Hamilton Prep

Chapter 4: Vitale- Peeta Was Always In Love With Katniss-

It’s kind of funny, if you think about it, how many times someone can screw up so badly in a single day. Today’s mistakes ticked off in my mind as I listened to Ms. Rogers- Monday’s dance tutor- count off a four-four staccato rhythm.

One, Waking up.

Two, Getting Dressed.

Three, Sending one more “I love you” text to my mom.

Four, Walking through the front doors of Hamilton Prep.

One, Talking to Mr. Gatz.

Two, Running full-on into Caldwell in the hallway

Three, and skipping math class, just to avoid him.

Four, Letting myself run away.

One, Sitting at the front table in chemistry.

Two, Ignoring the world around me.

Three, Not moving seats when Caldwell chose to sit beside me

Four, and telling him- of all things- that I am attracted to men.

Ms. Rogers’ tempo was getting faster, and, per instruction, I started work on my chaînés. As I was spinning, the movements got closer together, faster, and it sometimes slipped my mind to spot the wall.

Spin faster, move feet faster, spot faster.

Work harder, press harder, focus harder.

Forget.

Forget.

Forget!

One succession of forgotten spots and a misstep later, I was tumbling onto the floor. My right hand tried to catch my fall, but the wrist bent too far inwards, sending a thrill up my spine. I ground my teeth together, not allowing the pathetic whimper of pain escape my throat. I didn’t dare open my eyes either; my head already felt like I was on one of those fair rides that spins you upside down, and I could do without vomiting up what little I actually ate of my lunch, thank you very much.

“Vitale, are you okay?” I felt the cool hand of Ms. Julie Rogers touch my bare shoulder.

“I think I t-tweaked my wrist.” I clasped my left hand around my wrist and massaged the cinched joint- thankfully there wasn’t a break. I finally opened my eyes, and by some grace of God I didn’t throw up anything.

“We can be done for today, hon.” She stood up straight and held out her hand to me. I grasped it and she hefted me to my feet. “Your steps were beautiful, but then I noticed you stopped spotting. Did you forget or something?”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and looked deeply into her eyes. I didn’t want to tell her; the way I was feeling barely made sense to me. How was I supposed to explain to her that I was dangerously attracted to a cocky, womanizing, guy that most certainly wasn’t into other guys.

Ms. Rogers slapped her thigh. “Oh silly me!” Her green eyes went bright, as if her mind was reeling through deviant thoughts. “Boy troubles. I might've known...”

“H-how did you...” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Oh, dear, your mother told all your private dance tutors. She didn’t want you having some homophobic ass teaching you, and making you hate yourself for something that you can’t control.”

My already wide eyes jumped open more- if that was even possible. I had never actually heard Ms. Rogers curse before, she didn’t really look like the type. “Oh.”