༺ ONE ༻

THREE MONTHS LATER

I don't think the US is too bad. We've arrived here a week ago and the house is starting to get more decorative.

It was quite the struggle to bring all our stuff across the ocean by plane, but we did it. 

Our house is big. Like, not as big as if we're millionaires, but way bigger than the house we had back in the United Kingdom. Though I'm pretty sure the houses here are less expensive.

There's a veranda in front of the blue house. The floor of the veranda is a light brown color, the poles connected with it are white. Our living room is big enough for a whole movie cast, and the kitchen doesn't even compare to our old one in the slightest.

The counter is long. I think I'll finally be able to purchase that mixer, 'cause it'll definitely fit on here. There's a tap that can disconnect from the actual sink, which is pretty cool.

There's way more, but not too relevant for me. My room's big too, and I can't wait to hang my poster of The Swan Lake on the wall, lay my albums of Pyotr Ilych Tchaikovsky down, and organize all my leotards and tights and some tutus.

Yes, ballet is somewhat my life, so I was glowing when I heard there's a good school here.

Then, there's a yelp and I'm afraid Newt bursted out again, but his following yelps seem happy enough.

I get up from my bed, hoping he didn't already find a lover and is messing with them, but once I'm in the hallway, I realize that's luckily not the case.

"Oh, my God!" He peeps, taking ahold of my shoulders as if he just received the best news ever. "Did I ever tell you about that boy I accidentally met online when I was tryin' to figure out how the internet works?"

"Uh— maybe. I don't know. I guess you mentioned it once or twice."

"Yeah, alright, so," he takes a breath, "I found out he lives in this state. Even bloody better, next door."

My eyebrows fly up. "You expect me to believe this?"

Newt's often very serious, but he likes to joke just as much as Sonya, and there's no way his online friend lives next door because the earth is enormous, and I refuse to believe Newt could ever make an online friend with his dry ass typing.

And I explain those theories to him.

"Yes, but when Mom and Dad insisted to move, I did have a voice in it and I knew the one who's helped me through a lot so far, lives in this area. But I swear I didn't plan for him to live next door! I thought we would make it an hour drive so I could meet up with him a few times. But this is awesome, Rosa!"

"Rose," I correct.

"Blossom." He rolls his eyes. "Man, I've got to meet him."

My arms cross automatically. "Who knows it's an old man? Who knows he's lying and you show up there? Do you even know his name?"

"Of course I know his name!" His smile grows. "It's Lady GlitterPie."

I can't help but smile a bit. "Have you ever seen his face?"

"We called a few times." Newt shrugs. "I can't believe this. I might die, Rosa!"

"Rose," I groan the correct name again as he wraps his arms around me from happiness. "Don't actually die, though."

"If he wasn't there, I might've actually died. I mean it, before and after everything, he was there for me, and now, he's literally there!"

I smile brighter at his happiness. That matters, and I know that's probably one of the main reasons we moved, too. So Newt wouldn't be constantly reminded by all the bad things that happened in the UK.

Our mother is actually an American. Dad's a Brit. I've been in the US before, just never lived there. Only stayed with my grandparents, who now live about an hour and a half away from us.

"He invited me over for tomorrow," Newt continue, beaming. "Do you wanna come with me?"

"I've got my first ballet class. Can't be there, sorry." But my face automatically lits up at the thought of the sport.

Ballet after weeks of not doing it. I better stretch a bit today, so I won't be like a screw tomorrow. That'll be very embarrassing.

So that, I do. I don't put on my pointe shoes, but just stretch. Do some splits and everything, you know.

"Hey, Nya?" My voice echoes through the house because after all, it's still a bit empty. "D'ya mind helpin'?"

Sometimes, Dad's accent slips through and the British slang gets really bad. I can already predict I'm gonna have to hold back at ballet, to not seem like some foreigner or something.

On the other side, all the Americans I've met before adored the accent.

"Stretch?" She walks in with a rather disturbed face. She doesn't like to see my limbs and torso do the things they're often not supposed to do.

"If you don't mind," I add.

A sigh leaves her mouth. "Not at all, Lin."

"Rose," I correct for the third time that day. "Lin's awful."

"I love Lin," she says, sitting down on my calves as she takes my wrists in her hands, groaning. "Rose is what everyone calls you."

"They call me Rosa, but it's Rose." I throw my head back to look at her. "Now pull."

Now this, this is a good stretch. "This is awful," Sonya mentions.

After a few seconds, I tell her to let go. Next, I sit down in a split and Sonya does some kind of sit-up position behind me, so my split is between her pulled up legs.

She grabs my ankles now, knowing what to do, and pulls back as she slowly lays down on the ground.

Look, it's hard to explain. All I know is that my legs are basically just moving backward right now. I feel my muscles tighten and loosen at once, the adrenaline comes running in, and I encourage Sonya.

"This isn't healthy," she groans another time. "You're not on Russian ballet or something."

"If I want to be a ballerina, it has to be top notch, Nya. Most teachers refuse to do this."

