Nine: Rumormongers.

“Sun and rain. So different, yet only by working together do they create harmony and life.”

-Mulan 2 (2004)

“Um, excuse me? I'm looking for Ellery?”

It was Sunday. I was at the ballet studio, at the address you told me to go to, standing by the desk with my hands buried into my pockets. Stand up straight, my mind snapped. Stop looking so lost and pathetic.

I couldn't help it. That's just how I stand.

The girl at the desk didn't notice, though, or maybe she just didn't care. She hardly looked at me as she snapped out the studio name: The Pointe.

I liked that. All the studio rooms were named after different elements of ballet; The Slippers, The Tulle, The Ribbons. I didn't know much about dancing, especially not ballet, but I liked it all the same.

When I found the door, the last one on the right side of the hall, I saw that there were a bunch of people inside, boys and girls, dressed in tights and sweaters and sweats and legwarmers. Everyone was lined up along the barres, packed tight like sardines, doing those leg bends that you call pliés.

Plee-ays.

I was nervous at first, because there were so many people in there; so, so, many. But then I saw you, lifting to your toes at the barre by the window (relevé?), and that gave me enough confidence to crack the door open and slip inside.

No one looked at me, and I quickly realized that I wasn't the only spectator. There was a row of chairs alongside the door, and several of them were occupied by bored-looking teenage guys and a few eager parents. I took a seat next to a woman who was videotaping the practice on an iPad.

There was a man at the front of the room: he was young, maybe twenty-five, thereabouts, but it was obvious that he was in charge. He was counting along to the soft classical music, striding up and down the room and pausing every few seconds to adjust a dancer's position.

This was warm-up, you told me later. Every class started with work at the barre, because ballet can do terrible things to your muscles if you aren't stretched properly. That was the boring part, you said. But I didn't think it was boring. I thought it was fascinating, watching all these people moving in sync, their bodies graceful and their postures still.

The barre warm-up didn't last for long after I'd arrived, and when it ended, everyone was given a break. A flow of dancers washed away from the barres, including you. You rushed over to me, grinning, and thanked me for coming between gulps of water. There was sweat glistening on your face already, but you didn't seem embarrassed about it the way some girls are. I thought that was really cool.

You told me that your instructor's name was Grayson, and you even called him over to introduce us. He was nice, really easygoing; he smiled and even looked me in the eye when he said hello.

I met a girl, too, who came over out of nowhere as we were talking. She was really pretty, but in an obvious way. Her hair was light blonde, golden, and it was coiled into some kind of intricate bun atop her head. Your hair was in a messy twist, falling from its ribbon and into your eyes. I liked that much more.

The girl was quick to inform me that she was playing the lead role in the Nutcracker. She was Clara, and she told me that before she even gave her name. “Ellery tried for the role too, of course,” she said, smiling prettily, “but the competition was so close. Plus, Ells is the sugar plum fairy, and that's a pretty good part too. Not the lead, but we can't all have what we want, right?”

She laughed. You bristled. I didn't blame you; she was very blunt.

“I'm Sam,” I said awkwardly, because the only way I could think to respond was to ignore everything she had just said.

Her mouth became an O. “What a coincidence! I'm Sam, too! Well, Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam. I guess we have a lot in common, eh?” She winked at me like we shared some kind of private joke. I just wanted her to go away, because I didn't think we had anything in common at all.

You looked like you were getting mad as she stood there, trying to edge into your spotlight. Your cheeks were tinged red with anger, your lips pressed into a thin white line. I didn't like your expression; it looked like it hurt.

“I can't wait to see you dance,” I said genuinely. I turned away from Samantha and tried on a smile. You came alive like Christmas lights, and a grin brightened your features. In my head, I sighed in relief. Everything felt so much better when you were smiling.

Samantha's own grin had slipped a little, but that didn't matter because just then, Grayson pulled everyone back to the floor. He called out a scene, one that he wanted to clean up, and the appropriate dancers came forward. I don't remember which it was, by name, but you were in it and that's all that mattered.

I watched as everyone tightened their shoes, adjusted their hair, and got into position. My eyes were on you as the music started.

