"Dance?" I ask, Roxie nodding her head.
"Everyone has to take it for a semester," she explains, my hand running down my face.
The criteria of my schedule consists of piano, dance, and an English class. It's not much but I am being forced to take dance.
"It's not that bad. You have to dance with a partner for your exam and you have to perform in a showcase. It's fun if you have a good partner," she explains, my nose releasing a sigh.
"Who was your partner?" I ask, her lips curving.
"Just some druggy. He was high as shit for the showcase," she laughs, my chuckle heard.
Zayn sits down next to us in the booth, my fingers placing fries into my mouth. Zayn orders a shake and we continue eating together, my friends finding it funny to tease me about dancing.
"It's not that bad," Zayn says, reminding me again.
"Yeah, because you had the best partner anyone could have," Roxie says, my eyes watching as his cheeks deepen a shade of pink.
"What happened?" I ask, his hand running through his hair.
"It's complicated," he sighs, my fingers grabbing the last of my fries.
I nod, simply to stay out of his business. I pay for the food, all of us walking out of the restaurant. As we walk back to my apartment, my hand runs through my hair and I turn my head to face Roxie. But I stop in my tracks, my eyes taking in a beautiful girl.
"Who is she?" I ask, Zayn smiling.
"Marie French. She was my dance partner," he explains, my eyes never seeing such a delicate girl.
Her brown hair is in light curls, her small frame not skinny but definitely slim. Her fingers are wrapped around a coffee cup and her eyes are casted to the book in her hand.
"She's amazing, to say the least," Roxie says, my eyes unable to peel away.
"Her whole demeanor changed two years ago but she's so beautiful. Untouchable, really," Zayn adds, my eyes moving off her.
"What?" I ask, not understanding.
"She was a complete free-spirit. We had so much fun as friends. We danced, had fun, did a ton of shit together, but it stopped so suddenly. After...spending the night together, she received a call and that was it. I still talk to her but it's not as extensive as it used to be," he explains, my eyes glancing back at her. She's standing up and maneuvering through the people, her hazel eyes locking on me for a split second before she turns away.
"Fuck," I groan, Roxie laughing.
"She doesn't associate herself with anyone anymore. She's by herself most of the time," he explains.
"Wait, before. You slept with her?" I ask, Zayn biting his lower lip.
"It was like what you think it was. She asked me to stay with her so I did. It wasn't sex," he explains, my heart beating faster.
"She's had sex before though," Roxie chips in, Zayn nodding.
"Then why is she so shy?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know and it's not my business."
My lips frown and I say goodbye before I walk towards my apartment, my head spinning with the thoughts of Marie French. She's beautiful; her skin pale and her dark hair cascading perfectly. I've never been one to go for the rowdy, sexy girls; the shy, beautiful ones I find attractive.
I'm up all night, researching Marie French. She's a ballerina and is known for her grace. My fingers are typing, scrolling, looking at pictures of the young girl. She's a year younger than me, only nineteen, but yet so accomplished. She's performed in multiple plays and is a very influential woman.
My eyes are about to close when the alarm on my phone goes off, my hands rubbing my eyes. Sleepless nights are a frequent occurrence in my life. I grab my bag and shove it over my shoulders, walking out of the apartment. Breakfast is retrieved from the closest bakery and I make my way to the piano practice room. A man with white hair sits on a stool and I sit down on the bench.
"Play a minor piece," he states, my head nodding. My fingers form over the keys, beginning Chopin's Prelude in E Minor. Closing my eyes, I play from memory as my finger float over the keys.
"Stop."
I do so and open my eyes, his eyes closed and his fingers conducting slowly.
"More expression."
I play again, moving my entire body as I play. My eyebrows frown halfway through, my aggression towards the keys amplified as I hear every minor chord. This piece made me mad when I was younger. It's every evil amplified.
Footsteps pull me out of the piece, my eyes opening. The man begins walking around me and I close my eyes again, feeling my distress through every key hit.
