The Ballerina & The Devil

Thirty Four. Down On His Knees

A/N: The song in the mediabox is Sorry by the amazing Justin Bieber.

I personally don't think it's ever too late to say you're sorry ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"...and what I really don't understand is why you think you can skip class whenever you feel like it. Are you certifiably insane? Do you really not give a damn about your future? Because if not I may as well be wasting my time."

I groaned and buried my head in my hands from my spot on the floor. Michelle had been on an ongoing rant for the past half an hour after class had ended, and it didn't look like she was going to let up anytime soon.

"I mean honestly, Demi," she planted her hands on her hips and glowered at me. "It's Juilliard. Do you know what this will mean to me if you get in!?"

I smirked and looked up. "What it'll mean to you?"

"Me, you, us," she waved a hand. "It's all the same thing."

"Uh huh," I shook my head before sighing. "I'm sorry, Michelle. I just needed some personal time."

"If only I could use that excuse whenever I felt like it," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"I said I was sorry," I threw up my hands in exasperation. "What else do you want from me?!"

"To be present!"

"I was in the middle of a crisis."

"Oh?" Michelle's arms folded across her chest, and her eyebrows cocked up. "Did someone die?"

"Uhh...no-"

"Were you sick?"

"Well, not technicall-"

"Was someone you know in the hospital?"

"No, but-"

"Then it wasn't a crisis," she snapped. "If you ditch class one more time without a plausible excuse you're not doing The Nutcracker."

I gasped loudly at the threat of stripping the winter concert away from me. "Yo- you can't do that!"

"Actually I can," she smiled smugly. "I'm the boss."

"Michelle," I said seriously. "Clara is my birthright."

She snorted. "Show up to class, and you can hold onto that birthright."

"Oh, fine," I muttered. "Sorry...again."

"You're forgiven," she smiled warmly. "Now get up. We're going to run through the dance for your audition."

"What!?"

"Do you want my forgiveness?"

"You said forgiven!" I slammed my hand down on the the floor.

"That's partial forgiveness," she explained. "Now up up."

"Nooo," I moaned. "Michelle, please. After hours of dancing my legs are about to give out."

"Don't be such a baby. This is all for Juilliard," she reminded me. "You cannot relax until after you walk out of that theater and have successfully wowed the judges. So much so that they beg you on their knees to be apart of the Juilliard team right then and there."

I laughed. My tiredness was gone and the feeling of giddiness replaced it. "You think I can wow them? Like really?"

"I'm not going to tell you yes because that'll make you cocky," she told me in a brisk tone, but I saw a small smile tug at her lips. "Now up, and run through your routine."