༺ TWELVE ༻

I want to dance until my feet break off, my muscles explode, and I run out of breaths, just jumping my way to heaven.

Unfortunately, there's people in my life who think dancing can't be a life style, or that my teacher is so awful that he ruins lives, or who don't understand me.

But I feel like no one understands me.

No one understands how my mind works.

No one understands that I'm not bipolar or anything, but will get panicky over the smallest things in just a second.

No one understands how much dancing means to me and how much I'd give up for it.

No one understands how I will always try to be the nicest I can, even around people I don't like.

No one understands how I always try to see the worst things from the positive side, but it's how my mind works.

So the benefit of leaving Thomas hanging and not showing up at work is that I now know more about tours and traveling the world as a dancer.

The disadvantage is that I worried the shit out of a lot of people, because when I get home, I see both Thomas and Newt.

I glare at the clock. It's thirty past ten. Sonya must be upstairs, Dad has business dinners I know of, and Newt must've sent Mom upstairs so she wouldn't realize I'm not there.

"I'm sorry," is all I can say, trying hard not to cry at the looks on their faces. Newt's bursting with both worry and anger and I haven't known Thomas long enough to read his expression, but there for sure is a hint of anger and worry, too.

"Where the hell were you?" Newt jumps up and takes big steps toward me.

I shake my head. I don't want him close. I don't want him to worry or play the protective big brother or start yelling at me.

He sees it. Somehow, he always does and straight after that, I sense him calming his breaths down. The vibe around him gets softer and the hands that'd roughly been checking my body for injuries before now just linger on my shoulders.

"I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't mean to," I tell him, my voice cracking when he pulls me into a hug. "I didn't realize. I'm sorry."

Newt sits down on the couch as I'm still hugging him and I don't care that I'm almost crying on his lap right now. "What happened, love?" He rubs my back, the sweet whisper causing a shiver down my spine.

I've said it before. Love is so normal even Newt calls his sisters it, if he feels like it. Nothing romantic or weird to me at all. Just a nickname other than Twat, which it usually is between us siblings.

Thomas is still there, but he doesn't say anything so I can't bring myself to pay attention to him either.

"Janson invited Henry, Aris, and I over to watch a video tape of his coworkers from a few years ago. I didn't realize I had to work and when I did, I panicked," I say quietly.

"You went to Janson's house?" The boys bite out in unison.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Look, I—"

"You thought it was a good idea to go somewhere with three grown men that you don't know at all?" Newt adds. "Rose, it could've—"

"But it didn't," I interrupt. I'm out of his arms before I know it, and realize I should've taken Minho's advice and lied. "Nothing went wrong except for the fact I forgot about work. My apologies you were left hanging and had to do all the work alone, Thomas."

But I can't look at him as I say it. His gaze is already burning holes in me when I don't look.

"I didn't do the work alone. I wasn't at work at all."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't possibly go to work while I don't know where the hell you are or what happened," he says, and his words contain a tone I can't read either.

"He went to our house to ask if you were here after checking everywhere at Sports, Rose. You could've texted or called or anything to let us know where you were. We were bloody worried!"

And he's pissed again. 

"What were you thinking?"

"I just forgot, okay?" Don't cry don't cry don't cry. "I was happy it went well with Aris, Janson gave awesome tips, and then he said we'd be his next stars. He invited both of us and Aris's teacher over to watch the video tape of his stars from ten years ago. And guess what? It was amazing."

"You can't become his next star." The words leave Thomas's lips so fast I barely understand. He gets up, takes a few steps around as he rubs his chin, then stops. "You can not become his next star. It's why Teresa quit. It's why I— Rose, you just can't. It's dangerous and once you're in it you can't escape it, and I'm afraid you—"

"I don't give a shit, Thomas." I stand up from the couch roughly, anger toward all the people who've tried to stop me from reaching my goals consuming. "I don't bloody care that it's why Teresa quit or what it has done to you, or that it's dangerous. If I want to be his next star, I will be. If I want him as a teacher, I will get him as a teacher. It's not for anyone to decide, and especially not you."

I in fact do care. A lot. But I can't keep crawling into a corner every time someone says something bad about ballet. If he's going to act so stupid about all of this and is trying to stop me from reaching anything, I will tell him I won't listen.

