took out the picture and his sweats to put them on. “I see you’ve met my wife. You noticed the resemblance too.” Kirov looked at the photo a moment before putting it back in his bag and running a hand through his hair. “Her name is Audrey.” Actually talking about her wasn’t something he wanted to do at that moment but he could tell she was a little shaken up by the picture. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried that she noticed the likeness.

“It’s getting late…are your parents coming to pick you up? If they’re not I’m sorry for keeping you so long.” The academy was in a good enough neighborhood but any place was dangerous no matter what the crime rate.
 

She had focused so much of her attention on the photo that she did not notice Kirov kneeling beside his duffle bag. Only when he took the picture out of his bag did she blink a couple of times, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. The look on her face suggested apprehension. “I-I’m sorry,” she practically squeaked as she lowered her gaze to her own bag. “I shouldn’t have looked at your bag. God, what’s wrong with me today?” The latter sentence had been said to herself as the reddish hue returned to her cheeks. So much for impressing the teacher.

When he failed to reprimand her spirit of inquiry, she allowed herself to look back in his direction. He was looking at the picture. He even shared some of his personal life by letting her know that the woman in the picture was his wife. Of course, it made sense. Why had she not come to that conclusion? If not thinking her to be his wife, then at least a friend or a relative. “For a moment, I thought I was looking at a picture of myself. Silly, right?” she said, grinning at her own foolishness. The grin faded almost instantly as she forced a cough. “But, I am really sorry for snooping. I’ll have to contain myself during the next class.”

She continued to look at the picture until he put it back in the bag, and at that point she went back to searching for her phone. “You know, if my parents had siblings I would have asked if she could have been a cousin or something.” Finally, she found the item of interest. She flipped her phone open and turned off the silent mode, and as she scrolled through her contact list to find her mother she looked up at Kirov. “If anything, it’s my own fault. I was supposed to call my mom as soon as class was over, but I guess I got distracted.” Charlotte shrugged as she went back to looking at her phone. “It’s nothing you should apologize for. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was waiting outside of the academy just waiting to hear how my day was.”

When she came across ‘MOM CELL’ in her contact list she pressed the button that initiated the call, and she pressed her phone closer to her ear as she listened to the dial tone. She looked out of a window, catching a brief glimpse of the warm colors of the sunset. It was a breathtaking view, probably more so if you were standing outside. Charlotte sighed in distress as she was transferred to her mother’s voice mail. She cancelled the call and tried once more; to her dismay, the same scenario played out. “Darn it,” she mumbled under her breath, snapping her phone shut and disposing of it in her duffle bag.

“Fortunately,” she began as she stood up, zipping her duffle bag and tossing it over her back, “I live a few blocks down on Canis Heights Drive, so it’s really not a big deal.” Besides, she was accustomed to walking home. She did it all throughout high school, and that building had been farther away than the academy. “Same time tomorrow, right?” she asked, lingering for a moment as she waited for an answer.
 
Kirov was inclined to agree with the teen’s words. Supposedly everyone had their own look-a-like in the world and he was now a firm believer that it was true. “That may be true but I feel I would’ve been introduced to you already if that was the case.” Picking up his duffle bag he leaned against the bar and waited as Charlotte called her mother once then twice. Kirov’s face now mirrored her own as he stood up straighter. Canis Heights…he didn’t live too far off from the neighborhood and knew it would take a good thirty minutes to get there on foot.

“I can’t, in good conscious, let you walk home by yourself.”He walked with her to the door and held it open for her before turning the lights out and continuing down the hall. “We can see if your mother is waiting outside, if not, I can give you a ride home…and no, it’s not any trouble.” Most of the students were gone for the day save a few stragglers who were set on practicing more. They usually didn’t leave until nine when the doors locked. Each floor had its own trophy case with the earliest reward going back to the 1900s. His thoughts were about to run away from him but there was a sound that made him glance down at Charlotte before biting his lip to keep the smile from his face. He knew Charlotte was short but for her duffle bag to drag on the floor took it to a new level. Standing at 5’11 he felt confident enough to remedy that. “Here...you know it is possible to adjust to straps?” His fingers slid under the strap and he lifted it to transfer to his own shoulder.

