Breaking Pointe

Chapter Two

     Not many people drive their own cars in New York. It’s usually faster to walk or take the subway. The few cars that were in the parking lot of her private school were mostly shiny, foreign cars. The huge, white F150 was easy to spot. It was well taken care of, but looked to be about ten years old. It was even lifted up with big wheels. Mr. Southern Charm walked ahead of Arabella as she headed toward the passenger side. She reached for the handle but he was already there opening the door for her. Her eyes went wide when she realized she had to get up in the thing. His eyes searched hers, seeming to wordlessly ask permission. She nodded and he lifted her up smoothly from the waist and she climbed in easily. She looked down, not wanting him to see the red in her cheeks. Boys at ballet had lifted her in the same way, even in more intimate ways, but somehow the action seemed much more intimate than any of those.

“Thanks,” she said shyly, not used to the attention. Arabella knew that if she tried, she could get her fair share of attention from guys, though. With her super long red-brown hair, pale skin, light blue eyes, and thin dancer’s body she often caught boys looking at her. They soon realized that she wasn’t available, however. Arabella’s life was completely dedicated to dance and there was simply no time for a boyfriend.

He walked around the other side as she fastened her seatbelt. He gracefully hopped in and buckled his. The truck started and country music immediately blared from the speakers. Arabella had nothing against country, but usually preferred classical. He blushed and rushed to turn the volume down, but accidentally nudged it louder. 

“Sorry!” he yelled as he fumbled with the controls. Arabella covered her ears. He finally managed to turn off the radio and she slowly lowered her hands. He turned to her, blushing bright red. “I’m really sorr. . .”

“It’s fine,” she said with a smile. It was an honest mistake, and he looked so embarrassed that she wanted to make him feel better. At lease she wasn’t the only one blushing. He grinned at her, the bright red fading to a flushed pink. She smiled back and looked at her hands in her lap.

‘What kind of music do you listen to?” he asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh, anything,” she said quietly as she motioned him to turn right. She didn’t want to be picky and annoying because he was being so nice. He raised his eyebrows and pressed one of his presets. Arabella’s favorite Holtz piece danced out of the speakers and her jaw dropped. How did he know?

“You seem really into ballet, so I just figured.” he shrugged, acting nonchalant but obviously pleased with himself. She shook her head in disbelief as he hummed along, but she relaxed to the familiar tune. His deep hum was pleasant and set butterflies free in her stomach.

“Go straight here,” she directed. Then she looked over at him from the corner of her eye. He was definitely good looking in a typical country guy way. Rugged, tall, and obviously a gentleman. Her mind wandered toward hillbillies and rednecks. Not her type. So why did she have an overwhelming urge to run her fingers across the stubble on his jawline? Her tastes usually centered around sophisticated guys. The type that took honors classes and ran for class president. The ones that wore Ralph Lauren sweaters and ties, not concert tees and worn in Levis. The song on the radio changed to Bach. She liked the kinds of guys that listened to classical music and. . . she stopped her train of thought. Why was a classical station on one of redneck boy’s presets? She was about to ask when she realized they had arrived at her studio. The truck rolled to a stop and she turned to thank him. He was already out of the truck and walking around to open the door for her. When she took his hand to step out, their eyes met again and she felt her cheeks flush. . . again. 

“T-thank you,” she stuttered, staring at the ground.

“Anytime ma’am,” he said in that accent that sent her heart racing. She could hear the grin in his voice and knew he was looking at her, but she was too nervous to tear her eyes away from the ground. She still couldn’t quite place that accent. Alabama? Why hadn’t she asked him where he was from? Or why he was being so nice to her? She never even got to ask why he had classical on he presets! When would she see him next? She froze. Would she ever see him again? She looked up and realized he was almost to the door of his truck and had the desperate urge to yell to him so he wouldn’t leave her, but she didn’t even know his name!

As if he sensed her panic, he turned and grinned at her. “See you around school, Cinderella,” he said and jumped easily into his car. Arabella smiled and started walking away as she heard his truck’s engine starting. 

“Hey, Cinderella!” she heard and she spun around. “What’s your real name?”

“You were close, actually, it’s Arabella!” she yelled back with a shy smile, then turned and quickly ran up the steps to the studio.

“Cutting it close.” Tina said with one thin eyebrow raised. The clock read 3:28.

“Cutting it close Arabella” echoed in her mind. She started to breathe heavier. Her vision became fuzzy.

“I have to use the bathroom,” Arabella mumbled and rushed off to be alone.

Author's Note: Dedicated to northbynorth because I am obsessed with Saving Elliot!!!! Sorry this is kind of a short chapter, but what do you think? Eh? Flashback coming in the next chapter! Vote/comment when you read it so I know what you think!:)