15. Glitter Revenge
"Attention everyone!" I announce, standing in the center, using a wooden spoon in one hand as a mic. "Today, we will be playing small games!"
cheer rises half excitement, half chaos.
"These games," I continue, raising my voice "will not only help you learn something important, but also something valuable."
I glance around the room, making eye contact with each one of them. "Can you all guess what it is?" My smile grows as I nod, urging them to shout their guesses.
"Blueberries?"
"Cars!"
"Football!"
"Pizza!"
"It better be snacks, please be snacks!"
"World domination!" That one makes me snort.
"Good guesses," I say, trying not to laugh, "and slightly terrifying, but no."
I lower the spoon and clap my hands once. "Today's lesson is - drumrolls, please!"
A loud and very uncoordinated drumroll follows, thanks to clapping, palms slapping the floor.
"Time." I announce, "Time is really important," I continue, pacing around the room. "We shouldn't waste it."
Right on cue, a familiar, annoyingly deep voice cuts through the room. "Then why are we doing this?"
I stop mid-step. Ugh.
That idiot.Of course he asked that.
I turn slowly, glaring at the doorway where he leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression flat. He had his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp, like he'd just come straight from a shower and the gym.
Because God forbid the Ring Lord misses working out.
"Because," I say sweetly, "unlike you, the rest of us know how to have fun."
Xavier just raises a brow. "You yourself said Time is valuable, then why waste it?"
"Well stick around then." I roll my eyes at him, "You might just learn something in that case then."
He exhales- short, unimpressed but he still walks in, dropping his duffel beside a chair in the corner
"Doubt it." he mutters, and walks in and takes a seat.
"All right, everyone!" I clap, spinning on my heel to face the kids. "Time for our first game. And it's all about—" I pause for an effect, "speed."
"It's a time limited game." I say, and everyone nods. "You'll have time limits to finish a task. It can be anything—stacking cups, building a tower with blocks. Anything I say."
"What happens if we win?" Avery asks.
"You get a macaroon."
"What happens if we lose?" Nick asks.
"You don't get a macaroon." I say, smiling sweetly.
"Cruel." Xavier mutters from the corner.
I ignore him. "First round! Stack 7 layers of cups into a pyramid and unstack them back in under 45 seconds!" I continue, "While I will be throwing marbles and balls and trying to distract you all!"
Chaos begins immediately. Cups clatter, kids scream encouragement, someone drops. I act as the judge, shouting the countdown
"Ten seconds left!"
"Five! Four!"
Avery screams as I knock her pyramid down again just before the timer ends.
After the game ends I feel his gaze. "You're next." I say, turning to him with a mock-challenging stare.
"No." he says flatly.
"Oh come on, Ring Lord?" I smirk. "Scared of a few plastic cups?"
The kids immediately start cheering, "Play! Play! Play!"
He sighs and stands up slowly, as if this is beneath him. But he steps forward.
Right. He thinks that he'd have no distractions. He probably thinks that a few marbles won't stop him from losing.
But what if I am that marble?
Xavier stands in front of the table, arms crossed, expression locked in his usual bored face.
I hand him the cups and give him an innocent smile. "You've got 30 seconds, Hayes."
He glares at the cups, "This is ridiculous."
"Aw, poor baby," I whisper just loud enough. "Want me to hold your hand?"
He exhales sharply, grabs the cups, and starts. The kids erupt into a countdown.
"One! Two! Three!"
He starts stacking them- its too easy.
And I can't have him winning too easily. So I step near him, lean in like I'm helping him, and say with a sly grin, "You know, you look so hot when focusing."
His hand twitches.
A cup falls.
"Twenty seconds!" I shout.
He scowls. "Back off."
Ignoring him, I lean closer, hands behind my back, wearing the picture of innocence. "You're doing well." I whisper, leaning close.
He ignores me. and keeps stacking them. So, I lean in closer and blow a tiny puff of air toward the bottom cup.
It wobbles.
Sure as hell wasn't a tiny puff.
Xavier freezes, shoots me a glare. "Seriously?"
"Oops," I say, eyes wide. "Must've been a breeze."
He shakes his head, ignoring me and goes back to stacking. Faster now.
"Why? You nervous?" I whisper again, tiptoeing around him. "Sweating yet?"
Another cup slips from his grip.
The kids are losing it. Some are rooting for him, others are yelling "Go Amara!" even though I'm not playing.
"You're distracting me on purpose." he mutters under his breath.
