༺ THREE ༻

Job searching. Fishing. Looking. Discovering.

Whatever, I'm just gonna look for a job as an eighteen-year-old to help my parents pay for ballet.

And obviously they don't want to buy me clothes anymore. I'm too old for them to do so.

Sonya is already at school and both Mom and Dad are gone, which means Newt and I are eating breakfast at the same time. Despite how late I went to sleep, I still woke up early, and so did he.

The tension between us, the two bowls of cereal, and the table is thick. I'd cut a knife through it. The remaining anger left for Newt would gladly agree.

"How late is that Tommy coming over?" I ask.

Newt looks up from his food. "Eleven." And back down.

The way he chews irritates me. He's not chewing with his mouth open or making disgusting sounds, just... anger makes everything seem horrible.

Yet I can't stop myself any longer. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I didn't mean to say all those things."

He stops chewing. Looks up with wider eyes, almost looking confused. "You don't have to apologize. I said things. You defended yourself."

"I don't want to fight anymore," I add. Because man, I do actually hate fighting. I want the loveliest relationships with everyone, not this.

Newt sighs. "Neither do I." And swallows away his food. "I'm sorry, Rose. Don't say you're sorry too because you don't have to be sorry."

My gaze softens and right away, my heart warms up. This is the Newt I know. Kind, forgiving Newt who's sometimes like a mother.

"I was just upset after hearing the experience Tommy has with Janson."

"Does he do ballet, too?" I wonder. I smile at the thought. It wouldn't be bad knowing some other dancers here, even if they were male.

"Oh, no." A chuckle leaves Newt's mouth. "I can't even imagine him as a dancer. Nope."

"Then how does he know—"

"A girl, he knows, his best friend, told him. She's not just leaving Sports, because after Janson, also ballet. Watch out with that guy."

"And has this Tommy met Janson?"

Newt shrugs. "He has seen him walk around."

His reply doesn't satisfy me. He has seen him walk around. You can't judge someone like that without knowing them.

"I'm going to get ready," I announce before I start bickering with my brother again. "So I can find a job."

Newt tells me bye and I disappear back into my room, immediately knowing what I'll wear on this warm day.

A thin, white dress. I've noticed less people wear dresses these days, but I love them, so often don't hesitate in the summer. This white one comes to my knees, has some flowery details on the edges, and allows my skin to still breathe.

When I look in the mirror, green eyes stare back at me. The thing is that Newt has brown eyes, I have green ones, and Sonya has a mix of both. It's kinda cool.

My hair is a bit wavy. Blonder than my sibling's hair. Or... lighter. I use a lot of gel for ballet and it's bad to wash my hair everyday so you'll mostly see me with my hair up, but today, I let it down.

It hangs just past my shoulder blades. I would've gotten layers if it weren't for the constant buns. More volume, but again, it's also windy, so I'll be fine.

Then I wait and just prepare pointe shoes. It takes... long.

I have to break it and cut it and use freaking tools to remove things.

So when I finish, Tommy or whatever his name is, is already an hour here. I have heard neither of the two boys, and I'm not sure what to think of that. Maybe Tommy is a quiet boy, which is nice, or maybe they left and I still can't get job recommendations, if he even has them.

But when I walk out of my room and am halfway down the stairs, I almost walk straight into them.

"Ah!" A clap of Newt's hands. "There my sister is. Tommy, this is my sister, Rosa. Rosa, or Rose, this is Tommy— well, Thomas."

I'm staring at a boy. He's dressed in a blue shirt, three buttons at the top, one of them open. Below that, dark gray pants. Brown hair is matted on his forehead, some strands longer than others, and he's looking back at me with brown, bright eyes. Thick eyebrows above them.

His nose attracts my attention. It's curved up, a nice feature.

Remember when I said I found half of the world pretty? This is an exception.

He's like... beautiful.

Also remember when I said I don't tell males my age or older that? Yep.

Did I ever mention I also find it awkward to meet boys my age?

Then, he smiles at me, and that removes half of the awkwardness.