"You're very passionate, Mr. Styles."
I nod, feeling great now that I've played again. I'm rusty but I still know every piece I once memorized.
"A passion like that is natural. Not many people are natural anymore, but you are."
My eyes fall to the piece he places in front of me, a newer piano arrangement placed in front of me.
"Play this with articulation and motion," he states, my eyes glancing over the piece. A River Flows In You is the title and my fingers run along the keys, playing every note with as much expression as I can. I know this piece. It's so familiar and it reminds me of what my mother used to play when I was younger. I was just starting piano.
"Stop. Play that again," he says, my head nodding.
Closing my eyes, I move into the piano and play. Every note builds into a higher crescendo, then slow falls into a pianissimo. The suspense that carries through these types of pieces are what make my eyebrows furrow. The curiosity that presents itself is too much to explain with these pieces. A composer creates music based off experience. Those experiences are their greatest secrets presented by whole, half, quarter, and eighth notes.
"I want you to find me a piece and bring it here tomorrow, explaining in great detail a proposition you have as to why that particular composer wrote such a piece."
After agreeing to do so, I walk out of the room and follow the halls to the dance room. This class is going to be hell. Soft music flows down the hallway and I peer into some of the classrooms, my feet stopping when I see her.
Her hair has been pulled into a bun on the top of her head, her body twisting into an elegant position. She turns after lifting her arms and moves her knees down, her beautiful figure finishing with the tempo of the music. Before Marie sees me, I'm walking down the hall to the correct room. Stares are met on my body as I hand the woman at the front my schedule, her lips curving.
"It will be quite an adventure having you here. You've missed a week," she teases. "Why don't you wait until my last student arrives? She'll be able to catch you up on everything," she says, my head nodding.
"Alright! Today is partner day. You all get with your partners and work on choreography. Harry, it may be a few minutes," she directs towards me, my head nodding.
She explains to me the dance that needs to be completed, a waltz that will be performed later in the year for a grade. She directs me to the changing room and I take off my jeans, settling on basketball shorts.
"You look slightly under-muscular. Criteria for workouts must be met to commit to the male role in the dance. All men have to work out with weights to perform lifts and holds to the girl," she explains, going over syllabus with me.
"If you have any questions, I'm not very strict. I'm very easy and lenient on the non-dance majors for this is only an elective. What is your main focus?" she asks, my hands grabbing the paper.
"I'm a piano player," I say, her eyes lighting up.
"Of course. Of course. The president of Julliard has spoken so highly of you. I'm very excited to have you here," she says, the door to the room opening.
"I'm sorry for being so late," a soft voice says, my whole body turning to see who it belongs to.
I nearly drop the paper in my hand, the empty room amplifying my sharp intake of breath.
"No, no. I had to go over everything with Harry anyways. Marie, this is Harry. Harry, this is Marie," she says, my hand extending towards her on instinct.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, her hazel eyes meeting my green ones quickly as our hands meet in a small hand-shake.
"You too."
The instructor leaves the two of us alone and she fumbles with an iPod, moving it to the stereo.
"Have you danced before?" she asks, my head shaking.
"I've never danced in my entire life. Well, I did once at prom but it was horrible," I say, her head nodding.
She stands in front of me and looks over my stature, her eyes flickering in concentration.
"Okay. You need to relax your shoulders," she says, my muscles relaxing as she pushes her hands against my shoulders. Her hand grips my forearm and sets my left hand on her waist, my right hand grabbing her left hand.
"You have to move your feet with mine. If I go back," she says, moving her left foot back, "You move that foot forward."
I step with my right foot and she nods, continuing to move her feet. She stops me when I nearly step on her foot, my eyes widening when I did so.
"No apologies. You need to learn," she says after I say I'm sorry. All I do is nod, unable to compose myself for she's in my reach. I'm holding her.
She goes over basics with me and keeps the talking to a minimum, my concentration on pleasing her high. Every action Marie does, I reciprocate it in the fashion she tells me.
