Nicole

I usually danced with the mop stick during Saturday morning cleaning, but not today.

The air downstairs was clean, redolent with nice-smelling cleaning products mixed with the sweet aroma of waffle syrup and rich, greasy scents of bacon and chicken that emanated from the kitchen. Then there was also the lingering aroma of coffee brewing.

The perfect Saturday morning. But my mood wasn't as great.

Too glum, I was mulling over yesterday's events while my muscles screamed in protest from constant scrubbing and mopping. I didn't want to stop though, afraid of the dangerous thoughts that would ambush me once I was idle.

In the kitchen, Nessa seemed to be in the direct opposite of my mood: extremely happy and whistling an annoying tune, which drove me so crazy I was tempted to throw my mop stick at her head.

I now knew that what happened yesterday was pure jealousy and that familiar mix of inadequacy. For some reason, Jahdiel and Merlinda were super close, and I don't know about Marilyn, but I do know that that subset of friendship within our friendship made me feel left out sometimes.

I cherished my friendship with them a lot, but looking at Jahdiel and Merlinda, it was as if they didn't love me the same way I loved them. We were supposed to stick together, not divide ourselves. Right?

"Why are you so damn happy?" I finally gritted out ten minutes later when Nessa still whistled as she wiped surfaces.

"Why have you been mopping the same place for the past twenty minutes?" she squinted suspiciously at me.

"Something is eating her up." Mom called from the kitchen.

"What is it, sweet girl?" Nessa cooed in our mom's motherly manner. "What do you need?"

With a grunt, I tossed the mop somewhere and entered the kitchen. I leaned against the now gleaming kitchen counter and after taking a deep breath, spoke loud and clear. "I need a choreographer."

My mom paused tossing her salad at my announcement, and her blue eyes went wide in a quick flash of surprise. "Wow, that was... unexpected."

I gave a long sigh and turned to face her squarely.
"Momma, Coach Margaret said she'll evict those of us who aren't good enough from the dance team in two weeks time. I'll be evicted if I don't get extra lessons. I need you to find me a choreographer. Please, please, please."

Her movements were slow and deliberate, stalling, as she washed her hands under running water and dried them with a napkin. "That means you're not good enough." Whether it was an observation or a question, I couldn't tell.

I certainly wasn't. But admitting to this was like proving Aunt Pearl was right after all, and my pride stood in the way.

I tilted my chin up. "No. I'm good."

My mom looked every bit like she didn't believe me. It hurt me. Did she not have the slightest faith in me? That I could be good at this?

The sudden urge to defend myself was strong, and I refused to look away from her assessing eyes that were locked on mine. I wanted to tell her to forget that I ever asked for help and that I was fine and could dance like a pro. I wanted to earn her approval and respect.

Don't be silly, Nicole Day. Your future in the dance world depends on this.

My shoulders slumped with the thought. The words coming out of my mouth tasted like shit, but I said them anyway. "Yes," I mumbled, "I'm not good enough."

The confession wasn't just about my inability to dance like a star, but I doubted she understood the double or triple meaning behind my words. A lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it.

This was too humiliating on my part. I'd never felt so defeated as I unveiled my weakness to my mother. Vulnerability coursed through me the moment I saw pity in her eyes. Unable to bear it, I looked away.

She gave a patient sigh and approached me. "Nicole," her voice was gentle, but there was something else it held that made me unable to look at her still. "Do you have any idea why you're schooling in that overpriced elite school?"

Nessa appeared beside me, rag in hand, and leaned across the counter to wipe drops of syrup.

"To meet a rich kid, make him fall for me and marry me off into money?"

She couldn't summon a smile at my joke, and it made me damn nervous.

"You're there to take advantage of the opportunities, baby." She said matter-of-factly. "You have access to experienced teachers who are going to help you graduate with outstanding grades that can land you in an ivy league. You're privileged; not everyone has this opportunity to make their life the best. And Nicole, focus on that instead. Don't waste your time, and don't put Aunt Pearl's money to waste-"

She froze, her eyes widening in alarm at the slip.

My gaze sharpened. "Aunt Pearl is the one taking care of my tuition?" I winced a little at the burst of anger that shot through me almost painfully.

"Baby, don't look so angry." Her tone suddenly turning soft, my mom tried to touch my shoulders, but I jerked away.

"You're asking for too much."

"You can't tame those fiery curls. They're unmanageable. You should go for a haircut."

"You're losing too much weight suddenly. You need to eat more."

"That tongue of yours is too sharp for a lady, Nicole. Be mindful of your manners."

Aunt Pearl thought it was wise to dictate my life for me instead of minding her own goddamn business. As a way of telling her to screw off, I grew my hair, lost more weight, and made my tongue as sharp as it could be.

Knowing that she was the one paying my tuition made me aware of the power she wedged over me, and it made me want to explode with fury along with the bitterness.