"So unless you're gonna give me a full explanation, I won't do anything you say." My shoulder hits his as I walk toward the stairs. Before I can even reach, my wrist is grabbed and I'm turned around.

"You can't become his next star," he murmurs again, his eyes boring into mine. They're big and brown and full of panic and something else I still can't recognize.

A lot of hurtful words are begging to leave my mouth right now, but I swallow them away before I make things even worse than I already have.

"Good night," I tell them.

I've already lost count on how many arguments I've had since moving here, just like how many things I said and regretted.

Too much, at least.

I bite my lip when I'm upstairs, still trying not to cry as I remove my shoes and then clothes to hop into the shower. I try not to make a long stop in front of the mirror, but fail.

There's so many things that girl on the video tape had that I don't have. I don't have a slim, long neck. I'm not that thin. My thighs have ugly stretch marks. My arms aren't the standard.

The only thing they prefer in ballet that I do have is a flat chest.

Ha.

I step into the cold shower and manage to take it for a minute before it gets burning hot. I'm hoping it just morphs into my muscles and unties them. That it removes weight.

I bury myself into oversized clothes after the shower, then disappear inside my room. I don't know if Thomas is still in my house and how he's doing, and neither can I get myself to stop caring.

I snapped at him, but he went over my limits. I should be just as angry as I was in those few seconds, but I can't be.

I can never be angry for long. Not even for a full day. But that also doesn't mean I completely forget.

There's a knock on my door just when I'm about to start my lovely sob hour.

I sigh. "Yes?"

The door opens. I can see who it is just by the figure. Strong shoulders, smaller waist, messy hair.

"Figured you didn't eat dinner yet," Thomas says. He awkwardly walks into my room and puts a plate down on my nightstand.

I blink a few times, mumbling, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." He hesitates. I watch him look from the door to me, then he sits down on my bed. "From what I said... I— well.. it's not like I think you don't deserve to be a star or don't want you to, alright?"

"Alright," I say.

I almost flinch when his hand touches mine just for a split second. Just a quick brush and it already makes electricity hit me and my breathing hitch. Then, he fully grabs it and I think I'm dying.

"Do you think Luca will fire me?" I wonder quietly. Working at Mamma Mia had just been so much fun. Damn it.

"I called him and said you were sick," he whispers. "You won't get fired."

My heart warms at the act, yet my eyebrows furrow. "And what about you?"

"I asked if Frypan wanted to go for me," he explains.

I nod. And slowly, I rest my head on his shoulder. "You know, Thomas... you're very smart."

A small smile curves on his lips and suddenly I'm admiring it.

His smile.

Not lips.

Though his lips are also very nice and colorful and-

His smile.

"Thank you, Blondie." He squeezes my hand. "I think you're very kind."

I smile back. "Thank you, Thomas."

"But there's plenty of more things that you are."

My eyebrows raise. "Oh, really? Tell me."

"I can't." He shakes his head, smiling. "I'd be going on all night and Newt will get suspicious."

I can feel my smile brighten. "You're a real show off."

He elbows me in the side. Softly. "No, I am not! I'm speaking the truth. As always."

"You always speak the truth?" I cock my head to the side. "How about that one time you called Luca and said I was sick while I was hanging out with your dear friend?"

He throws his head back. "That was necessary. I don't often lie."

I cross my legs as I sit on my bed, now facing him instead of sitting next to each other. "I'm trying to come up with a good question to see if you really speak the truth."

He smiles. "Keep trying."

"I am." I palm my forehead. "Hm. Okay. And... I don't know."

His eyes meet mine. Some sort of grin is on his face again. "Ask me something you'd ask a boy."

"A boy," I repeat, resting my hands on my knees. "There's a difference between a brother and a stranger and a classmate. Have to be more specific."

Thomas smiles for just a second, then his face gets that mysterious again. "Well, I'm neither a brother, a stranger, or a classmate. Just ask something."

"Have you ever been in a relationship?" I blurt out, and I immediately regret it.

His smiles lingers around for a little longer now. "Two. But nothing serious."

I nod. Attempt to reply, but he speaks before I can.

"If it matters," he scratches his neck and pulls a face, "one of them was a boy."

I nod again. "Alright. So you're bisexual."