"No. Left foot out," she corrects me, my mind moving to get everything right.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, her head shaking. She reminds me not to apologize and I nod my head, her feet moving much too fast for me.
"Stop."
As I come to a halt, she moves her body away from me and stands a few feet in front of me.
"You have to move with the music. Flow with the song and find the frame of mind," the instructor states, pulling my eyes away from Marie. She stands at the doorway and holds the remote in her hand, Marie nodding.
"Try again," Marie whispers, grabbing my hand and setting her hand on my shoulder.
The music begins and I close my eyes, feeling the music as if I'm playing the piano. My feet move slowly, opening my eyes to make sure I don't step on her feet. We keep moving and she moves out of my embrace to spin slowly, her hand grabbing mine again. As soon as I have her in my arms, I lift her towards me and turn us. We carry on, my mind working fast to recall every move I'm suppose to place.
"Stop," the instructor calls, pausing the music. My arm is place firmly on Marie's back and her hand has moved to the crook of my neck.
"Natural born passion, Mr. Styles," the instructor calls, circling the two of us. Twice in one day, I've been told I'm born with passion.
"Marie, anything to add?" she asks, Marie, glancing up at me. Her eyes hold so much color; green, brown, gold, and slight blue incorporated in her shining orbs.
"No. You're good," she says, my lips curving. No smile is gestured back to me again and she lets go of me, her body walking to the stereo.
She packs up and I observe her delicate movements, her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she casts her gaze down towards her bags.
"How long have you been dancing?" I ask, her body standing tall.
"Since I could walk."
My feet walk closer to Marie and she stiffens, my body stopping. "Are you doing anything later?" I ask, her eyes moving to meet mine.
"Why?" she asks, her pink lips parting.
"I-I don't really know my way around campus. If you were available, maybe you could help me," I say, attempting to talk with her. I had the best moves in England and now they're out the door, on a plane back to where they were effective.
"I'm busy. Sorry," she says, taking her bag and walking out of the dance room.
And with that, I feel like an idiot.
___
"She's not that easy to get to," Roxie says, my hand wrapping around a glass of Pepsi. I'm not a drinker.
"And you would know?"
She laughs violently. "As a matter of fact, Zayn would. She was so hard to get around before she befriended him."
My sudden jealousy of Zayn builds but it subsides with the next fact Roxie tells me.
"He never did anything with her. They never kissed and shit. All they did was hug and talk. He knows a lot about her but she still has a ton of secrets locked up in that brain," she hiccups, my eyes rolling.
"What do you know about her?" I ask, her shoulders shrugging.
"I don't know. She's from Spain; moved here at a young age. I know her parents aren't alive anymore and she stayed with her grandmother after they passed. She came here and then had fun. Something happened, not even Zayn knows, and she just stopped. She locked herself in her apartment, only practiced dance, and never associated herself with anyone. Everyone wants to know what happened to the beautiful Marie French," she says, gulping the last of her Bacardi.
Taking a deep breath, I gulp down the last of my Pepsi and tip the bartender. He thanks me and I nod my head, walking out of the bar with Roxie.
"Are you planning on asking her out?" she asks, my hand running through my hair. I'm stressed.
"I want to but the chances of that happening are one to a million," I groan, pushing the door to the apartment building open.
"Come on, Curls. She's hard, yes. But that won't stop you. You're a great guy and you have the looks," she says, my lips curving.
"Looks aren't everything Rox," I tease, her hand shoving my shoulder.
"If I were straight, I'd totally go for you," she laughs, my chuckle flowing with hers.
"That means so much to me." We laugh and I take her to her door, telling her to drink some water. She flips me off and I laugh, walking down to the first floor to my apartment. After I walk in, I shed my shoes and take a shower. This damn girl can't get out of my head. She's presented a challenge and I love them. I love challenges and I want to dominate hers.
