2022 A/N: So I kinda just jumped right into editing this without even reading over it so I have no idea what's bouta go down fr. I just know it's gonna cause me a headache by the end of it. Like off the bat, I started this off with her waking up from a "strange dream which is already drifting from my mind." Like that's such a boring, dry, whitebread, tasteless, watery start to a story and not even a good hook but I digress. Also the whole thing is in the present tense which I detest. I'm gonna try and fix it while staying sort of true to what I already wrote, so much to my chargrin, she's waking up ig but you better believe she just did and isn't currently waking up cause no ma'am. We'll see how this goes T-T
My eyes snapped open, heart threatening to pound right out of my chest. I didn't bother hiding my annoyance with whichever person at Apple headquarters had cooked up the jolting alarm that was echoing against the brick walls of my tiny bedroom. The sound served its purpose well, however, as there was no way that I would be finding sleep again now that I'd been wrenched from my dreams by the blaring sound.
I picked up my phone from my night table, fighting the urge to glare at it as I clicked the "stop" button, silencing the infernal screeching before it could annoy me farther. The following silence felt like heavenly peace, and I welcomed it, dragging my hands down my face, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
It felt as though I'd pressed my feet onto a sheet of ice when I finally flipped back my duvet and clambered out of bed. Times like that made me wish that I was able to sleep with socks on, as it would make mornings infinitely more comfortable. As it were, I tried to cross the small stretch of hardwood in a hop, a skip, and a jump, so as to step onto the mat in my bathroom. I fumbled for the lightswitch in the dark room, squeezing my eyes shut as the bright, fluorescent light flickered into glaring life.
The small room consisted of a tiny shower, a vessel sink stained from the campus's ridiculously hard water, and a toilet with a suspicious dark mark in the bowl which had been there when I moved in and refused to leave no matter how hard I scrubbed it. Above the sink was a tiny mirror so old and cheap that my reflection was peppered with dark marks where the reflective surface had peeled away, not that there would have been much to see anyway.
I wore a baggy grey T-shirt that had been washed quite a few too many times, so that the collar had lost any definition it once had, sagging down to expose my left shoulder. The shirt was wrinkled and stained in more places than I could count, and had long ago been resigned from regular use, to spend the rest of its days as my nightgown. My hair was a monstrous tangle atop my head where I'd slept on it, rolling around in bed until it was unrecognizable. A pale crust had formed at the corner of my mouth where drool had once fell, stayed and dried, and my eyes held that red "just-barely-awake" look which reflected how I felt better than the mirror ever could.
As I stretched my arms above my head, letting out one of those involuntary screeches that only happens when you stretch early in the morning, I thought idly that I looked as though I'd gotten into a particularly nasty fight; and lost.
When I entered the bathroom, it had been with the intention of taking a shower. As I stared at myself, however, I recalled that my first class that morning was dance. I knew that I would only have to shower again afterwards, so I decided that, rather than waste water, I would cook myself some breakfast. It was a rare occurence that I ate anything in the mornings, which Emma constantly berated me about, but I never felt that I had the time.
I left the tiny, cold room, walked through my bedroom and into the living area. I'd lived in the same crappy on campus appartment for a month, and with scarcely any furniture to speak of, it was long enough for me to know the layout forwards and backwards, even with the lights off and the curtains drawn. I stretched yet again, managing to hold in my screeching this time, and lumbered into the kitchenette as tiny as the rest of the place, boasting a full two feet of counter space and three cabinets in the whole of the little corner.
As sad as my "kitchen" was, it still had a working fridge, microwave, and stove, which was a win in my book. Although, those amenities made my apartment a hotspot for less fortunate tenants wanting to nuke their Top Ramen before pulling a red-eye study session or whatever they got up to on dreary nights as students of the prestigious, University of Hatchetfield.
Tugging open my rickety fridge, my eyes roved over... nothing. Or what may as well have been nothing. A few Mott's juice boxes, a pack of a few strawberries that were well beyond ready to be thrown out, a half drank jug of milk, a single slice of nondescript cheese product, a partial stick of butter, and a carton that once held a dozen eggs but currently held about three. Pushing aside the milk, I saw a store-bought smoothie in a bottle. I couldn't quite recall when I'd bought it but it hadn't passed its expiration date, so I removed the cap and took a whiff.
I crinkled my nose. The smoothie may not have been expired, but from the smell, I knew why it still sat in the fridge.
"Strawberry, banana, and peach," I read from the label, nearly laughing at the innacuracy.
On paper, the combination sounded delicious, and it probably was, but whatever concoction was within the bottle was far from that appetizing flavor. It smelled more like sour grapes and cheese, which even I wasn't desperate enough to injest.
I screwed the cap back onto the bottle and dropped it into the trash, making my fridge just that much more desolate.
The only other thing within the fridge worth eating were the eggs, so I pulled them out and sat them on the counter, along with the milk jug. It appeared that a depressing omlette was my only option, so I pulled out my singular non-stick skillet that wasn't used nearly as often as it should have been, and set it on front burner of the stove.