Though I don't hope for a too strict teacher next. They have to make me reach my dreams and give me all the tips they have, but not yell at me or something.

I have my needs.

"Are we done here?" Sonya stops after a few more stretches. "My eyes hurt from watching. How aren't your ribs coming out when the back of your head almost touches the back of your knees." 

"Super power," I assure. "What's for dinner?"

"Fries and burgers to celebrate we're finally settled," she replies. "Also, could I borrow your perfume for school tomorrow?"

My smile has already made an appearance at her first sentence. Man, food's awesome. "Sure. Because you helped me out."

"Find a boyfriend to do it next time."

"I'll do other stretches with him," I flop out, but Sonya laughs. Three seconds later, she has exited my room and I'm left in a comfortable silence.

Honestly, I don't even have time for a boyfriend. I have ballet and ballet and... ballet.

I graduated for school and am now really going for ballerina. Yes, people told me I might not make enough money with it, but I don't give a shit because it's my dream, and my parents are willing to help me with it. They're freaking adorable. I'll see if I can get a job somewhere, though.

And maybe I find a nice Danseur. Ballerino. Principal dancer. Whatever a male ballerina is called.

✵

Mom brings me to ballet class with her car. As we're driving through the streets, I watch the houses and colorful shops flash by. It's not too bad.

The closer we get to the location, the bigger the buildings get and the more distance I see between them.

I'm already thanking my parents, for all the money they must be spending on me, in my head.

"Lessons will be given up the attic." She parks the car. "Do you want me to walk with you, love? Remember, don't be afra—"

"I know. And I'll be okay alone, Mom," I assure. Though I love some sweet communication, I can't handle another pep talk, even though my nerves are killing me. "See you!"

"Have fun!"

I nod once I'm outside, then enter the big building that literally says SPORTS.

I enter it as I feel my stomach do another flip, then I forgot about all that when dozens of kids are swarming around me.

Yup, it's definitely all kinds of sports here. I see a few ballerinas speak, some hockeyers. There's clues to basketball, lacrosse, and gymnastics, too.

There might be even more, but I'm just curious about that attic. Hopefully it isn't a dusty, stinking one.

I follow the sign that says Ballet Attic and swallow some nervousness away, reminding myself I'm not bad at ballet in the slightest, and open the door to the attic with a small smile, because I'm happy, after all.

Immediately, I see girls that are stretching. They're all wearing clothes similar to mine, everything but tutus and pointe shoes, as they touch their toes while sitting, or speak about things.

The walls are white. The ceiling is high and slanted, and it smells clean. A soft wooden floor under my feet, and all the sounds from the other sports are cut off here.

"Aha!" My head flashes to the voice when it comes closer. "You must be the new one."

The new one. I turn my whole body now, and brighten my smile up, still excited. "I guess that's me."

I'm looking up at a thin man. His nose is a bit pointy, hair is starting to get gray. A turtle sweater runs up his neck. He smiles at me with thin lips, eyes taking in my whole body.

I hold out my hand, which he shakes. "Rose Isaacs, sir."

"Janson Sprat," he says, nodding. "Nice to meet you. Lesson starts in five minutes, so go stretch."

"Will do." So I sit down close to some girls and start doing my thing, happy my first communication went well.

"Hi!" Almost straight away, a girl plops down next to me. "You're new, right?"

"Yeah." And my eyes watch her. It's a raven haired girl, with a bun up her head and cold, blue eyes. But her smile is kind enough. "Name's Rose... Isaacs."

She shakes my hand, hers also colder in mine. "Teresa Agnes." The pause is too short for me to say something in. "I'll be leaving ballet soon, so I thought, maybe I can get you started here."

My smile widens. "Sounds awesome. Thank you... Teresa."

"I saw you talking to Janson." Teresa sits down next to me and starts doing her own stretches. "He's an ass. Don't believe his smile." Another pause. "Sprat, remember?"

"Yes? So... he's like... a fish?"

"Also. But we prefer," she leans closer, "rat. Sprat rhymes. Rat Man," she murmurs, her breaths blowing against my ear. "That's the basic lecture you'll have to know."

My lips break into a laugh. "Alright. I'll keep it in mind."

"I like your accent," she says, just out of nothing. "We don't hear it much here."

"Thanks." I can't help it. A blush spreads on my cheeks. Happens every time someone compliments me, because I'll take those with a lot of love. "I like your tights. I know they're almost the same as mine, but I've seen the brand and know they must be good."

"Yeah, they are." She smiles back at me. "He's about to do a classic thing if you're the Greenie here. And—"

"Rose!" My name gets called close to a yelling tone, and Janson's voice is no longer as sweet as it was before. "Stand up."

I do as I'm told.

Teresa appears to be right.

"Croisé," he tells me, and I do it.

My legs crossed and my arms straight, lingering a few inches away from my hips.

"Up, down, pirouette to fourth," he orders, and I do it. "Long tendu and repeat."

This isn't the hardest. It's a bit embarrassing to do in front of a crowd and I'm not wearing my pointe shoes yet, but I succeed without problems.

I think I'll survive.