“Have you always wanted to dance?” Audrey had developed a love hate relationship with dance over the years. As a child she’d taken ballet and excelled at it. She was light on her feet and learned the form with ease however puberty made it so that she lacked the body that the ballet world preferred and, as important as technique and form was, vanity trumped that. Rather than exhaust her body trying to force her body into what was considered perfect, she left knowing that she made the right decision even if she did feel disappointed. She was lucky enough to go on to bigger and better things but it was something they often argued about, especially when he came home with jammed toes or strained muscles or he told her about a member who was battling an eating disorder. Audrey was always honest with Kirov, something he appreciated even if she did hurt he ego sometimes. Though he’d only met her today, Charlotte seemed to possess the same quality only her honesty was a bit more unconscious if her tone and quick apologies were anything to go by. He found it a little refreshing, even if it was a bit unexpected.

It wasn’t long before they were standing outside the academy. The sky was now held intense shades of purple and pink while the parking lot contained a few empty cars and cups. “Well…my car’s over at the end. It’s not much but it gets the job done and it’s pretty cozy.” His eyes warmed at the sight of it. His mustang might’ve been old but it was the love of his life…well second love. He knew it was a guy thing but it was his first car and the only one he’d ever wanted.


 

“Are you sure?” she asked, eyeing him sidelong as they walked down the hall. “I appreciate the gesture, of course, but surely you have more important things to do than drive me home.” The lack of response made her sigh, so she threw her hands up in the air in a comical display of defeat. “I guess you’ve made up your mind, huh? Okay. Fine. If for some reason my mother’s not hounding the building I’ll accept your offer.” For all she knew, her mother could have forgotten her phone at the last minute, hence why she had not picked up. It made enough sense, too, for her father was away for business and would not have been around to hear the melodic jingle of the phone.

Her duffle bag was relatively light, considering she carried few items with her, but it still felt nice when he lifted the weight from her shoulders. She cocked her head to the side, watching as he lifted her bag to drape it over his shoulder. Even Charlotte had to admit he looked silly with two duffle bags over his shoulder, but she did not reach out to take hers back. Instead, she smiled at the sight. “Yes, I know it’s possible to adjust the straps. I suppose I’m just too lazy to bother with me.” Whether she was actually too lazy or in fact too busy, she knew not. It was getting to the point where she felt as though her days blurred together, making it impossible for her to get much of anything done.

The smile on her face widened when he asked if she had always wanted to dance. “For as long as I can remember, yes. I’m really not even sure if it was my choice or if my mother gave me a nudge.” Charlotte paused for a moment, pondering this thought. Needless to say, she loved what she did. There were only a few occasions, during her early teenage years when she was trying to persuade her mother to do something, when she thought about another lifestyle. “Before she retired, my mother was a principal dancer at the Bolshoi over in Moscow.”

Unlike her mother, Charlotte never had to make an effort to maintain her weight. It was a task to keep on what little weight she had, considering she hated to eat — not that she had an illness, mind you, she just hated to spend time eating when she could have been doing more productive activities — and it took time to make food that was healthy yet dense with calories. Her friends always complimented her body, complaining about their own curves and imperfections; ironically, Charlotte felt the complete opposite. She would have killed for some curves, something that would have made her feel feminine. She had no bodily assets to speak of, just skin and bones and toned muscle. Her insecurities had been the downfall of her intimate life; after all, what guy wanted to sleep with a girl who constantly complained about having the body of a boy? Talk about a killjoy.

Having zoned out during these thoughts, Charlotte was surprised to see they were outside of the academy. It looked so much darker outside than it had inside. She scanned the parking lot, sighing uncomfortably when she realized her mother’s beat up Dodge Sportsman Royal was no where to be seen. That piece of junk was hardly easy to miss. “Looks like you win,” she murmured, taking one last glance at the parking lot before she turned to face Kirov. She turned in the direction of the car he was staring at, and she immediately smiled at the thought of riding in what people considered to be a ‘cool’ car. “It beats my mom’s van,” she said in appreciation, crossing her arms over her chest as the wind started to pick up. “Thank you, Mister Antokolsky.”

She followed him over to the car, realizing she never finished answering the question he had asked. To her misfortune, she could not remember where she left off due to zoning out, so she decided to take another route. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you always wanted to dance, yourself?”
 