I tried my best to spruce up the sad excuse for breakfast, toasting a slice of wheat bread to eat with my flavorless omelette, and putting it all on a plate rather than eating directly from the skillet as I was wont to do. If I squinted, I could almost convince myself that I'd made an enjoyable meal. Still, as I sat on my sagging, lumpy sofa which somehow managed to be too soft and too hard in the same instance, sipping a glass of tap water that tasted more of pipe than of water, I couldn't help thinking the food was rather unfulfilling, leaving much to be desired in the way of flavor, even as it filled my stomach.
I ate quickly, wanting the poorly executed omelette to be gone as soon as possible. Then, after rinsing my plate, I went back to my room and pulled out one of the many outfits that I'd squeezed into my miniscule closet. It was a simple thing, meant more for comfort than for looks. Black leggings with a black, sports bra-esque, crop top. From the small shoe rack at the back of the closet, I snatched the first pair of tennis shoes I saw, which just happened to be a pair of beat up grey high tops.
I exchanged my grey T-shirt for the leggings and top, folding the shirt and laying it on my bed to be worn again that night, and then slipped on a pair of socks and my shoes. The box shaped clock on my bedside table read 7:28 am. I was supposed to arrive in class by 8 that morning, so I figured that if I really rushed, I could stop at Beanie's for something to drink. The smoothie had been a bust and the tap water left my mouth feeling dryer than it had before, so I decided that I'd take the risk of being late over dying of dehydration in the middle of warm ups.
As fast as possible, without leaving my mouth feeling disgusting, I brushed my teeth, catching sight of my hair, still snarled atop my head, in the process. I raked my fingers through it as best I could, busting up the worst of the tangles, and tugging it into a ponytail. It looked barely presentable, but it was enough.
Back at my closet, I pulled out an old Nike sweatshirt that was a faded shade of pink. It wouldn't have been my first choice, but I only needed something to beat the quickly approaching autumn chill until I was safely within the confines of the studio, so I dragged it over my head, ignoring the slightly itchy insides rubbing against my exposed abdomen.
Thinking of my hair once again, I snatched my grey Yankees cap from where it hung on the handle of my closet door and tugged it on, snapping the clasp around the base of my ponytail. It effectively hid the worst bits of my hair, and rendered me as ready as I would ever be to step into the day. Another look at the clock told me it was 7:33am and I had plenty of time to drive the mile off campus to Beanies and back again.
I wondered if I might even see Emma, as it was Tuesday, when she would usually be working the morning shift. As fast as I could, I gathered my duffle bag, keys, phone, and a reusable water bottle full of that mouth drying tap water. Then, I quickly exited my apartment, and locked the door behind me.
The hallway, one of cheap wood paneled floors and pain cinderblock walls, lacked any insulation or air conditioning. It felt frigid due to the early morning chill that had begun to settle over the town as summer began to give way to fall. I thought, as I did each time I left my miniature home, that the place really wasn't worth blowing the last of my scholarship money to stay there, but I did it anyway. My anxious mind couldn't rest with the idea having to get to know a roomate, or the thought of a communal bathroom. And so I'd splurged on the most expensive student housing, spending all but twenty-three dollars and seventy-one cents of the scholarship if only to avoid meeting new people.
A stupid, if not worthwhile, decision.
I walked down three flights of stairs, through the piddly excuse for a lobby, and out into the chilly, slightly misty parking lot.
A sweet, cheerful little bell tinkled as I pushed into a coffee shop that didn't quite match that cheerfulness. Before I could step very far into the place, I was nearly bowled over by one of those business-y types. He was tall with a long nose, brown hair and frighteningly blue eyes, and clothed in an uninspiring black suit that just screamed 'I sit in a cubicle all day'. Not a word of apology crossed his lips as he blustered past me and out into the street.
I rolled my eyes and walked up to the counter where Emma stood, stony-faced, filling the shop with the slightly annoying squeak of the coffee mug she was wiping with a rag that was well past dirty. She looked, as always when in her dreary barista garb, as though she would rather be anywhere else in the world. Her eyes showed that she was completely checked out from reality, not paying a bit of attention to the world around her. I waved a hand in front of her face and she blinked, her reverie broken. Her eyes caught on me, and she grinned.
"Y/N," she sat the mug and rag down on the counter before her, taking in my attire, "dance?"
"Yeah," I rolled my eyes, "I wish they would let me go in the afternoons instead of at eight."
"Well then you wouldn't get to see your favorite-"
"Excuse me..." A tall nerdy guy stiffly trotted up to the counter, hands fisted at his sides as his voice cracked on every few words that he spoke. He sounded extremely distressed, and possibly on the verge of tears, "I still haven't gotten my hot chocolate. My blood sugar is reaching dangerously low-"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, here you go," Emma conceded, holding out a cup of what I assumed was hot chocolate.
"Thank you," he managed to sound just as upset as he had before, even as he expressed gratitude. He took a long, slow sip of the beverage, as he walked backwards to his table.