"Am I?" I gasp, feigning innocence. "I'm just cheering you on. Like a supportive friend."
"You're not my friend."
Time's almost up. He manages to stack them again but just as he's about to unstack, Noah accidentally bumps the table.
The whole pyramid topples.
"Times up!" I yell, clapping my hands.
The room erupts into chaotic laughter.
I nudge him with my elbow. "Aw. So close."
He leans in just a little, his voice low. "Next time, I'm knocking you over."
I gasp, hand to my chest, "Violence? Against an innocent ballerina? Wow." Then I grin. "But good luck trying, I pirouette better than you punch."
And that is what we call victory.
The room's still buzzing from Xavier's almost-victory and my not-so-innocent sabotage. I'm basking in my win, high-fiving Noah, when his voice cuts through the noise—
"Alright. My turn to lead a game."
I freeze.
"Yes!"
"Finally!"
"Xavier's Revenge!"
I turn slowly. Xavier stands with his arms crossed, smirking like a villain who's been planning this since ages.
"Oh no." I mutter.
"Oh yes," he says, mockingly mimicking my tone. "everyone gather. I have a challenge for our ballerina."
There are a few cheerful gasps.
"You can't just pick me." I say, glaring at him. Of course. Of fucking course he'd try to do this.
"I can" he shrugs.
That definitely doesn't sound so good.
I narrow my eyes. "What's the challenge?"
He walks over to the craft table. I narrow my eyes immediately. whatever he's planning, I already know I'm going to hate it.
He picks up a tray and starts piling on the most random collection of objects. Markers, plastic cups, a glitter glue bottle, a rubber duck, tangled ribbon.
He lifts the tray with one hand, "You have thirty seconds," he says smoothly, "to balance this tray on your head while singing your favorite ballet piece."
I repeat what he just said, even though it was crystal clear. "On my head?"
"Yes, your head." he answers and raises a brow. "What, ballerina? Scared of a challenge?"
The kids around us are already cheering, "Do it! Do it! Do it!"
I glance at the tray again.
The rubber duck is definitely judging me.
"Fine." I sigh, "let's do this."
Before I know it He places the tray on my head. Then like the absolute idiot he is, he steps closer and spreads my arms out to the sides and places two rubber ducks in my hands.
"What is this for?" I side eye at the rubber ducks placed on my palms.
"For extra fun." He smirks, "you are a ballerina after all, balancing should be your second name."
"I hope your pillow is always warm on both sides," I hiss, trying not to move my head too much. "And that your coffee's always cold. And your socks soggy."
He just smirks. "That's fair."
"You are a monster."
"Oh, it gets better," he adds. "You mess up? The kids get to dump confetti on you."
I ignore him and began humming my favorite ballet music, and then he says, "come on, ballerina."
The rubber duck winks at me like it knows I'm about to fail.
"Five... four..."
"Three..."
"Two..."
The tray slips
"No!"
A rubber duck bounces off my foot with a dramatic squeak.
Silence.
Then-
"Confetti!" the kids scream, and I'm swarmed.
Before the kids can unleash doom upon me, I throw up a hand, making them pause "Wait! Can I at least cover my hair first?" I plead, eyes wide with desperation.
Xavier lifts his brows. "Worried your beautiful hair won't survive?"
"Yes," I deadpan. "That and I don't want to look like glitter for the next two week."
The kids pause. "Fine," he responds with a sigh. "You've got five seconds."
I grab a scarf from the costume basket and wrap it around my head. "Okay. I'm ready."
Colour rains. Glitter falls. Confetti erupts.
I stand there in defeat, hands limp at my sides, pink on my face, glitter in my eyelashes, and Xavier smirking silently by the wall like the devil he is.
"You were talking about haunting me?" he calls out over the squeals of laughter
"I take it back," I say through a mouthful of glitter. "I'm haunting you and your future children."
After the kids scatter, giggling like tiny villains, I stand there still. And then it hits me.
I don't have extra clothes.
Shit.
I shuffle near the kitchen, glitter trailing behind me like shame, and find Ms. Whitaker by the sink.
She turns at the sound of my footsteps, and her eyes widen slightly taking in the full masterpiece that is me, pink streaks across my face, glitter clinging to my hands and clothes. "My dear, what happened?"
"Your son happened," I mutter, annoyed at him. "And glitter. A lot of glitter."
She chuckles and waves me before nodding towards the hallway. "You can use the bathroom down the hall. Towels are in the cupboard."
"Thanks." I say, already halfway to escape mode.
