I left as earlier as I could to avoid running into my mother. I had no interest in trying to deal with the complex spiral of my emotions at the time. School had always been difficult for me to succeed in with any amount of honor. With the added emotional stress I was receiving, I was slipping more and more toward the wishes of failing classes and escaping the prison. I knew I needed schooling to do what was necessary to survive in life, unless I became a professional ballerina. My, what a dream that was. I wasn't born to make a mark on the world. You could tell who would do that. Those people were obviously born to greatness by the ease they carried themselves and by their ability to capture the crowds. I wouldn't leave a mark, it was as simple as that. So why did I keep hoping for it then?

    I had difficulty making friends at school, which often made me the odd one out. Whenever a school assignment came up, I would always be the one without a partner. Over time, the teachers would come accept that pairing me with anyone other than Charles ended in disaster. It was awkward knowing that you were being whispered about behind your back and sometimes in front of it. I had friends at one time, but they would always come and go, leaving behind a pain too acute to explain away. I finally did the best thing to saving my head and emotions; I distanced myself. I became the antisocial outcast. No one understood me, so I didn't make an effort to be understood. Why bother going through all that effort when it will all be for vain? Why waste my time explaining myself to someone who will be gone tomorrow?

    I was relieved when school was over for the day. One hardly wishes to spend the day running over advanced math equations in their head, when they could be doing so many other interesting things. Like running down the narrow streets in a blur to the dance studio, because class got out late and they were running late to practice. Yes, far more interesting and less stressful things to do.

    I slowed and prepared to put on a different mask. This one was the silent and morose, but talented one. Not antisocial, just passionate and focused. I was unpopular at practice, because I was an outcast and put the other dancers to shame by being so good and working so hard. I gave everything and the only thing I got in return was the knowledge of a lesson well done. They did nothing and expected to have the world at their feet. They may have had talent, but talent without hard work equaled nothing. I worked hard and transformed my talent to something else. I transformed it to ability. The ability to succeed.

    I slowly pulled out the light in my eyes, pushed back my shoulders, and lifted my chest off my stomach. It felt like reaching for the sky. Releasing, but knowing you will never make it. I could never escape my prison, if I did, I would be tormented and beaten apart. The world was a cruel place and it would only grow to become more so. Breathing deeply, I rushed through the door to my Elysium. It was a little bit of heaven on earth. The closest I would ever be to heaven, seeing as how it was only a figment of imagination. We were atheists and advanced thinkers. Although we were no more advanced than the advanced thinkers of the French Revolution. Free thinkers as we were called. It was something to be proud of in this country and in this point in time. But the true costs would never be seen; the loss of something to hold onto and the utter depths of nothingness that could not be filled.

    The noise that met my ears when I entered the studio was chaotic. It was as if I was entering a social gathering, not a place to learn and work hard. I was tired of people unwilling to commit and do well in studies. Studies gave me something to work for, something to live for. Why drift aimlessly through life, when you could have a purpose? I think I stayed as quiet as I did during classes because it was the only way I could keep from getting completely irate.

    At times I wished I could have had private lessons. This got tedious after a while; waiting for the rest of the class to catch up with your skill level before you could learn anything else. It disrupted the magic of the moment. Having to stop and listen to our teacher explain it again. It disrupts the beauty of the moment.

    Every year, we would participate in a themed recital. During the lucky years, we would get to do a classical ballet. Other years our teacher would throw something together with a common theme. One year we did a work of her own composition called The Winds of Nature. It was hauntingly beautiful. We all danced with long flowing sleeves that whipped around our faces, but only added a challenge. I managed to garnish a solo along with Rachel. Our teacher, Mrs. Moore, held auditions for the few of us that danced in her advanced class. She claimed that she was holding them the way that a professional studio would. She had been trying to drop subtle hints to me for years. She believed I had the talent and will that was necessary to succeed in the professional world. It took me many years to realize her belief in me. It touched me to the inner depths of my being.

    I often had time to think during class. Empty time that could not be filled with senseless movements of my feet. Empty movements when I couldn't escape and feel nothing, just pure and raw beauty. Instead, I was trapped in my mind. Made a prisoner in the very thing that saved me. A strange thought. Captive by the thing that sets you free. Destroyed by the mechanism that built you up. Many times I wished there was a way to turn off the incessant chatter my conscious made, or stop the endless puzzles it wished to unwind. It was tiring, especially when you knew that you had no control over it. I couldn't turn it off without pain any easier than I could commit suicide. I guess that would turn it off. It also constantly turned morbid.

    Mrs. Moore had promised that we would be the first class to know what our theme would be this year. She titled us as her favorite and best class. She was more proud of that than we were and more open about it. We danced better than any of her 18-year-old students, which was something to be proud of, normally they were the best that the studio was capable of making. Knowing that we were already ahead of them was encouraging. How much farther could we fly?

"I did the statistics for this coming year. Girls," here it came, if they would ever stop talking. She continued as the loud and obnoxious half of the class finally quieted, which they never did.

"I have decided that we shall do a ballet based on the second act of the Nutcracker. I will be assigning the main roles to my dancers in the advanced class with any additional roles to be filled by the senior class."

    The Nutcracker. What ballet dancer didn't want to dance that ballet? It was exciting and melodious, calm yet full of excitement. I loved watching the New York City Ballet version of it every Christmas. The idea that I could have the chance to be in it was dream like. Was this happening? Was Mrs. Moore telling the truth? Others shrieked loudly at the thought of such fun, I stared straight ahead. Wondering if the world was falling to my feet. Rachel broke my revelry.

"I hope you like the Sugar Plum Fairy because I'm sure you'll get the part." There was no scorn or jealousy in her low voice. Only pride and excitement, for me. She was happy for me. I wondered if she wanted it? I couldn't deny that I had loved the role since I was a little child, twirling around the house in search of sugar plums.

"You could too," I reassured, coloring vaguely. How could I be annoyed at her when she distracted me from building my castles, by laying the first brick for me? She gazed at me distastefully before looking at the other girls.

"If Mrs. Moore offered it to me, I would decline in favor of you. Besides, you already know the choreography inside and out," she added, a gleefully mischievous glint in her eyes. My mouth opened involuntarily. Was she stalking me?

"How did you know that?" I exclaimed, painfully aware of my high pitched screech in the semi filled room. I hoped that no one heard me. With my shriek, all eyes were most likely looking at me now. I didn't look, I didn't want to know. She smiled coyly.

"I have my sources. Mainly YouTube and spying on you. Although Charles was quite useful as well." Yup, jaw was definitely hanging open now. How she managed to work that info from his mind I would be curious to know.

"You should be a spy," I replied dryly, recognizing the dry humor of my sarcasm. She smiled nonetheless. Light radiating from her eyes. I think I recognized a bit of hero worship settling there. I couldn't understand why she would idolize me. Thinking on it though, I realized that she was often an outsider like me. She was calm and gentle, amusing in her own way, but different from all the other feather-headed girls. She was shy and she wanted my friendship. All these years she wanted my friendship and I treated her like competition. I should have realized my folly sooner.

"Do you think?"

"Nah, I was only teasing," I replied, with a smile that lit my face up and hurt. I think it must have reached my eyes because hers twinkled in reply. She wasn't looking down anymore and I wasn't looking up.    

A/N Well, look at that! I actually updated something! :) I hope you enjoy this chapter and leave a comment below to tell me what you think.