The moment he was out of earshot, I turned to Emma, "umm... you know, I almost would have said that was normal until he pulled the whole 'back away slowly' thing. On a scale of one to ten how often do you get people like that?"
"Eleven," she sounded utterly exhausted with everything to do with Beanies, "that guy did the same thing when... Paul was here."
It was unlike Emma to remember a customer's name, and I didn't miss the way she stumbled over this one. Something was up.
"Paul?"
"Just some guy," she blushed. Emma never blushed. Something was definitely up, "you actually walked past him on your way in."
"That guy," I scrunched my nose, remembering the businessman who'd nearly ran me over when I entered the coffee shop.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing! Nothing. I'm just... curious," I eyed her, giving her my best Sherlock Holmes impression.
Her cheeks glowed redder still.
"Y/N, are you gonna order or what," she cupped her cheeks in her hands, hiding their rosy color, "you're holding up my line. Nora's already looking for an excuse to throw me out of this place."
I looked behind me.
"Umm there's not a single person behind me right now Ms. Ma'am, try again," I shook my head with a sly grin, "but I am gonna be late if I don't get a move on so I guess, let me get a medium Passion Tango Tea."
"You really came to Beanies and ordered something that's way cheaper and better at Starbucks," She shook her had filling my cup with the tea.
"Well my best friend doesn't work at Starbucks, does she," I rolled my eyes as though that were obvious, and fished ten bucks from the pocket of my leggings, "keep the change for you. I owe you for when you bought me Oreos the other night."
"Thanks. See you later Y/N," she smiled, effectively kicking me out of the shop.
"See ya," I raised a hand in a mock salute, stepping back from the counter, "but I'm not gonna forget about this Paul character. You can expect to be seeing me tonight."
In that very moment, my world began its slow descent into madness. It was sick and twisted, and almost cliche that I would run into him like this. Literally run into him. But it was this event that left me standing at the head of a road that would lead me dangerously near destruction, and I had no idea of it as my back slammed into a wiry chest and large hands cam to rest on my shoulders, steadying me as I nearly fell over.
I glared at Emma, who was smirking at me in a way that told me she purposely neglected to tell me that I was about to back right into another patron, who I'd not even heard enter the shop. Belatedly, I realized that I'd yet to address the person I'd so rudely bumbled into.
"Sorry," I exclaimed, whirling around and coming face to face with a man about a foot taller than me. He had a sharp jaw, kind blue eyes, rosy pink lips, and a shock of silver hair that was just slightly overlong and swept to the side so it didn't hang in his eyes, "I uh, wasn't paying attention."
"It's alright," his voice was deap, and he spoke with a tone that oddly reminded me of acting class, as though he had the intention of each word in mind when he said them, "just... watch where your going next time."
He stepped around me and moved up to the counter where Emma had just been replaced by that snooty manager, Zoey.
I made it to the studio with barely a minute to spare, tugging off my sweater, and tossing my hat and bag into a corner. I sifted through my duffle bag, pulling out my pair of nude Capezio character shoes, and slipping them on instead of my tennis shoes.
"Y/N," My dance instructor, Lauren Lopez, called to me, "try not to cut it so close next time, please?"
"Sorry!"
"Alright everybody," Lauren addressed the class, "today we're gonna run Candy Store with our Heathers twice, and then I'll show you all the choreo for Big Fun. Y/N! Alice! Deb! You're up. You can mark it the first time through to kinda warm up but I want full out for the second."
She spoke with a no nonsense tone, loud enough that her voice echoed through the studio. From the moment she had gotten involved with the theatre department, she'd changed her method of instruction. She was still funloving and let us experiment with our choreography and expression, but she was a lot less lax, than usual. It was her first year directing a show as well as choreographing it, and she'd made it clear to us that she wanted it to go as well as it possibly could. She'd also convinced her entire dance class, which consisted of mostly theatre majors in any case, to audition for the show, then converted her two hour block into a choreo rehearsal.
In this way, she maximized rehearsal time without digging into her students' already busy schedules. It was ingenius, if not a bit obsessive.
I fell into place with Deb and Alice, heading up our little triangle, trying to recall how the dance was supposed to start. However, as the rehearsal track began, muscle memory took over, and the motions came to mind.
2022 A/N: So... I lowkey added more to this than I thought I would going in. And also, wierdly, its kind of flowing better than my other fanfic that I'm writing currently (check it out on ao3 lol shamless plug). Idk if its becuase this one is in a modern setting or because I've already written it, but the ideas are sorta just coming out and I'm writing them. Like I completely made up the whole "people coming to use the microwave" thing while I was typing it. And the meager amount of things in the fridge. Like none of that was there before but as I was imagining it I just sort of wrote it. Idrk what I'm doing but its WORKING let me tell you lolol.
Anyways I really hope y'all enjoy the new stuff and however I end up fixing this mess. Please comment if you're here from the original and lmk what y'all think!