"Oh and for clothes," she adds, and I pause mid-step. "You can use Xavier's hoodie. I think he left one here a few weeks ago."
Oh. Ugh.
Of course he did.
"And pants?" I ask hopefully, trying to salvage some shred of dignity.
She hums thoughtfully. "Might have an old pair of his shorts around. Should fit you just fine, I'll adjust the waist with a pin. Go on, take a shower, darling."
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After a very necessary shower and a minor battle with the safety pin on the waistband, I step out of the bathroom.
The hoodie is—unsurprisingly—huge on me. It falls past my hips, sleeves drowning my hands. The shorts are loose, but manageable.
I walk back to the room finally clean, dry, and only slightly bitter—and it's empty.
And then I spot it. His gym bag. Sitting in the corner like a dark omen. Or an opportunity. Depends on how you look at it.
Oh, this is perfect.
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I step out into the hallway, fingers still tingling from the glittery masterpiece I left behind. The house is quiet for a moment—until I hear muffled laughter coming from the other side of the kitchen.
I follow the sound and there he is.
Leaning against the doorway, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. . The sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up, and his hair's a little messy.
He glances at me, not quite smiling. "You disappeared." He looks at me up and down- probably surprised by the fact that I'm wearing his clothes. But he doesn't say anything.
"Bathroom break," I lie smoothly. "And your clothes- I'll return it today itself."
He hums like he doesn't buy it, but lets it slide for now.
There's a short beat of silence. Then— "Fine." He glances at me again, then out the window towards the backyard. "You planning to join us out there?"
"Hmm. Maybe."
He takes a sip from a glass of water, and out of nowhere he asks, "What's your take on outdoor games? Exercising? Gym?"
"Sorry?" I ask, because that question was so random.
"You know, Exercising, weights, sports."
I narrow my eyes. "That's suspiciously specific."
"Just asking."
I frown a little. "Well no. Not really. Ballet is enough."
He raises a brow, amused. "So, never hit the gym?"
"Oh, I did once," I say, tone grim. "Once. And never again."
He leans in slightly, clearly intrigued. "Go on."
"I went once," I sigh. "Thought I'd be one of those chic girls on the treadmill with their hair in a perfect bun and headphones in. Turns out, I'm the girl who presses the incline button by mistake, stumbles, knocks over the water station, and ends up sprawled next to a yoga ball."
She didn't return my hoodie and shorts though.
We exchanged numbers-
"I'm just saying," she had said, arms crossed and eyes way too serious for someone in my clothes, "if I suddenly die mid-cookie-bake, someone should at least know. For emergency contact reasons."
I knew that was made up cause she already has moms number
I stared at her for a beat. "That's the reason you want my number?"
"Also," she added quickly, "in case you need more macaroons."
No, seriously. That was her reason.
I gave in. I don't know why. Maybe because she said it with that weird little smile, like she half-knew it was nonsense and half-meant it anyway.
After I dropped her off stood at her door longer than necessary like an idiot and then I drove back to my house.
I pull into the garage, make my way up the elevator to the penthouse, and unlock the door.. The place greets me like it always does—dim lights, clean counters, the faint smell from whatever candle mom stuck in here last time she came over
I drop my keys on the table and head straight for the gym bag in the corner.
I've got Training tomorrow. I need my gear ready.
I unzip my bag, dragging out the spare shirt and towel, both damp with sweat. I reach for the gloves.
And then pause.
What the hell?
I pull them out slowly.
Black leather.
Gold crown detailing.
Covered in glitter.
Fucking glitter.
Gold. Pink. Green. There's glitter inside the gloves. There's a fucking ribbon.
And is that a damn heart?
I stare at them. Then I stare at the ceiling. Then at the gloves again.
Someone is going to die.
No — she is going to die.
Because there is exactly one person unhinged enough to vandalize my gloves with glitter.
Amara.
My jaw clenches as I mutter, "Cute. Real cute." I scowl, shoving the gloves back into the bag. No way in hell I'm wearing those
I scroll through my contacts, thumb lazily sliding over the screen.
And then I see it.
Your favorite ballerina.
Of course she'd save her name like that.
I stare at it for a second longer than I should. Then my thumb hovers over the call button. I'm this close.
But then, I remember something.
I call him, and on the second ring he answers.
"I'll take your offer for the class" I say, flatly. "7 AM. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. One to one. I don't need anyone else in the gym."
She said she'd never step foot in a gym again, guess we are gonna change that.