I remembered what you had said the day before, about how you were different when you danced. And you were; I could see it quite obviously. Your eyes were confident, your movements smooth and practiced. I didn't know a lot about ballet, but I knew enough to realize that you were very good at it.

Except that “good” isn't a good enough word. You were something more like spectacular. Yeah, that fits. Spectacular is a word full of fireworks, and that's what you were as you twirled through the room on the tips of your toes. I was mesmerized by you, by your gentle beauty and the way that you held your head so high when you danced.

I think that's when I first realized that there are two sides to you: opposites, like yin and yang. On one hand, you're the clumsy girl I saw at the teashop in that awful yellow coat. On the other, you're a stunning ballerina who draws eyes to her every move. Or at least, you drew mine, and I think that counts for something.

There were plenty of other scenes practiced, but strangely, or maybe not so strangely, I only remember the ones that you were in. Sam came to me after you guys were dismissed, asked if she'd done well. I could only stare at her blankly, because I truly didn't know.

She bristled. You laughed behind your hand.

“So, what did you think?” you asked me after. We were outside the studio, walking toward the parking lot where your mom picked you up. Thank God, it wasn't raining. You were tugging your sweat-dampened hair out of its bun, your eyes shining with tired happiness.

“I thought you were amazing,” I told you. I meant it. Sometimes I'm not good at seeming like I mean things, but I guess I got my point across that time because you smiled really wide and thanked me softly. Then you glanced around, your voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

“And what did you think of Sam?”

I squirmed, because I was about to lie. I said, “She seems nice.”

She didn't actually. She actually kind of seemed like “a downright bitch,” as my sister would say. You seemed to think so too, because your eyebrow snaked up your forehead.

“Really?”

I made a face. “Well. No. Not at all, actually. I don't think I like her.”

You smirked. Approval. “That's more like it.” Then a sigh. “She's the biggest rumormonger I've ever met. By the end of the day, you can be certain that the entire studio will think that you're my boyfriend.”

You didn't say it with disgust, just as a fact. It still made me blush, though, because I was thinking that even if they thought I was your boyfriend and it wasn't just an assumption but an actual truth, it really wouldn't be so bad at all.

I didn't say that. I just chuckled. Then I told you how good you were, again. And I meant it. Again. I felt like you needed to know.

“Thanks, Sam,” you said, crossing your arms and ducking your head. You were back to that girl from the teashop again, with your little uncertainties, being swallowed up by a pair of oversized sweatpants pulled over your tights. But God, you were so pretty.

“I'm glad you came,” you continued. “I—um—it means a lot, even if it was only practice.”

I shook my head. “Really, it's fine. I mean, it was cool.”

It wasn't just cool, it was fantastic and wonderful and that was all because of you. I berated myself in my head, because I was such a loser and I was too afraid to say all that.

We had reached the yawning mouth of the parking structure by then, and you paused, turning to face me. There was a moment of awkwardness as we just stared uncertainly at each other—then you darted forward and wrapped your thin arms around me and I hugged you back without thinking about it. Maybe it only lasted for a second, but you smelled like hot chocolate and warm vanilla and Christmas trees and everything that was winter, and that flickering moment was a beautiful eternity in my head.

“See you around, Sam,” you called, pulling away and leaving me in daze. I raised a hand to wave too late; you were already darting to a green minivan with an open door. Green like your eyes.

I saw Carson Myles as I made my way home; he lives in an apartment complex near mine. He and his buddies backed me against a building, started sneering and laughing and taunting. I don't know why they do it. I found that I didn't care; I couldn't even hear what they were saying. All I could see was your face in my mind.

Before they moved on, Carson told me I smelled like a girl. He's a rumormonger too, like that girl Sam, so he says stuff like that a lot about me, tells it to a lot of people. They believe him. I care, and pretend I don't. But as I walked the rest of the way home, numbly, I couldn't help but sniff the sleeve of my sweater, just to be curious. And it smelled like you, like winter and warmth. Maybe that was your perfume.

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A/N: the quote because even though it doesn't even really fit, that movie is absolute perfection.

the instructor is grayson because that's my ballet teacher's name and he's an amazing dancer.

the song on the side because it's my favorite version of my favorite song to do barre work to, ever. (and it just so happens that the album this version is on is called december, heh)

love you all to pieces for reading <3