Overture (Ambler Elite #1) ★

1. All Hail Queen Paige

I had it down to an art now: scamper into the dressing room, change, and scurry back out. Avoid eye contact. Be super careful not to hit anybody with my pointe shoes as I dashed into the lobby on the return.

It wasn't like I was some timid baby zebra afraid of getting attacked by a lion. Except I kind of was. The dressing room was scary because in it resided Paige Mazor, the reigning queen of the Ambler School of Dance. The lioness to my poorly executed safari analogy. And for some weird, unidentifiable reason, she'd hated me since the day I stepped into the studio for the first time three months ago.

I knew she was better than me-she didn't need to be intimidated. Her feet arched better, her jumps landed lighter, her legs stretched over splits in ways I could only dream of. She'd clenched Clara in our winter Nutcracker and I was snow corps. It was pretty obvious who was superior.

This particular Monday afternoon, I swung open the dressing room door in preparation for my normal dash. On the bench in the middle of the room-the throne-Paige sat, holding court. Her posse sat on her right, topped off by Riley Meyer-Love, the golden boy at Ambler and her claim to popularity. None of them lifted their heads to acknowledge my entrance, but Paige's eyes swivelled sideways.

I avoided looking at her, hurrying over to my locker and throwing my street shoes inside. I could feel her dagger eyes trained on my back, and the tension of the impending conversation seeped energy from the room. Her conversation with her friends silenced, so all I could hear was me rustling through my dance bag for my skirt.

Conflict was inevitable, and I was so not here for it.

"Ever?" Paige's voice was syrupy sweet. It always was, at first. She liked to catch you off guard like that. The first few weeks I'd been convinced she wanted to be my friend. Wrong. I was so wrong.

I sucked in my cheeks. Deep breath in, and out. I'd learned that in my yoga and meditation classes last summer intensive. Then I turned around, daring to finally make eye contact with Queen Paige.

"Hey," I said. Might as well start off friendly.

She pursed her lips. "Lauren and I were just talking."

Lauren was Paige's third-in-command. She'd never been that mean to me one-on-one, but Paige forced her to be snarky just like the rest. It was a shame-we could've been friends. At the very least, we could've been an ally.

"Yeah?" I tied my black wrap skirt over my leotard, focusing on making a perfect knot so I didn't have to keep looking at the group. All five of their eyes were on me, and it was kind of terrifying. Like standing in an audition when the teacher called on you alone to repeat a step.

"Yeah. Apparently Mrs. Princeton's making some cuts in the corps for Nutcracker."

"Why would she do that?"

Paige's smile stretched into a simper: a telltale sign she was about to strike. "Actually, we heard she was just using it as an excuse to cut you."

There it was. Not as bad as usual. I took another deep breath and reached into my dance bag for my pointe shoes. "Why would she do that?"

"Why wouldn't she? Sweetie, you fell on your knees in the middle of a turn Saturday."

Why had Paige even been watching that rehearsal? Was she snooping around the studio trying to catch my most embarrassing moments, just to harrass me with them later?

"Everyone falls out of turns," I said. "I hit a slick spot on the floor. No big deal."

"No big deal until it happens to you onstage. Mrs. Princeton probably doesn't want to risk it."