I despised my aunt, and I wanted her to have nothing to do with my life. My mom knew this, so why? Why did she give her that power over me? I felt so sick and betrayed as I looked at my mom's guilty expression.

It made sense now. Why I was suddenly transferred from my old public high school to Hamilton. Aunt Pearl knew I was quite smart, and she'd planned to distract me with the high academic demands of such a prestigious school so I wouldn't pay mind to dancing.

I felt so ashamed as I looked at my mother, so humiliated. The emotions converged with my anger, and the pain was so great I wanted to keel right over and die.

I never thought she agreed with Aunt Pearl's observations about my bad dancing, but this revelation proved everything.

"Mom," my voice broke. I swallowed my fury, my pain. I swallowed my betrayal. I swallowed my pride. "I love to dance. I just need some help, and I'll be good enough. Please help me." My throat closed up. "I'm begging you."

She averted her gaze from me.

I shot my eyes at Nessa, who had been quiet this whole time. "Vanessa, please explain to her." I was getting apprehensive now, my words tumbling over each other in a rush. "Tell her to give me a chance to prove myself. I can be good. I love to dance. Let her understand."

"Nicole, listen to mom." She looked as if she was in physical pain as she delivered the blows. "Do you not want to have a secure job in the future? You weren't sent to Hamilton to dance; you were to learn, go to a good university, and enjoy life." Her voice was very gentle, but each word she uttered snapped something in me. "Can you forget about dancing for now, at least? You're stressing yourself too much, and you're not getting better at it anyway."

That was because I wasn't being properly trained, but what was the point in telling them? They'd made up their minds about me, and that was it.

Without another word, I pushed myself from the counter, shot out of the kitchen, and headed upstairs. Fifteen minutes later, I was showered, dressed in a black tank top, blue jeans, and a pair of white sneakers.

"Where are you going?" my mom asked when I was nearly out of the door.

"I don't know," I answered blandly, "but I'm going to look for a job in order to afford a choreographer."

The door shut with a satisfying bang as I stepped outside.

***

I should've picked an umbrella, I thought miserably an hour later as I walked the sidewalk north of 5th Avenue. The sun was glaring today, and I could feel a single sweat trickling down in between my breasts.

I should've done a little research too; it certainly would've made my search for job vacancies for a high school student much easier.

No one needed somebody to hire in this area, except a funky little restaurant about five blocks away. But the thought of serving burgers and fries for hours turned my stomach and almost made me puke.

Tired and thirsty, my mouth watered as I spotted a concession stand a few feet away. I thought lustily of a chilled drink running smoothly down my throat. With the heat of the afternoon serving as motivation, I hurried over and bought a can of chilled soda. My phone dinged with a text just as I was about to take a sip.

Unknown: Hey, Rebecca. How's it going?

The luxury that was my can of chilled soda slipped from my hand and spilled mercilessly on the sidewalk as my heart lurched.

There was only one person who called me Rebecca, and I'd been thinking about him desperately, wanting to know more of him and to experience the flush of warmth he brought into my life once again.

I was so happy to get in touch with him again. I wanted to cry, and I had to blink hard to stop the tears from coming. I blamed my sensitivity on my frayed nerves caused by the episode in the kitchen an hour ago.

But how did he get my number?

The owner's nose wrinkled with disapproval, and it was obvious she wasn't a fan of littering. I quickly snatched the can from the ground and dumped it in a nearby bin.

I typed my response as I walked away, my thirst long forgotten.

Me: Travis???

Unknown: the one and only ;)

I wanted to ask how he got my number, but let it slide.

Me: right. Well, not bad. You?

Unknown: not bad either. I miss you.

I paused, blinked, and checked if I saw the message well. I blinked again.

Yeah, I wasn't hallucinating, and he said he missed me. And it had me feeling giddy like a silly little girl.

Unknown: can I see you? Just to say hi. And maybe grab a bite somewhere? I haven't had lunch.

Speaking of lunch, I hadn't even had breakfast, and it was the least of my troubles. A stupid blush formed on my cheeks at the thought of him wanting to hang out with me. Would that be a date?

You're so hopeless, Nicole. Stop reading useless meanings into things!

I'd thought of him throughout the week, wondering if I'd ever meet him again, wanting to hear his laughter one more time, to look at those seductive blue eyes. But why today? Why now, when I was hunting for a job?

Me: I'd love to, but I'm busy at the moment. Maybe some other time?

Unknown: oh. Ok. What are you doing, by the way?
Me: I'm looking for a job.

There was no response for some minutes, and I turned my screen off. In the distance, I saw a coffee shop and made my way towards it. Before I could enter, he replied, my phone buzzing along with a ding.

Unknown: you're looking for a job? Why?

Me: I need cash to buy candies and chips for the homeless this Christmas.