I barely sleep again, my self-diagnosed insomnia affecting me again. All I see when I close my eyes are her bright hazel orbs. Why can't I get her off my mind?
Piano takes forever, my professor finding my intuition less today. I'm not focused and I need to see her. All I want is to talk to Marie.
"Alright everyone, partners together," Madame says. She claps her hands and I wait for Marie, her slim body walking into the room. My hands clench into fists as I prepare myself and I loosen my muscles.
"I want to talk," I say, her eyes looking up at me.
"Talk?" she asks, almost as if it's a foreign concept.
"Yeah. I want to be friends with you," I say, her brown curls cascading down her shoulders.
Apprehension is clear and I reach out for her hand, her eyes meeting mine. She moves her fingers into my hand lightly and I pull her into me, moving into our dancing position.
"Can I be friends with you?" I ask, touching the tip of her nose with my own.
She looks as though her breathing has tripled, her eyes flickering closed. She's calming down slightly as I slowly lift my head up, her lips parting. Zayn says she's been with a man before. Why is she so skittish?
"I-I don't know," she mumbles, my eyes staying attentive to her.
Marie shies away from me but I hold onto her hands, moving her arms to rest on my shoulders. My hands set on her waist and I look at her, her eyes scattered around the room.
"Dance with me," I whisper, her arms staying around my shoulders.
"Relax and put your trust in me," I continue, my soft gaze easing the immense amount of apprehension on her features.
Our feet move slowly, the music-less room almost comfortable. As I lead, her fingers brush the nape of my neck lightly and I watch her carefully.
"I haven't danced like this before," she whispers, almost afraid she'll be caught not dancing professionally.
"It's relaxing, isn't it?" I ask, her head nodding. I can see her hesitancy before she places her head on my shoulder, my shock almost evident but I stop myself before I react.
Her fingers run over the collar of my shirt and I hold her waist lightly.
"I'm not a good talker," she says, moving her hand into mine. We continue to lightly sway as I process her words.
"Why's that?" I ask, her head continuing to rest on my shoulder. I feel like I'm touching the sun; her warmth something I've never encountered before.
"I don't think people deserve to know everything about me so I stay quiet. A lot of people try to talk to me but none of them have ever danced with me. You're the first," she admits, my satisfaction with receiving an answer too high.
"I figured that you're most comfortable dancing, so I tried to ease you out of your comfort zone by being in your comfort zone."
A small laugh releases from her lips and I smile at the sound. "I'm sorry but that made no sense," she laughs, my lips parting as I playfully scoff.
"It made perfect sense."
She shakes her head and lifts her head, looking into my eyes. Her smile is bright and I grin at her, her laugh dwindling through the air.
"Where are you from?" she asks, her question almost hesitant. I take my fingers and entwine them with hers, trying to relax her better.
"Cheshire, England," I tell her, her head nodding.
She remains quiet and I move with her carefully, her eyes closing. The expression upon her features portrays one of thought, my yearn to know what goes on in her thoughts growing.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask, her eyes opening to meet mine.
Her rosy lips part, the plump skin so smooth looking. "The steps you move in are natural. What instrument did you say you played?" she asks, my arms flexing as I turn us around the room.
"Piano," I say, moving quicker with her. I have to master these steps or I'll let her down.
"Piano is an art of the hands. You need to focus on both your hands and your feet. The most important part of dance is your mind and soul," she says, clearly growing more comfortable around me.
"I'm not much of a soulful guy," I admit, her fingers twirling with mine as she spins. As she finishes her spin, she leaps onto me in a dance move I've only seen in movies. It caught me be surprise but she barely weighs anything. It was an easy catch.
"Then become one," she says, my hands lowering her back to the floor. Her hands brush my cheeks before she grips onto my shoulders, her eyes meeting mine once more. Her hands move to my biceps and I move my head down when she leans her lips towards my ear.
"We're not going to be friends unless you find your mind and soul," she whispers, walking away and leaving me stunned.
_____
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