Watching the emotions played across Charlotte’s face were at odds with the reserved girl he’d seen earlier today. Her shoulders relaxed and he could see the indentation of her dimples and her eyes curve into half moons as she gave a bright smile. He hadn’t expected her face to be so open. Hearing about her mother, he let out an appreciative whistle as he made the connection as he thought about her last name. Her mother while not exactly famous, was known in the ballet circles. She performed for a long time before retiring. Why he hadn’t made the connection before was beyond him but he understood why Charlotte danced so well.

Kirov opened the door for Charlotte before going over to his side and getting in. “Actually dance wasn’t always something that consumed my life. That didn’t happen until I reached high school. I saw this pair performing in our little beat up gymnasium and thought it was awesome that the guy could lift a girl into the air so effortlessly.” He smiled as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of her house. “Of course it was more than that but up until then, I wanted teacher…I guess I got both wishes in the long run.” He asked for her address before continuing on down memory lane.

“It was an interesting transition for me. I traded soccer and softball for dance, hanging out with the guys for pirouettes and lifts. I got a lot of flak for it, lost a few friends but I was lucky enough that most of my friends understood…they also blatantly used me to put in a good word for them with the female dancers so they could get a date but I digress.” One couldn’t be more than another five minutes before Kirov reached her house so he thought about a way to ask the question that had been brewing in the back of his head for some time.

“It must be hard coming from a family so involved with dance. Between my class and your mother pushing you to dance do you have any time for yourself, anytime to experience the normal things in life?” Kirov wanted to know about her interests, likes and dislikes. He wanted to know if she had a love interest or already was in love. Why he wanted to know wasn’t something he cared to ponder but he knew asking her out right wasn’t an option he could indulge in.





 

It was interesting to hear dance from a guy’s perspective. Charlotte had grown up listening to the experiences of her mother, her female dance teachers, her female friends, her female friends’ mothers . . . but never a man. The most experience she had was her father, but he was in the business of telling dancers how to dance, not performing the moves himself. She continued to listen to him while she stared out of the passenger side window, watching the sky as the colorful hues became nothing more than darkness. She could spot a few stars in the sky.

“It’s the yellow house right there,” she said, pointing to the third house on the left as he drove down Canis Heights. It was a modest house — one floor, surrounded by trees and shrubbery, nestled in what many of the residents considered to be a safe neighborhood. The lights were still on in the house and her mother’s van was sitting in the driveway.

Charlotte knew the moment she stepped inside her mother would go off on a tangent, so when Kirov continued to talk she smiled widely at him. How could her mother get mad at her for talking with her teacher? It was an odd subject, of course. Her teachers had never taken an interest in her likes and dislikes. She liked the fact that he did. It made her feel more sociable and comfortable around him. “I wish I had time to myself,” she responded with a grin, shaking her head. “My mother thinks I’m abnormal if I’m sitting still for any length of time.”

Needless to say, she did not spent every waking minute of her life dancing. “Hmm, let’s see. Well, if it weren’t for my mom I’d have a part-time job at the bakery down the street. I guess you could say I’m good at cooking.” Charlotte shrugged her shoulders to herself. “I always liked baking birthday cakes for my friends.” Culinary arts had been one of her favorite elective classes in high school. She continued to prattle on with things she likes — going to the beach, reading classical literature, watching horror movies at ungodly hours with her friends just so they could stay awake all night — and things she dislikes — how her friends swore in excess, her mother and her lectures, how she was still treated like a child even though she was legally an adult — but when she got to the subject of boys she became speechless.

“This is going to sound silly, but I never dated much in high school because I thought I looked like a boy.” Her insecurities still plagued her to this day; watching the way she fidgeted around was enough of an indicator. “I mean, I know I have a very feminine face, but . . . that’s it. When I was younger I thought I would grow out of being a stick, but that never happened.” She slumped back in the seat, frowning. “My only long-term relationship, if you count seven months as being long-term, was with this kid who was a flaming homosexual.”

It only dawned on her that such a conversation was more than inappropriate. Feeling the warmth of her cheeks return, she slumped down even further. “But I’m sure you didn’t give me a ride home just to hear the woes of a teenage girl. I really do appreciate the ride. You’ll have to tell me when your birthday is so I can make a cake as a proper thank you.”
 