"Hi!" I smile back, shaking his hand. Mine is way smaller compared to his and I can feel the roughness of his skin. "I'm Rosalind," I shoot a glare at Newt, "but call me Rose. Or something. Just not Rosa. Rose or— I don't know. I don't care."

Bloody hell.

"Thomas," he says. I'm already grateful he doesn't insult me for the name thing. "Newt says Tommy, but it's whatever you prefer. I don't really care either."

I'm still holding his hand as I nod. "Alright. Nice to meet you, Thomas. Newt has been mentioning you a lot... Lady GlitterPie?"

"Oh, uh yeah." His cheeks gain a color and he scratches the back of his head. "Just to make sure Newt wasn't some creep in the beginning. He texted quite..."

"Grandpa-like," I finish, smiling harder. This boy seems nice.

His eyes squint. "Yeah." And that awkward laugh sounds awesome.

"Ahum—" Newt takes a step closer. "I don't wanna ruin the spell or anythin', but—"

We pull our hands back at the same time. "You're right," also at the same time.

Thomas looks at Newt. "You still wanna show me your room?"

"Yeah." He nods. "Come on. See ya, Rose."

I nod at them, too. "See ya."

Once I'm in my room, I curse under my breath. I didn't ask Thomas about the jobs in this town. Hopefully, I'll get the chance later.

I just know I will not walk into Newt's room to ask.

So now I'm sitting here, I realize my life does really exist out of ballet and nothing else. No friends, no hobbies, no acknowledgments of the town.

Hm. Maybe I can go do some research here. Watch some sports in... Sports? Hockey is pretty cool.

So I go, just wishing Newt will ask Thomas for the jobs, on the second-hand bike our parents bought. I don't mind biking as if I'm one of those elderlies, and soon arrive at the building.

Maybe I can make friends, too. That would be great.

So maybe I should go watch gymnastics, and not hockey.

But hockey is in a rink that you can stand around and gymnastics is in an actual room. I'd find it weird if someone shows up in that attic and randomly watches us, too. But it feels different for hockey.

Okay, if no one else is watching hockey, I'll leave.

When I step closer to the rink, I immediately regret not wearing a jacket or anything. The coldness hits my skin as well as the shouts of boys make me cringe.

But I see there's plenty of people standing around the rink. A few coaches, some girls, and maybe even parents.

It's not a game, though.

Just training, because I can see a darker-skinned man blow on his whistle multiple times. Curls sit on his head, wrinkles increase his forehead, and when he yells some words, a faint accent comes with it.

"Way different than ballet, isn't it?"

I almost flinch at the voice next to me. "Mr. Janson!" A faint yelp. "Uh— yeah, it's way... rougher."

The man keeps his eyes on the rink as he speaks. "Ever met a male dancer?"

"I've seen a few of them dance."

He nods. "You see the muscle difference between hockeyers and dancers?"

"Not really, sir. Hockeyers wear too much for me to see." An awkward laugh leaves my mouth. "But I'm certain their injuries are way different, too."

"Surely," he agrees, leaning against the short wall that aparts us from the rink. "However, it's both feet work."

"Dancers don't tackle each other," I say just as a boy does that to another one. "I don't think it's comparable."

A smile flashes onto Janson's thin lips. "I agree with you, Rosalind." There's a pause. "Can you imagine a hockeyer's hate toward their opponent?"

The question is strange, but I answer it anyways. "Yes. I think that maybe outside hockey, they're friends, but on the rink, it's way different."

"And the hate for a ballet opponent?"

I swallow, thinking for a few seconds. "I think it's nice to support each other. During ballet or not doesn't matter."

"But why answer like this for ballet, and that for hockey?" He turns to me now, eyebrows raised.

"Because ballet isn't a game," I reply. "I'd be proud of whoever gets the lead role in a show."

Something in his smile twitches. "There wouldn't be a single sign of hatred?"

"I don't think so," I say, but I'm not actually sure about the answer. It would be awful to watch someone take away a role you wanted so badly.

"Now that's a big mistake you make." Janson tucks his hands in his pockets. "And I'm going to change that."

