3. Sienna
three
Sienna
“I’d love to take you out sometime…”
My brain replays the words of the pretty stranger from last night. After my performance yesterday, my body buzzed with anger and adrenaline. I’ve been an instructor for the Mini age division at the MDDA since I moved to Summerfield in mid-May.
In the time that I’ve been an instructor, I’ve met every single parent—except for one.
The father of Delilah Perez, my golden student.
Delilah, unlike the other girls in her group, is eager to dance and the most patient.
She wants to learn new things and is always front and center for warm ups.
It hadn’t even crossed my mind that I’d never met her dad because an older lady had been dropping her off, whom I’d assumed was her mother until Friday night.
Her “mother” asked me to babysit her for a few hours, and I’d agreed only to find out later that the sweet older woman was in fact Delilah’s grandma, and Derek Perez, one of the goalies for the men’s hockey team at SFU, was her dad.
It upset me that another young dancer's parents weren't as active in her dance life as they should’ve been, so when I saw Delilah on stage last night, searching the crowd for him only to be met with disappointment, I was livid.
Derek showed up a few minutes after her performance, wet, and with a pitiful look on his face. I hate to say it but, I cursed him out.
Me!
You’re probably thinking, Si Si, you’d never…Oh, but I did!
I eviscerated him with my words then danced on his tombstone…and his friend .
The friend who was with him was collateral damage—he’d shown up right after the verbal lashing and got the ending of it.
After I did one of the most irresponsible things of my life with a smile on my face, I danced away all of that anger I felt towards Derek.
As I danced, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Growing up, the feeling was familiar. Welcoming, even. I’d thought I was crazy at first considering I was dancing on a stage in front of about two hundred people and being watched was kind of the point, but then I saw him .
Or at least I think it was him.
Jace Heart.
The theater was dark, but even in a crowded room with very little light, I think I’d know the feeling of those light green eyes anywhere. My skin buzzes as my mind replays all the moments where those eyes tracked me.
“Was Jace there?” I mumble, chewing on my nail with furrowed brows. Tugging my knees to my chest, I stare at the TV aimlessly as my mind goes through last night.
“Was Jace where?” a bubbly and inquisitive voice asks, bursting my thought bubble as Georgia’s intrigued face pops into my line of view.
“Bitch, oh my gosh…” I cringe back, my heart racing as she cackles, sitting back in her seat on the couch next to me.
“That was…too good,” She laughs harder, the laugh bordering a wheeze as her blonde hair shakes with her body.
I roll my eyes and throw an unfolded towel at her from my stack. We’d been originally watching TV and doing laundry today to prepare for the first of the semester tomorrow, but folding laundry quickly turned into watching the first two episodes of a new reality show called, Love in Cancun .
“No seriously. Was Jace where?” Georgia questions as she straightens up, pausing her folding as her green eyes search my face.
My nose scrunches as I tilt my head, unsure of myself.
Was that really him? Or my imagination ?
Sighing, I throw my head back. A nap would answer all of my questions—my dreams never steered me wrong. Except for that one time I dreamt my toenails fell off and thought that I'd die in my sleep.
“Nothing…I just need a nap, it’s been a long day.” I sigh, massaging my scalp. “Jace doesn’t even go to this school, right?” I ask, my tone hopeful just as my cousin Cleo stumbles out of her bedroom and heads straight to the kitchen.
It’s only been four days since she and Georgia moved into our apartment, and I wouldn't be surprised if she’d started a donut collection in our cabinet. The girl’s a snacker.
“Right…he definitely doesn’t go here.” Had I been paying full attention, I’d catch the inflection in Georgia’s words and the way her eyes shift quickly between the TV and I, but I’m not.
Instead, my mind wanders back to the familiar blond man and all the ways I’ve ruined our friendship.
“Did you eat all the powdered donuts, Si Si? I can’t find any!” Cleo shouts, her voice muffled by the inside of the cabinets.
“Girl, that was all you last night,” Georgia calls back, nudging my shoulder with a cheeky grin as she discreetly pulls a bag of powdered donuts out from under our coffee table, shushing me.
Masking my laugh, I force my thoughts away from the idea of the Herculean man from my past and focus my attention on the show in front of me. It’s no use when images of blond hair, tanned skin, and large, rough hands wrapped around my waist flash through my mind.
No one in their right mind likes Mondays, and I’m no different. My body feels jetlagged as I make my way across the quad towards the Bloom School of the Arts building .