Kirov pursed his lips as be pulled into the driveway. So this was where she lived….it seemed cheery. He could see a few lights on in the house and thought the conversation would be over when he parked. He was pleasantly surprised to find that Charlotte didn’t seem quite ready to do that. It was clear that Charlotte didn’t always get along with her mom and he was still young enough to remember that conflicts with parents didn’t just center around their children rebelling or going through a phase. Of course, they were usually too afraid to admit that because they didn’t want to face what it might mean about them.

Leaning against the steering wheel, he placed he head in his arms and listened as she talked about her life. An image of her in an apron with rosy cheeks, a powdered nose, and an intense expression on her face as she spelled happy birthday on a cake larger than her popped into his head when she mentioned cooking. It was enough to make a big smile spread across his face which he hid behind his arm, not wanting her to think he was poking fun at her. Classical literature and horror movies made the world go round for Kirov but he sure it wasn’t for the same reasons as Charlotte…he didn’t actually enjoy those things for the sake of enjoying them. No, he read the books so as not to appeal stupid during intellectual conversations and watched horror movies even though he knew it would result in him looking over his shoulder for weeks to come. He supposed that made him idiocally vain but everyone had their flaws.

Kirov watched her face as the subjected changed to boys and how she saw herself. Even in the dark, he could see that it was a touchy subject for her. His eyes warmed a bit as she offered to bake him a cake and he nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. My birthday is August 21st and I like vanilla.” He sat up straighter and shifted in his seat to face her.

“From what I can see, you’re a beautiful girl Charlotte and once you see that, the rest will fall into place…and even if you’re not totally there yet, the right guy will show you just how beautiful you are. Don’t ever think your body is anything other than perfect.”Kirov didn’t know whether he believe her or not, especially with the picture of his wife, but he meant every word. Charlotte had a quiet beauty about her that could sometimes be missed but never mistaken. She looked like a girl who was fragile and needed to be taken care of and even if that wasn’t the case, men still found the thought of it attractive. Kirov still found her attractive. Clearing his throat he shrugged. “Besides what man wouldn’t want a girl would cooked for him. That’s honestly all you need.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel and looked at the house, noticing a shadow of someone inside.

“I think your parents are waiting for their little one to come inside and you still need to ice that knee.” He reached behind the seat to get her duffle bag and handed it to her. He didn’t think he would be received well if he stayed any longer and coming to the door seemed inappropriate as well. Especially when they had no knowledge of him bringing her home. It never crossed his mind to leave a message with Charlotte’s mother letting her know. He was still new at this teaching thing, moreso when it came to Charlotte it seemed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Don’t forget to accept the help when it’s offered.” He smiled good naturedly as he turned his car back on.


 

Charlotte lowered her eyes to the floor of his car, shrugging when he expressed his feelings regarding her allure. “If you say so.” She had no intention of brushing off his compliments, yet at the same time she wished she had never opened her mouth. It was more than a sensitive subject for her. She was letting a complete stranger know her deepest and darkest concerns, insecurities that proved just how fragile she was. “I’m sorry, Mister Antokolsky. I’m sure you mean well, this is just an uncomfortable topic for me. You’re one of the few people I’ve told.” The corner of her lips twitched into a half-smile. “You should consider yourself special.”

She rolled her eyes in mock vexation. “Unfortunately for my soon-to-be-husband-if-such-a-thing-ever-happens, my skills stop in the bakery department. He’ll have to live with disgustingly charred meat. Fair enough, right?”

When Kirov pointed out the lights in the house she raised her eyes, looking at her house once again. She could see the faint shadow of her mother — tall and wispy and having all the right curves for a woman in her forties. “I suppose so. Besides, I’m sure you’d rather spend your evening with your wife and not some lookalike. I imagine it wouldn’t be the same?” She took her duffle bag when he offered it to her. “Ice, got it. August 21st and vanilla, got it. Accept help when it’s offered, working on it.”

She opened the door and stepped outside, slinging her duffle bag over her back instead of dragging it against the pavement. It was a wonder there were no holes. “See you tomorrow,” she said with a warm smile, and she shut the door to his car and began to walk to the front door. She turned around and waved before she finally stepped inside, waiting for what she knew would be an hour-long lecture.




