Soloist #Wattys2015

Chapter Nine

Other than the sound of pen on paper, there was nothing else that annoyed me more. I knew that it could not be help, but the sheer speed at which Casillith was scribbling at threw me off. Terribly.

I threw down my pen, tempted to have a fit and flip the table and rip my test paper.

An hour. I had an hour left to go. Why do teachers like to scare us? All because Miss Galanis told us that it was tough, I had rushed through the paper and look at me now!

"Andy, what are you doing?" Miss Galanis scrunches her nose in disgust as she beheld my masterpiece of a ballerina's silhouette.

She rips it away from the privacy of my hands, waving it in front of my face.

"What is this?" She hissed.

"Well miss, I believe it's page five." I answered honestly.

She throws down my work and stalks off. Next to me, Mckayla snickers.

Picking up my pencil once again, I continued doodling.

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"Gosh, I really want to sit down right now." I whined, shaking out my stiff legs.

Althaia Artino pretended not to hear me as she asked me to turn as she pricked me with another one of her insufferable pins.

"Why is it taking so long?" I complained, remaining deathly still.

"Because someone did not have new measurements taken.' Mckayla chided.

"I was busy." I crossed my arms, regretting that decision immediately.

"Mckayla Vitali, if you won't be quiet and allow me to finish my work without Adrianne getting herself stabbed, I suggest you leave."

"Sorry, Mrs Artino."

When I finally got out of the rancid room, I heaved a dramatic sigh of relief. Groaning, I sank down onto my knees, picking up my haversack.

Tomorrow was the full dress practice, and if I did not have my dress; there was not telling what headmaster Richard would do.

With that dark thought looming in my head, I left for the dance studio.

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"No, no; no! Stop!" Our director stormed into the centre, breaking us apart by shoving me away from the poor page boy.

William Hawley, a dancer from the year below mine had taken a lot of heavy fire this morning. He was feeling slightly under the weather and was finding it hard to concentrate. Unfortunately, that resulted in a whole lot of shouting from Richard Kensington.

"I want this," Headmaster does a complicated series of steps. "But you're giving me this."

He does a relatively similar solo.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Look around, my boy. Everyone here can dance – anyone can take your solo. Tell me, how badly do you want this?"

"Terribly, sir." William trembled slightly.

"Again!" Headmaster Richard orders with a quick wave of his hand.

William launches into the difficult line up of jumps and turns, his powerful muscles moving as fluidly as water as he leaps into the air repeatedly.

The room held a collective breath as William sank onto his knee and presented me with the invitation letters. Richard Kensington motions for the pianist to carry on.

I snapped onto pointe, playing out my character.

"More! Offer more!" Headmaster yells like a football fan.

Smiling even wider, I expressed my excitement with a handful of little jumps and sharp movements.

"Push yourself! I don't want to see Andy, I want to see Cinderella!" He commands passionately.

Continuing, I did the last of the turns and ended in time with our pianist. Barely. Headmaster Richard simply waves me off.

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"That was fantastic! For once you didn't collapse onto the floor!" Aellius cheered.

"It was alright, but it can be better, I should have-"

"It was beautiful, Adrianne." He presses a kiss to my forehead.

Twisting out of his grasp, I stumbled but remained standing. After promising to return quickly, I bolted over to where William Hawley was stretching down.

"Hey, I hope I'm no interrupting anything..." I trailed off, sinking into a split next to him.

He grinned sheepishly, "Sorry for wasting your time back there."

"No one gets it right the first time. The beauty of dance is the commitment you have to it. A good dancer never has it easy; don't beat yourself up."

His eyes lit up and for a moment, he looked like a normal sixteen year-old.

"See you around, William."

"Thanks, Andy. I appreciate it."

He smiles as I wave 'goodbye'.

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Even though we were already halfway through rehearsals for the big show, the finals were still going on and it was crunch time for us. Somehow, we had to make time in-between all the practices and conditioning sessions to study.

For me, that meant multi-tasking

"Who was supposed to be Lenin's successor?" Deacon quizzed.

"Leon Trotsky." I answered, measuring a cup of soy milk.

"What's the name of the World War 1 treaty?"

"The Treaty of Versailles." I shoved the blended mush into a cup before slapping the lid on.

It went on like this, the both of us annoying the patrons who were trying to study as we rushed around the room preparing drinks and yelling questions and answers at each other. Oh the perks of history.

"So, which character did you get?" I boosted myself onto one of the marble counters.

Deacon shrugged. "One of the courtesans at the party, the Prince's right hand man."

"That's great!" I bit into a freshly baked cookie.

"Yeah, cast two." He takes it from me.

We sit there, swinging our legs and enjoying the silence that befell us. It felt completely isolated, as if the crowd in the café was a completely different universe.

Then when the students leave for the night, Deacon suggests a food fight. I am pretty sure I only started screaming when he took out the dark chocolate sauce.

"Please don't!" I pleaded, not wanting my white cardigan to get dirty.

He laughed maniacally, looming over my crouching body.

"Too bad..." He pouted, then squirted the sauce into my hair.

Snarling, I flicked the chocolate onto his shirt. The sauce landed in flecks and got even worse when I head-butted him and started smearing more onto him.

"Andy!" He objects.

"You started it!"                

"Oh it is on." He snapped his fingers as I broke out the whipped cream.