HELP ME PUBLISH THIS BY VOTING THIS TUESDAY THROUGH THE NEXT

This story is entered in the #OnceUponNow contest hosted by Target. Voting for the contest starts on Monday (June 13) at 8:01 pm Est time and ends Tuesday (June 21) at 3:59 pm Est. By voting for the FIRST chapter (THIS CHAPTER) during this time frame, you can help it win a chance to be published! The top 25 voted stories go on to the next round. I will be so grateful if you vote.

As Coach Matson's words sink in, an image of me sporting a tutu and scoring a touchdown appears in my mind. The picture isn't bidding adieu any time soon. In an office with twelve teenage football players, silence never happens. Except now. Coach dropped the news we'll be taking ballet.

"Why?" I'm the first to get the word out. The image in my head changes so my cleats are now ballet slippers.

"It will help with your coordination," he says, leaning back in his seat, the springs squeaking in protest of his weight. There is no way I am squeezing on tights or a unitard, and somehow forcing my size fourteen feet into ballet slippers. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't make it happen. "With the Beasts losing every game this season, we need to try something new. Do you understand, Cal?" His eyes zero in on me.

I duck my head. "Yes, Coach."

Coach types something out on his phone before laying it down as a paperweight on the purple construction paper cards from his daughter. "The girls that suggested this to me said they could only take twelve of you to start with. If it goes well for the twelve of you, they'll have the rest of the team join in."

Breck shoots his hand up in the air.

"Yes?" Coach's phone lights up and his eyes flick to the screen.

"Are we going to have to dance in a show? If so, excuse me as I go break my ankle now."

Out in the hall someone knocks on the door.

Coach stands, sighing. "No. I expect you to be at every class." He opens the door, and twelve teenage girls walk into the room in a single file line. They face us, staring at us with green and blue eyes. Each of their hair is colored unnaturally in bright hues. Two have even bleached their hair white. This has more the impression of being the most bizarre police lineup than an introduction of dance teachers to their students.

Next to me, Reed nudges my shoulder. When I look at him, he wriggles his eyebrows. I roll my eyes.

The girl on the far left steps forward. "I'm Amaryllis and these are my sisters. We're the ones who will be teaching you. Every weekday evening you'll come to our house for lessons. Your coach will text you our address."

"Your house?" Reed asks.

She smiles graciously. "That's where we typically teach."

Breck crosses his arms. "We don't have to perform in some froofy recital or something?"

Reed snorts. "Did he really just say froofy?" he whispers to me.

I nod, smirking. "We're not going to let him live that down, right?"

"Absolutely, we aren't."

Amaryllis clears her throat. Her gaze meets ours, and we mumble a quick apology.

Without an order from their sister or a word from Coach, Amaryllis' sisters exit the office, never having uttered a sound.

"We'll see you all tonight then," she says. "Wear something comfortable, unless of course you wish to wear tights." She brushes her arm across the door, closing it behind her.

What kind of conniving, half cooked up scheme has Coach gotten us into?

******

I park Mom's car outside a two story house that looks like it belongs in a Spanish port from a pirate movie rather than in the quiet Gulf town of Saint Petersburg, Florida. The houses on either side of it are pitch black. Not even a porch light glows nor is there a car in either driveway. This is borderline creepy.

Once everyone is here, I walk up the driveway with the eleven other chosen members of my football team, the Beasts.

"Cal," Reed steps beside me, "you ready to show us all those killer moves?"

"Moves? Dude, I haven't danced a day in my life."

Bending his tennis shoes, he tries to walk on them like they're those toe shoes that actual ballerinas wear. "Well I'm going to be the best student and win over the hand of one of those very lovely sisters."

I slap him on the back, and he stumbles from his precarious position on his toes.

"Good luck with that."

He shoves me back and continues on past me.

Eli, our main quarterback knocks on the door, and one of the sisters answers.

Her eyes move from left to right, taking us in. "Hey." She steps back to allow us to enter. "I'm Calla."

Gawking at the interior of this house, I step inside and hear her shut and lock the door. This is the type of house one shouldn't throw a football in.

"My sisters are already outside waiting," she explains.

"Outside?" Ryann raises an eyebrow. "Don't you ballerina's need special flooring?" I never cared much for him. He came to my fifth birthday party and whined because it wasn't fair I was the only one getting presents.