"..you want to teach me how to hate people?"

"No, no." He laughs. "I want to let you know that if you want a role, you must make sure you never gain any hate for anyone, because you're so good you get that role before they can even blink."

"But if there's thirty girls that—"

"Then you still must get that role," he says. "And if you don't, you need to fight for it. And hate does a lot to people." Janson rubs his chin. "Now, of course I don't want you to hate people, but consider being the black swan in some situations."

I stare the man right in the eyes. "What's the purpose in telling me all this? There's so many girls in our class. You're either telling everyone this or just—"

"Telling you... that I have high beliefs in you," he says slowly. "We already know what play it's gonna be this season. Not The Swan Lake. But if we do get it another season... I could only see you as the white swan." He moves closer. "And I like to see ballerinas as both."

My heart almost skips a beat. High beliefs in me. "I'll take the advice, sir. Gladly. Thank you."

His smile softens. "You're welcome, Rosalind. I'm happy to have you in my class."

Before he walks away, I raise my voice, "What's the play gonna be this season?"

"Basic and certainly not my favorite," he turns his head a bit, his back still facing me, "but The Nutcracker."

Oh. My. God.

That's indeed basic but it's one of my favorites and I've always wanted to dance for Clara.

Janson walks away. Almost at the exit, someone crashes their shoulder into his, and I wince at that rude action.

Janson shoots an offended look at whoever that was, but they only look up when they're closer to the rink. It's—

"Thomas?" I feel my eyebrows furrow automatically.

His face fills with surprise. "Oh, hi." Three seconds later, he is standing next to me. "What're you doing here?"

"Wanted to check it out." I shrug. "And you?"

He hesitates. "Same thing... sort of."

I nod, turning back to the rink. "Why'd you bump into Janson like that?"

"Because he's an ass." The words come out of his mouth so fast that I'm sure he always describes Janson like this.

My jaw tightens, just like my hands around the short wall. "I disagree."

"You shouldn't."

"He's my teacher and he's a good one," I say. "But Newt said you know Teresa and why she's quitting. So since everyone keeps saying he's so bad, convince me he is."

"I can't take advantage of Teresa's personal problems to convince you."

Only because that's very trustworthy of him, I smile. "Okay. Maybe I'll ask her myself."

There's a silence. It's neither comfortable or uncomfortable.

"About asking things," I start. This is kind of awkward, mostly because we don't know each other at all. "...I was wondering if you maybe know a place where I can get a job. You're the only person I can ask right now."

He's thoughtful. I see it by the way his eyes move, and he's biting his lip. "I work at a restaurant. It's pretty nice there. Good salary. But I've heard of jobs at the cinema and library."

"Sounds good, thanks." I gift him another smile, then avert my eyes on the hockeyers.

"So perhaps those pretty hands of yours type in your number, so I can send you the locations." He cocks an eyebrow up. "Or you could do it the hard way and go on a search party," he adds.

Redness explodes everywhere in my face. "Maybe I'll do it the hard way."

There's no change in his face. Just a stupid, small grin. "That's for you to decide."

Three seconds later, "Fine. I'll give you my number."

He chuckles under his breath as he hands me his phone, and I quickly type the number in. "There you go."

Thomas smiles. "I'll send you the locations as soon as possible."

"Hey, Thomas!" Someone yells from the rink. "You're back for training?!"

His head snaps toward the boy. "I'll do my best!"

"Your best?" A loud scoff. "I'll lower my expectations, then!"

"Oh, shut up, Minho!" After the quick interaction, the brunette looks at me again. "Glad I could help you. I'll see you around, Rose."

"Thanks for the help." I smile again. "Guess I'll see you around, too."

I'll see him around right now, because I want to see if that boy, Minho, was not even joking about his expectations, or was. AKA, I want to see if Thomas is a good hockeyer.

Just then, my phone makes a sound.

Unknown Number

By the way, you're eating early dinner because your Mom has clients coming over tonight, and Sonya wants to play a game with you.
Sincerely, Lady Glitter Pie
(Yes, there's a space between glitter and pie. Tell Newt that)