Unknown: such a self-sacrificing heroine. In that case, my offer still stands, by the way.

Me: Your offer to grab lunch?

Unknown: my offer for you to be my personal exotic dancer ;)

A bubble of laughter burst out of me. I couldn't help it.

Unknown: Where exactly are you?

I quickly typed in my response by sending him my location.

Unknown: don't move. I'll be there in ten minutes. We need to go over the contract. You're hired.

***

There's something undeniably sexy about a guy driving a sleek black car and slowly pulling over to you. My palms suddenly felt clammy as my eyes fell on that beautiful face. Too beautiful. Almost inhuman. His dismissal could send one to their knees. His acknowledgment could do the same thing.

"There's what I like to see; a lady waiting for me."

"Hello to you too." As usual, I sounded nonchalant, but my traitorous heart skipped a beat.

With a little smile tugging on his lips and a shake of his head, he got out and, with confident strides of those impossibly long legs, walked over to me.

He was dressed easily in black jeans, a pale blue sweatshirt, and black sneakers. His dark auburn hair was slightly ruffled, as if a lover had run their fingers through it repeatedly. The image had my heart clenching as if a fist was tightened around it.

One good look at me, and he snorted. "You look extremely cheery. What's the matter?"

I shrugged. "I can't help it; my Nana just called to inform me I won the lottery."

"God, Rebecca, that mouth. Watch that mouth around me, sweetie." He laughed—that beautiful sound I'd replayed in my head over and over again for the past few days. It was the kind of laugh that made sensible women do brainless things.

For a moment I was awestruck, simply listening to him and watching the way his eyes crinkled at the corner adorably. And oh, my knees quivered.

"My Aunt Pearl said I had a terrible upbringing. I apologize if I'm sassy."

His long fingers curled around mine. His hand was big, filled with strength, and comfortingly warm. "Tell me," the playfulness vanished from his face and was replaced with a look of genuine concern, "why do you look so sad?"

"I look sad?"

"Not exactly." He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face. "But you don't look okay. Wanna talk about it?"

I gave a small sigh, shoving the bitter aftertaste of the recent happenings in my life away from my thoughts. "Let's just say my job hunting isn't going great."

He looked offended. "Ouch. I hired you fifteen minutes ago, didn't I?"

"Isn't it ironic that the reason I'm looking for a job is to become a better dancer? Which means I'm not good enough to be a professional, which also means I can't be offered a job to dance."

"That's not what you said. You said you wanted a job so you could treat homeless people to a nice and cozy Christmas dinner."

"Well, I changed my mind."

A beat of silence passed between us as he watched me with amusement. "Want lunch?"

"No."

"Wanna sit?"

"No."

"I wanna sit." In so saying, he held my hand and led me to his car. I almost moaned with satisfaction when my back hit the luxurious leather and a burst of coolness from the AC rushed over me.

What a luxurious car, and how great it smells. Like the owner.

"I didn't know you're a dancer, to be frank." He said when he got in.

"I'm on the school's dance team, but my coach will do some eviction in two weeks time. I want to be better before  then; otherwise, I wouldn't be a dancer anymore."

He nodded with understanding. "So what's the plan?"

"Get a job, gather some cash, and hire a choreographer."

He stared at me for a long time, saying nothing. Then he suddenly burst out laughing. He laughed so damn hard he clutched his stomach and doubled over. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, wondering what was so hilarious about what I said.

"Rebecca, no." He tried keeping a straight face but couldn't, then laughed again. "Rebecca, you innocent little thing. Oh, sweet, sweet Rebecca!"

I punched his shoulder, then hissed at the pain that shot through my fist. What the hell? His body was as hard as a rock.

"What's so funny?" I was demanded, irritated.

He straightened and looked me in the eye. "Do you know how much a choreographer charges for a week?"

Well, I certainly hadn't thought about that, and I opened my mouth and closed it. No words came out.

"Eight hundred dollars and upwards for a week, sweetie. Your little job won't make you that much money so quickly."

"Eight hundred dollars!" I sputtered.

He nodded solemnly. "And upwards."

My shoulders sagged with defeat. "Damn, I didn't know they were so expensive." I narrowed my eyes at him. "How did you know anyway?"

"I know quite a few things about dancing. My sister dances."

"Ohh..."

"And she'll help you."

"What? No! I-"

"Relax, it's no big deal." Gently, he brushed a flyaway curl from my face. "I just have to talk to her, that's all."

I hesitated, not knowing what to say. Then, "Are you sure this isn't going to be a bother?"

"Cornelia is a generous young lady. She'd be happy to help."

I froze. "Cornelia? The Cornelia?"

He nodded, amused by the shock on my face.

"Oh my gosh, you're her brother! Travis Connor!"

"That's right."

"I can't believe this."

"You'll get used to it."

***

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