She shakes her head, her white hair swaying. Yeah, white. "The air feels nice out there."

She leads us out back. Her eleven sisters are lined up beside a pool that glows an eerie blue. The moon penetrates the fog, but the stars are too weak to do the same. Calla tells us to each take a partner. I step in front of the last girl since I was in the back of the guys. Her dark hair, I can barely make out that it's red, blows lightly from the wind.

"I'm Rose." She's the third sister I've been introduced to and the third with a name of a flower.

"Cal." My arms feel awkward hanging out at my sides.

She holds out her hands.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

"Dancing. The reason you're here."

"I didn't realize ballet involved handholding."

She laughs. "Haven't you ever been to a ballet?"

I grimace. "No."

"Well," she takes my hands in hers and holds them up. My black hands contrast with her white ones like Yin and Yang. Like the moon and the sky—now I'm just sounding sappy. "In partnering these," she squeezes my hands, "are your barre." Slowly a smile spreads across her face, appearing almost sinister. Her chest rises, and she lets out a low hum.

So do her sisters.

Rose pulls me closer and transitions her hand to my shoulder.

"The song came in that night with the tide." Their song is carried by the wind as they sing. "No one heard it except for two drifting ships whose sailors were still sinking to the depths." Her voice and her sisters' are angelic.

My hand slides to her waist.

"They never cried." They step back from us. "They gladly went under that saffron colored moon."

I step forward and follow her when she steps to the side.

"The song came like waves," they all sing every line, "rolling back and forth. One moment faint; the next crashing and powerful. The song was hypnotizing."

Her fingers entwine with mine, and she sends our hands up to the level of our eyes, and we spin.

"Music such as this had not been heard for centuries—not since pirates ruled the seas."

Every move is natural. Their song draws me closer. Her blue eyes glow; the only thing I see. I spin her. I'm not sure how I knew to do that. I just did.

"But no one saw the source..." Her hand brushes my face, and I let her guide my footsteps. "...for a saffron colored moon is rumored to do such things."

My shoes crunch the grass.

"Hiding behind clouds..."

Her eyes are what are guiding me.

"Shielding the thieves. No one shall remember the lost souls. They will be forgotten. Erased from every memory."

Screaming.

And more screaming.

Of agony.

Of fear.

I jerk away from her and look to where the screams come from—the water. Splashing and shouts emerge from the murky blackness. The moon sheds enough light to see the water churning and tossing. I glance at my team members and immediately know a third of us are missing. Instead of rushing toward the water, we back away—cowards.

Rose tries to grab my hands, but I keep them close to me. She looks panicked as she turns to her sister next to her and says, "It's not strong enough."

Four of the sisters surface from the water, their eyes fixated on us.

"What happened?" one of them snaps, wiping the back of her hand along her mouth.

A sister near me tries reaching toward Reed, her partner. "The bond didn't work."

Did they drown my teammates? What are these girls? Members of some cult?

The sister next to Rose looks upward at the moon. "There's no more time."

I've put twenty feet or so in between me and Rose. I don't turn my back to her as I try searching for an escape route. A fence too tall to jump over surrounds the property on three sides, the water being the only side without a fence. I know none of us want to venture into the water but what if our boys are still alive? Why would these girls kill them? The only way out is through the house.

One of the four from the water licks her lips and goose bumps run up my arm. "Do it," she says.

They're going to kill us. We're eight high school football players up against twelve girls who seem more like witches than humans. The question it comes down to:  is supernatural—not sure what word to use— stronger than brute strength? I don't particularly want to find out. At least not while that experiment involves me. I dart toward the door, my shoes thudding against the pavers. They start to sing again. I stop... my body feeling like a marionette. Strings seem to take hold of my limbs and root into the ground.

HELP ME PUBLISH THIS BY VOTING TUESDAY THROUGH TUESDAY

This story is entered in the #OnceUponNow contest hosted by Target. Voting for the contest starts on Monday (June 13) at 8:01 pm Est time and ends Tuesday (June 21) at 3:59 pm Est. By voting for the FIRST chapter (THIS CHAPTER) during this time frame, you can help it win a chance to be published! The top 25 voted stories go on to the next round. I will be so grateful if you vote.