“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mother.”

“I’ll see you after class.”

Charlotte slammed the van door shut, a little harder than she had planned on. The lecture from last night had turned into two hours and twelve minutes. She had fallen asleep with the ice pack — she would have called it a water pack, considering that was how it appeared in the morning — still on her knee. She had gotten no more than five hours of sleep. On a good note, her knee had not swelled up to any extent. The extra stretching she did before leaving the house was just the trick.

It was still early. Her mother had to go to an appointment this morning, hence why Charlotte was an hour early to dance class. Her mother suggested using the extra time to stretch and make sure her previous blunder never happened again. She stormed away from the van, livid with the way her mother continued to treat her like a child. The lecture from the previous night entailed the reasons why it was a bad idea to let a stranger (“but he’s my teacher and you never picked up the phone,” was her response) drive her home. It was absurd. She was still a teenager, yes, but by law she was an adult. She knew it was probably just something all mothers did, but at times she wished her mother would stop treating her like a two year old.

Shaking the thought away, Charlotte trudged up the steps to the academy, fortunate to find that the doors were unlocked. The halls were lit; some doors were open to various studios. She peered inside the rooms as she walked by, and when she came to her designated studio she walked inside. The door had been opened and one duffle bag was sitting on the floor. She recognized that duffle bag from last night, yet she did not see its owner. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I got a head start,” she thought to herself, dropping her own bag on the floor and assuming her position next to the barre, taking ample time to stretch her muscles.
 
“Tomorrow.” Kirov watched as Charlotte made her way inside before giving a small smile and pulling away with a confused smile on his face. He hadn’t felt the need to correct her error about Audrey and partly wished it to be true. Even so, hearing her name didn’t feel as bad as it used to coming from Charlotte’s lips. It felt odd. He found himself not wanting to go home as he weaved down the different streets until he came to one of his favorite pubs just outside the suburbs.

It was a place where he and his friends would go to for some down time but he hadn’t been there in a long while. Seeing it again brought back some good memories. Opening the door, he made his to the wet bar where the owner Sal greeted him with a whistle. “Long time no see. I wouldn’t have believed it was you if it wasn’t for that hair.” Kirov shook his head with a chuckle.

“You remember I was born with this right?” Sal gave him a look as a made Kirov a drink without having to be asked.

“You’re looking alive these days.” Sal scrutinized Kirov’s face with fatherly eyes and the blue hair man shrugged.