"Yes." I watch his gaze soften and it's so pleasurable for no reason. "Thanks for not finding it weird."

My smile grows. "Yeah, of course."

Remember when I called Thomas Newt's boyfriend that one time during dinner, when I was angry?

Well, I now know it's possible because Newt's gay and Thomas is bi.

But now I also know that I maybe don't want Thomas to be Newt's boyfriend.

And I mentally shake my head at my own thoughts. I can't wish for Newt to not get a boyfriend. That's rude and ridiculous and doesn't even make sense.

"And you?" Thomas asks. "Ever been in a relationship? Are you in one?"

"Yes, and no. Also not serious." I add the last thing quickly. Because... I don't know. It wasn't serious because all those relationships were in third grade. But Thomas doesn't have to know that.

"What's your love language?" He wonders. Gosh, it's no longer one question to see if he's speaking the truth.

And I like it.

"I'm not sure. I think physical touch but it's not like I'm regularly thinking about my love language and doing it." I shrug. "I just do what I think." A pause. "What's yours?"

He leans forward, smiling. "What do you think?"

"Words of affirmation," I reply so fast I surprise myself with it.

Pretty little hands? Bella girl? Pretty head?

Yes.

"You got it. But I agree. I just say and do what I think... sometimes." Thomas tilts his head. "What pisses you off the most?"

"When people who aren't my classmates or teachers interfere with ballet. Like, don't tell me what to do with dancing or give me tips if you're not experienced."

He chuckles under his breath. "I've pissed you off a few times, then."

"Not as badly as others," I say fast.

His eyebrows shoot up and I realize I've said the wrong thing. "Oh, no?"

"I— well, I get over it quickly and you're nice, so it's no big deal."

The corners of his mouth move up even more. "I'm nice?"

"Kind. Nice. Cheerful. Whatever." I give him a soft push and he laughs. "Don't bloody tease me like that."

His audible laughs turn into a smirk again. Honestly, I freaking love that expression. "I like your accent."

Heat rises to my cheeks and explodes in my stomach. "Thank you."

"Do you like annoying Newt?" He then questions.

I shrug. "As long as it stays just teasing and enjoyable."

Thomas's eyes trail over my face before he scoots an inch away. "Alright. Then you can tell him I like your accent better than his."

The heat gets a few degrees hotter. My whole face must be bright red. "But it's the exact same."

"But I still like yours better," he comments. "It's 'bloody' amazing."

I laugh. Even throw my head back because his fake accent sounded hilarious. And Thomas watches me with that smirk again.

Once I recover, I look at him. "So."

He runs a hand through his hair. "So."

I don't think I want him to leave just yet.

Thomas fidgets with his hands. "They're setting up a fair, you know?"

"Really?" My back is straightened in a second. "I love fairs."

Like, love.

"Would you want to go?" He wonders, looking up for just a second before he averts his eyes.

I frown because I've never seen him like this before, then smile. "Sure."

"Really?" The eyes on his hopeful face widen. "That's— cool. Very- eh, cool." He clears his throat. "Next week? Tuesday?"

"Sure," I say again. "What time?"

"You have to see it at night," Thomas insists. "Seven o'clock?"

"Sounds perfect." My cheekbones are starting to hurt from smiling. "I'll look forward to it."

Thomas gets up from my bed. "Me too. See you Wednesday, Blondie. I'll pick you up from ballet. You've got work. Don't forget."

I have the urge to hug him, but I don't. "Never again. Thank you, Thomas."

He nods at me, coughing. "You're welcome. So, eh, guess I'll go now. See you."

"Bye."

He looks down as he starts taking steps toward the door. "Have a good night."

"You too. G'Night!"

"Bye."

"Bye," I say again, smiling.

"I'll see you around," he adds, then eventually vanishes.

With a loud exhale, I let myself fall backward on the bed. I only get the chance to wonder if it's a date for a few seconds, then get distracted.

The smell of the dinner Thomas brought me flies around the air. I stare at the plate, still lied down, my eyes trailing over the potatoes, meat, and mix of vegetables.

It's cold now anyways. I don't mind, since I've thrown it in the garbage can before I can even realize. Once I do, I still don't mind.

It's not like skipping one little meal will kill me. I'm not hungry.