Behind The Glass Door

Chapter 11

Lacy:

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"Make sure that fouetté leap is a foutté leap, not a grand jete, Lacy," Mr. Allard said to me, holding his glasses in his hand as he leaned against the mirror.

"Okay everyone, one more time," he said.

We all silently protested as we walked to either side of the room in an orderly fashion.

One more time in the dance world meant until it was good enough, then you could be dismissed.

The bubbly piano music started up again person by person walked out, going one by one and crossing the stage to meet with their partner. Being the first in the line, the closest to the mirror, I went last.

Elliot and I did a sequence of small leaps and bourrées before we met with one another, his hand taking ahold of my waist before lifting me above his head, his thumbs trying not to dig into my stomach and ribs as his biceps flexed and veins popped out.

My middle finger and thumb aligned as I held my legs out straight before he threw me up the slightest and then caught me under my armpits before raising me again where I did an arabesque before he put me down safely.

He grabbed ahold of my hand and kicked his leg behind him as we used each other's arms for momentum to drag ourselves forward and switch places.

We diagonally went into a fouetté leap, landing in the corner where I went on relevé and Elliot grabbed my waist gingerly.

Foutté turns made my calves feel like they were falling off as I turned, spotting the picture frame in the back in the mirror every time.

The music began to end as we moved our way to the center again, spinning around each other as we held hands and ended with a curtsy.

"Bravo! Very good, but tomorrow let's work on our spotting boys," Mr. Allard chuckled to himself as he dropped his notebook on the floor with a thud as we filed out of the room to soak our feet in bath salt and hot water.

"Sorry if my fingers hurt your stomach," Elliot laughed to himself.

"You say that every time," I smiled.

"I know, but I feel bad," he shrugged as we sat down to remove our shoes.

"Don't, it doesn't hurt," I smiled.

"It's just that...every time someone touches you, you seem to flinch so I just want you to not flinch I guess," he shrugged.

"It's not your fault," I sighed breathily once the cotton around my toes was unwrapped, revealing the purple blisters and the black and blue divots on my feet that formed.

"Rough dancer feet," Elliot hissed.

"Yeah, ballet since I was two," I said.

"Sixteen years?" he asked with his jaw dropped.

"Yeah," I laughed, "What about you?" I asked.

"Since I was six, so twelve years," he nodded.

"Ah, I see. But you grew up with the French ballet school, I got the watered-down version of it, most of my teachers were Russian," I told him.

"That explains the middle finger and thumb aligned!" he said with a gasp.

I laughed at his amusement, the way his deep blue eyes lit up into a glassy blue color.

"How's Garrett?" I asked.

Elliot exhaled deeply at the question, rolling his eyes, "He's Garrett," he scoffed.

"Not doing well?" I asked.

"We're fine," Elliot shrugged, "Besides the fact that he's a total F-boy, we're fine," he shrugged.

I laughed at his comment and his serious face, "There's a 'we're'?" I asked amused.

"No," Elliot rushed to say, eyes wide, "No, we're just friends, I don't like him at all," he rolled his eyes.

"Alright," I smiled, shaking my head.

I packed up my bag as we sat in silence before clearing my throat.

"Still not talking to Riley?" I asked.

"Yes, she's a bitch," he groaned.

Coincidentally, Riley walked into the hall to go into one of the classes, looking at Elliot and nodding at him to which he hauled his bag over his shoulder and got up off the floor.

"Come on Lace," he sighed, holding out a hand to help me up.

I reluctantly grabbed his hand as he pulled me up, Riley's gaze on me as her eyes watered the slightest.

She was wearing black high-top Converses, black sweatpants, and a black tee-shirt with her hair messily pulled into a ponytail.

She licked the inside of her cheek before scoffing to herself and walking away into her class.

"I feel bad," I frowned.

"Lacy, you care too much about other people, did I tell you what she said about you?" he asked me with raised brows.

"You did," I said.

"Then hate her guts for it," he scoffed.

Vibrations buzzed against my hip from my bag, reaching into the pocket and pulling out my phone that said 'unknown' to press answer.

"Hello?" I said.

"Lace," I heard a raspy voice on the other end of the phone.

"Who is this?" I asked as I made my way up the stairs.

"It's Noah," he rasped.

My heart dropped at the familiar name, my heart rate increasing as my chest heaved.

"I blocked you for a reason. What do you want?" I asked, clearing my throat.

"Why do you think I need something," he chuckled lowly.

"Because, you come to me for something, get it, and then you leave until you need something again," I said.

"That's not true Lace, I love you, you know that," he said softly, his voice still insincere.

"Maybe you convinced yourself that when were eleven," I scoffed, following Elliot to his dorm.

"I still do," he mumbled.

"You're drunk," I sighed.

"I wanna see you," he muttered.

"Can't," I sighed again as Elliot opened the door to his dorm, Garrett waving to me as I nodded to him, putting my bag on the floor.

"Why not?" he said, I could hear his pout and I cringed at it.

"I'm in France, idiot," I groaned as I fell back on Elliot's bed.

"What? Since when?" he asked with shock.

"Here for dance," I said.

"You got in?" he muttered.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"Nice," he mumbled.

When I was eleven, right when I started pointe, Noah was in my class. We dated for a while, it barely counted since we were so young but we've fallen in and out of contact ever since. He always asked me to meet him, to try and do something but I knew better than to meet up with him.

"I miss you, Lace," he muttered.

"I know," I said, "Alright Noah, I'm gonna go, call me when you need something again," I sighed before pressing the red hang-up button.

"Who was that?" Elliot asked.

"My ex," I exhaled.