“Well my life has been changing these days.” Kirov didn’t say more but Sal nodded with a small smile and gave the man his drink.

~~~~

Kirov stood in the restroom with a straight face as he looked himself in the mirror. His mother’s eyes, father’s jawline, and a scar from a schoolyard brawl reflected on its surface and a flush was on his usually pale cheeks. He looked the same but he felt a little different today. He felt anxious, like he was waiting for something. He was old enough to recognize the feeling and what it meant for he felt it a few times over the course of his life but he wasn’t some love sick teen anymore…and the girl who was getting under his skin was.

He had dreams last night, dreams where he couldn’t tell if it was Audrey or Charlotte he was with, dreams where he was supposed to choose between to two. They left him feeling confused. Morning couldn’t have come earlier.

“Things have been going well for you Kirov, don’t mess this up.” He took a deep breath and left the restroom as he forced himself to get his shit together before class started. Unfortunately for Kirov, he didn’t have time for that with one of his students already in the studio. He sat on one of the benches and watched as Charlotte warmed up.

“I didn’t think you’d be here so early.” He was glad to see that her leg seemed to be fine. She looked much more relaxed than she had yesterday. He was sure now that it’d mostly been because of nerves, nerves he seemed to be experiencing himself.. “I hope you weren’t in too much trouble last night.




 

The creak of the restroom door broke her concentration. Immediately, she turned her head to the side and watched as Kirov sat on the bench. She watched him for a moment as he continued to watch her. There was something different about him, something that she had vaguely picked up on the previous day yet it only seemed to be more enhanced as of now — he looked apprehensive. “Am I allowed to be here this early?” she thought to herself, wondering if his nervous demeanor could have been driven by a fear of getting in trouble for the early arrival of students. Charlotte had her doubts. She had seen a few other students in a different studio not even five minutes ago.

“I didn’t expect to be here this early, either,” she said in an honest tone as she turned back to the barre and resumed her stretches. “My mom has a doctor’s appointment so we had to leave early.” She refrained from asking if it was okay to stay in the building. The doors were unlocked. Why would the doors be unlocked if it was too early for students to come? She shook the thought away and practiced for a few more minutes until her muscles felt nice and loose.

After she finished she walked over to the bench and sat next to Kirov, her head cocked to the side as she looked up at him. “I’m used to getting in trouble for silly things like that.” She shrugged and relaxed her posture to a lazy slouch, something that seemed all too unnatural for her. “I was asking for it, though. I should have called my mom on the way home. She’s convinced that something’s going to happen to me, you know, despite the fact nothing bad happens in this neighborhood.”

Sighing, she slouched even further. “I thought she would calm down now that I’m older, but I feel like she’s getting worse.” Charlotte remained silent for a moment, blinking slowly. It was so easy talking to Kirov, she felt like she could say whatever she wanted and he would not think twice about what she said. Still, she knew it was inappropriate to get too personal with a teacher.

The level of inappropriateness increased as she spotted something she had not seen before. Maybe it had something to do with it being so dark last night, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had not been as close to him. “Hm.” She straightened up and leaned a bit closer to him, cocking her head to the side even further as her eyes focused on the corner of his lips where a scar had formed. She had opened her mouth in an attempt to ask where it had come from, but she stopped before the words could leave her mouth. That was beyond inappropriate. And how close she had gotten to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, scooting a bit away from him. “My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes.”
 
“It makes sense. You’re at that age where she can’t really protect you from all the evils of the world like when you were younger.” He shrugged. “It scares her. If I was a parent I’d probably feel the same way.” Hell he’d feel the same way even if he wasn’t. Charlotte sometimes looked younger than her eighteen years and there were all types of perverts who walked to streets. Kirov remembered what he was like at a teen, he was respectful and kept out of trouble but he was still a parent’s worst nightmare for their daughter. There’d been others like him and he was sure that didn’t really change from generation to generation.

Kirov sat in comfortable silence for as the left each other to their own thoughts It wasn’t until he heard her hum that Kirov turned to face her, his eyes narrowing in surprise that she was close enough for him to see that her eyes were flecked with lighter shades of grey, almost silver in tone. His attention turned to her mouth as lips opened and he couldn’t help as his body moved forward. He blinked when she suddenly moved away from him and he licked his lips before looking down with a wry smile. “I’m beginning to see that…you’re an interesting girl Charlotte.” The word odd came to mind moreso than the one he chose to use but he figured odd didn’t sound too appealing to the opposite gender. He gestured loosely to his lip with amusement.

“I didn’t think something so small would make you that curious. I wasn’t always the composed guy you see today though I think the hair and tattoos make that kind of obvious. I got into a fight in high school trying to defend a friend in my dance class from some guys who thought fags were synonymous with ballet.” He pursed his lips and sat back as he remembered the day. “I ended up with a busted lip among other things.” It’d been worth the suspension from school and probation for dance to see the look of surprise in their eyes as he held his own…not that he could say that. “Moral of the story: resolving conflict with your fists isn’t always the best way to go about things.” As he finished the door opened and three students filed in chattering about whatever happened to them between now and yesterday.

