Burn // NH

2. Sass is not Class

A long, deep sigh left the pit of my chest as I propped myself up on my large king sized mattress. The black covered pillows sunk under my weight, my chilled, bare feet crossing at my ankles. Reaching for the remote, I muted the stock market channel on the large television that hung from the corner of my snow colored, white wall. Instead, the Mac computer that rested on the black wooded desk beside of me was grabbed and pulled onto my lap, already displaying the Google homepage.

I pursed my lips, before rolling my tongue behind my bottom teeth, and decided to search Royal Oaks Performance Academy. The homepage of the school was a rich maroon colored webpage that displayed the original founder, the current director, and the synopsis of the school. I squinted my eyes, reading over each little detail before clicking on the drop-down menu at the top.

  Displayed was: music, theater, dance, auditions, tuition and fees, about the campus, alumni, and Q's & A's

I went down the line, reading over every summary and clicking through each picture that was showcased. However once I got to the pictures of the dancers, my eyes couldn't help but to land on the short, dark haired girl. Her arms were spread open, angled back, a black leotard fitting tightly against her body as a black tutu hugged her waist. My eyes scanned down, looking over her muscular, but thin legs as she stood on the very tips of her toes, her right foot tossed in the air directly behind her with her body tilting back as if to touch it. She was to say in the simplest of words: a bird.

A sudden chuckle had bellowed from between my parted lips. No wonder, I thought. I scanned the picture one last time and continued my search.

I read through the whole website, deciding on whether or not this was something I actually wanted to invest in. The pictures and little clips of the shows did seem rather intriguing. And the school did seem to work greatly with studies as well, as each child had to maintain an average of a 3.7 American GPA.

Running my tongue over my lips once again, I hummed to myself before closing down the laptop. It was rested back in its spot on my side table, as if it was never even touched. My eyes ventured over to the alarm clock, reading that it was just now breaching one in the morning. Sighing, I pulled the black comforter overtop of my mostly-naked body and sunk into the sheets.

It'd been a long day. Because it was a Wednesday, a week day, I was rather used to not having any company. Despite my parents flying in from London, during the week, my work was my full focus. If I wasn't at my work office, I was in my home office, busting my ass just as hard. There were papers to be filed, places to call, managers to speak to, meetings to attend— it was a never ending cycle. I only allowed myself down time on Saturdays. Until then, do not even think about bothering me.

It was something that I expected everyone around me to know. And for the most part, they did. My home workers, as well as my office workers knew not to call, page, or text me unless it was an emergency. If my door was closed, they knew to keep walking because I was not answering. If they had something to say, they could leave it with Emily and I would get back to them.

As far as Jessica, my maid, or Nicholas, my chef, I gave each their own house on my property for their family and paid for their electricity and gas bills, so they should have no complaints. If so, they knew Saturday was the day to come to me. 

I sighed, turned off the t.v. and double checked my alarm to make sure that it was set for five tomorrow morning before finally allowing my eyes to shut.

The rest of the week seemed to quickly pass by and before I knew it, Monday morning was suddenly knocking at my door. Rolling out of my bed, I quickly made it and put the pillows back into place before strutting across the open space to the bathroom.