A sane person would’ve dropped their 8:00 a.m. Ballet 3303 class and hit snooze without a second thought. But for me, dropping a class means failure.
I refuse to be a failure.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise at the thought of imperfection. I have bigger fish to fry and failing isn’t one of them.
Speaking of fish…I haven’t checked anything off of my list in days. Rummaging through my bag, I pull out the small, crisp, pristine list of tasks I have to complete before my 21st birthday on December 31st.
Yes, I’m a New Years Eve kid. No, it’s not as fun as you think. I have had little to no experience in life. Sure, I’ve drank a few times with my cousin and her friends, but I’ve never gotten drunk. I’ve never dated anyone for fear of what my parents would think. Oh, and my first kiss was…something.
I gulp as I think back to that day two years ago just as my body is jerked forward and I brace for impact with the concrete.
Only for it to never come.
“Shit, I’m so sor—Sienna?” A deep voice calls my name, and I freeze.
It’s the guy from last night. Anthony? Ashton?
I can’t remember what his name was for the life of me.
He smiles down at me, steadying me as he looks me over.
His deep brown skin glows in the sunlight and his height almost shields me from the sun.
Today, he’s wearing a green sweater and jeans, typical for the early autumn weather here in Maryland. I’ll admit, the man is handsome.
I tilt my head, trying to come up with his name.
“Aric.” He chuckles, and I laugh awkwardly.
“Right, sorry. Things were hectic last night. Are you going to the Bloom building?”
Aric’s smile brightens, a row of blinding, straight, white teeth flash me as he speaks. “Yes, actually. I have a painting course at eight.”
“Painting?” My voice is distant to my ears as my mind sends thoughts to my brain—a clear image of a blond boy holding a paintbrush with a cheeky smile as he paints a picture of me .
We’d been ten-years-old and bored out of our minds that summer because a storm knocked the power out in Maryland. It’d also been the first ever summer I spent more than a week in Summerfield.
The prickling feeling I’d felt earlier rises, and instead of my eyes remaining on the deep brown ones in front of me, they flicker to the left.
Our eyes connect instantly like two magnets.
My breath catches, and I feel like I’m falling back down the rabbit hole of us. Images of him and I throughout our life in the summer and the winter of my 18th birthday flash like photos.
Cool jade eyes pull me in and refuse to let me go. No matter if I’m in a crowded room, on a busy street, or on stage, my eyes will always find his.
It’s been two years since I’ve seen him. Should I wave? Do I say hi? Does he even remember me? I mean I look different…my hair’s pink, for crying out loud. Did I mess up by changing myself?
I haven’t even gotten to the tattoo part of my list—
He’s with a girl. My head tilts as he and I keep our eyes locked on one another, unwavering, as she jumps into his arms and they lock around her instantly.
Jace has a girlfriend?
Does he call her angel, too?
“So…have you thought about my question from earlier?”
Like a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over my head, my eyes snap back to Arin or Ashton’s—I’m horrible with names—brown eyes.
Inhaling sharply, I think over his question.
I came to this school to get a fresh start, and if that means going on a date with a random hot guy, then so be it.
“Yeah, pick me up this Sunday?”
“Sunday at eight?”
Why do I feel like this could be the start of something very, very bad?
No Si Si, that’s just you overthinking…tell the cute guy yes and move on with your day.
“It’s a date.” My heart bangs against my chest as the words tumble from my lips .
Is this normal or a sign of a bad omen?
I’ll be fine…I hope.
Aric—right, that’s his name—walks me to class and reminds me that he’ll pick me up for our date on Sunday. I don’t know if it’s because it’s my first date here or because I’m uncertain about whether or not he and I should be going on it, but my heart stutters.
Pushing away that feeling, my body soothes itself as I enter the studio where Ballet 3303 will be held.
The room is bright and lively with chatter as people stand around.
Smells of sterile disinfectant and old wood calm my nerves as I enter the expansive dance studio that I'll be spending the next few weeks of my life in.
The studio is probably the largest I’ve ever been in on a college campus.
Floor to ceiling windows line the expansive western wall with huge mirrors along the front. There are barres strategically placed along the middle of the room and a podium in the corner where the professor will conduct class.
I sigh, my shoulders relaxing as I drop my bag down, taking a seat beside a girl with auburn hair. She looks up at me, giving me a small smile.