“Hi Mr. Antokolsky…Charlotte.” He nodded to the students as they stared at the pair for a moment longer before dropping their things and getting ready. He slapped his hands lightly against his thighs before turning to Charlotte with a word of encouragement.

“Why don’t you go and get to know the others. We’re working in pairs today and the group number isn’t even now that you’re here.” He didn’t want her to feel alone in the class. Kirov was well aware joining a class so far in wasn’t always easy.



 

“What do you mean by ‘interesting’?” she asked with a quizzical look to her face, pouting and sighing when he ignored her question and went on to elaborate on his scar. The scar was minuscule in comparison to his elaborate hairstyle and tattoos, but Charlotte appreciated the small details that made each person special. She looked at the shine of the studio form as Kirov told the story behind his scar.

She smiled in a subtle manner, shaking her head when he finished. “I knew there was something special about it — it’s a battle scar, is it not? Something that shows loyalty to your friends.”

Before she could say anything else a few more students walked in. She watched as they greeted the two of them, and Charlotte merely stared at the trio with a poker straight face until they left to get ready. She frowned at Kirov’s suggestion. “Must I?” Her usual reserved self was starting to take over, apparently not pleased when he advised her to talk to the others. It was an inevitable part of this class and she knew it. Still, the thought of practicing alone was comforting.

Unfortunately, she doubted he would agree with her thoughts. She stood up when a few more students joined the studio, and after a few seconds pondering between the different groups (“they’re too loud,” “they’re too competitive,” “why do I have to work with someone else?”) she merged herself into a group composed of two boys and one girl. To her surprise, she recognized them almost immediately as people she had graduated from high school with.

Needless to say, she was less inclined to talk to Kirov now that she found a few familiar faces. The girl — short with flaming red hair and a gash across her cheek — had been in a few of the dance classes she had taken. The boy standing closest to the girl — Charlotte vaguely remembered a few girls who ogled the handsome boy during the previous class — was going steady with the red-haired girl and had also been in some of the dance classes. The last boy — tall and lean with blonde hair and green eyes — Charlotte remembered well. She had a crush on him up until graduation. The way her cheeks flushed suggested she might not have completely gotten over those feelings.

They talked as they stretched, and when class was ready to start the red-haired girl and her boyfriend went to their proper spots. The boy whom Charlotte remembered to be Pavel stood next to her in line. He would watch her out of the corner of his eyes as Charlotte looked straight ahead, focusing on whatever it was that Kirov was saying.

“Psst, Charlie,” he whispered, causing Charlotte to whip her head in his direction. It had been so long since she remembered him calling her that nickname. “You still need a partner for today’s session, right? I’ll gladly step in if you’d like.”

She smiled in appreciation.
 
Kirov leaned on his elbows after Charlotte left, the smile still on his face as he watched her find a group of students to sit with. There were six girls and seven boys in the class with Charlotte being there. A she watched the others stretch he wondered what her presence would do to the rest of the students, the females in particular. He had a feeling it would create a bit of competition among them if he didn’t play his cards right, especially when since he would be pairing them up for the better part of the month. He supposed he could make them switch partners each week but it wasn’t really the best way to go about things.

Adams gave Kirov and the other instructors orders to choose their top three students to audition for the final spot in the performance. How they choose to go about it was their decision. He knew some teachers made the announcement to their class, some chose the top three right off the bat, and some (like himself) chose to watch which students showed promise and steady progress instead of causing tension and animosity. Each of his students knew they were supposed to bring their best every day, the performance shouldn’t need to be incentive for them to do so. The sound of the door opening caused Kirov to stand as a slender brunette with striking green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles entered the room, a smile spreading across her face as she found Kirov and gave him a big hug. "It's been too damn long."

“I don’t know whether to beat you senseless of thank you for blessing me with your presence. So are we doing Trace?” Her voice made obvious her Irish background as well as the excitement at potentially doing one her favorite routines. Kirov wrapped a hand around her waist and gave her a hug before leading them to the students.

“I hope you pick the latter then…and I have to say no to Trace. I don’t think they’re ready to do something like that. We can do it later though. I was thinking Jar of Hearts.” She clicked her lips but didn’t say anything. He looked around the room and addressed everyone.

“This is Miss Eimile. She was kind enough to help me show you today’s routine. I want you all to find a partner, we’re going to learn a piece the two of us did together back in college. Anyone left without a partner will end up with me. We’ll do it in parts so that by the end you can do the full forty seconds so don’t worry.” It didn’t take long for people to pair up. He noticed Charlotte seemed to get her partner right away. He couldn't help but feel a little annoyed that she found someone so quickly. Pavel seemed to have taken an interest in her and if Kirov didn't know any better he could say the same of Charlotte. In the end, Margaret was left without a partner but she didn’t seem too upset with the knowledge. It wasn’t often they worked one on one with Kirov unless it was before or after class.

After a moment the two took their positions before starting a 45 second segment of the routine.

 
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