What A Lie Looks Like | ✓

1.02: sephine

Getting from class to class was somewhat easier because this time around, I made it my goal to blend in and not stand out. I dressed more demurely, I didn't skip class, I followed the rules, I even attempt to go straight to class only making a one or two detours to spend a few moments with Cam and Liv. For the most part, I had changed for the better. It was also the best way to fly under Tessa's radar since she has yet to acknowledge that I'm here.

But one can only be so lucky.

However, I didn't expect to be the one to find her and Hayes in one of the almost forgotten stairwells near the art wing where my morning ballet class was.

"It didn't mean anything," Tessa's voice is thick with emotion stopping me in my steps.

Hayes laughs, but it's a hollow sound, "You think I care?"

What are they talking about?

Hayes and Tessa?

Tessa cocks her head to look at him, "I think if you didn't care, you wouldn't be in this stairwell right now."

From my hiding spot, I recognize the look in his eyes because I've had it on mine before, bitter hatred. Tessa doesn't back down though, she can't. It's not in her nature. She locates weak spots and then uses them to her advantage, but isn't that what society has taught us to do anyway?

My heels click against the wooden steps as I walk into their line of view. If Tessa is surprised to see me, she doesn't show it, but I'm sure my despise for her is crystal clear in my eyes.

I walk past in silence, feeling their eyes on me the entire time. "Sephine," Tessa calls out after me.

I freeze on the steps to turn back to look at her as she smiles. To anyone else, it would have seemed as if she had something friendly to say, but I knew it meant something completely different.

"Good to see you again."

Instead of biting my tongue like I should have, it slips out of my mouth, "Wish I could say the same." However, my retort does cause Hayes to try and cover his laugh with a cough as Tessa's eyes narrow. Still, the smile doesn't fall as I turn and walk away, leaving them behind in the stairway.

Dancing was a welcome distraction after that encounter. It feels like the only time I can breathe without feeling like there is a possibility of being swallowed into nothing. It's easy to get lost in the movements and the flow of the music.

It doesn't matter what kind of music it is; you can always find a way to move with the beat if you can make the connection. Of the three styles-ballet, contemporary, hip hop-contemporary is by far my favorite. Yet, it wasn't the one I excelled at.

My teacher, Ms. Peterson, had studied dance with a company in Europe only an hour away from the one I spent the summer training with. After, she decided she no longer wanted to compete and instead wanted to teach. I was lucky that my parents had managed to find a school with a dance program, or they would never have allowed me to leave Bayard. The program was the whole reason I lived across the country from my family, after all. However, I lacked discipline outside of dance, but being forced to learn that skill over the summer was a massive step in recreating myself.

Stepping into the studio was my favorite part of the day. It wasn't as large as the one at my old school, but it was big enough for the amount of students that participated in the program. There was a big competition coming up that I needed to place at if I had any shot of having a career in dance.

The past few weeks, we'd been focusing almost entirely on ballet. The dance I was attempting to have ready was complicated and required copious amounts of discipline and precision. Ms. Peterson was aware of my love for contemporary, and it only pushed her to make more of an effort to show me how I was stronger in ballet. Even if my heart belonged to contemporary. Instead of pushing back, I listened.