Forbidden Dance

The weather outside is frigid, matching my mood, as my stepmother Sadie runs a single manicured finger over the windowsill of my dorm room, lifting it to her face a moment later to inspect the dust that has settled on the tip of her perfect finger. She makes a face, shooting a glance over her shoulder at my father who has been standing awkwardly to the side as she tears apart every little thing about my room.

"It's dirty," she announces to no one in particular. My new roommate isn't here yet, thank God, and I'm hoping she won't show up until after my dad and step-monster finally leave me in peace.

"I don't mind," I say, trying to usher her along faster. "It just needs a little wipe down. I can do that."

Sadie turns in my direction, her nostrils flaring like they do when she thinks I've said or done something stupid, which is almost always. "Your father and I aren't paying for you to be here and clean," she huffs. "That's the school staff's job."

I bite my lip to keep myself from reminding her that whatever money is being paid into this institution for my schooling doesn't come from her; not even a single drop of it. My father is funding this excursion, which is even worse because Sadie got to choose which college I enrolled in, and the only one I actually wanted, far away from her and far away from Seattle, wasn't an option. But what Sadie says, goes. It's been like that for years since my mother died and my father remarried a woman who, unbeknownst to me at the time, was his mistress.

Fucked up, right? Yeah, I think so too.

"I'd better get settled in," I say to the room, hoping my dad will take the hint and guide Sadie out. I'm so tired of being under the scrutinizing gaze and thumb of my prude of a stepmother. Finally, I'm free, eighteen, and in college ... and I still can't get rid of her. Even now, sitting in my new dorm room, I've been forced to dress in what Sadie refers to as appropriate clothing. A knee-high skirt from the stone age, leggings so I don't show too much skin, and a sweatshirt that makes my skin itch uncomfortably against the itchy fabric. Even now I can't get rid of her influence.

"Honey, Faith is right," my dad says, finally finding his balls to speak up. It's rare, but it has happened before. "Let's go and let her get settled in."

As Sadie considers this, the front door opens, and a young woman who must be my assigned roommate poked her head in, flashing the three of us an awkward smile as she pulls a suitcase full of luggage in after her. I rise from the bed with a grin, holding out my hand, grateful for the distraction. Maybe now they'll leave.

"Are you Tara?" I ask. "I'm Faith. It's nice to meet you."

"Yes," she's beaming as she shakes my hand, and I'm silently filled with glee as I take in her ripped skinny jeans, tie-died tank top, black pixie cut, and nose and eyebrow piercing. This girl is the last sort of influence Sadie would have picked for my roommate, and that fact alone has me silently gloating. "Nice to meet you, too," she says, and it's impossible not to catch the way her eyes dart over my conservative, ridiculous outfit. Anything to appease the step-monster, I want to tell her. But we'll get to that later.

"Darling," my father says, trying to snag Sadie's attention again. He's bored, I can tell, and I don't blame him. "Let's leave the girls to get to know each other, shall we?"

Sadie tears her disapproving gaze away from Tara for a moment before she wheels on me again, hands poised on her hips like she's preparing to scold a toddler. "Rules," she says. "What are they?"

Heat rises to my neck and cheeks as anger boils in my chest, but I close my eyes and recite what she wants to hear. If I don't, I'll never hear the end of it, no matter how humiliating this is about to be.

"No drinking, no smoking, no parties, no boys," I say, inwardly cringing as the words leave my mouth. From the corner of my eye, I see Tara's jaw drop as she settles herself on the empty bed, but I can't meet her gaze.

"And?" Sadie persists, her cold blue eyes boring into mine. As I meet her gaze again, my jaw locks, and I resist the urge to knock her flat on her ass.

"And no dance," I mutter, dropping my gaze to the floor. I'm weak. I can never hold my own against her.

"That's right," Sadie says. "We're paying a pretty penny for you to study economics at this school, and I refuse to sit by and watch you throw it all away for a chance to show off your half-naked body to a bunch of men."

I grit my teeth without answering, wondering what Tara thinks of me now. With my luck, she'll have requested a new roommate before Sadie even leaves campus.

"Time to go," Dad says, crossing the room to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Call if you need anything, Faith."

Yeah, right.

"Sure, Dad."

"Behave," Sadie says, not bothering to hug me goodbye as she follows my father to the door. Behind me, Tara waves cheerily at them.

"Nice to meet you," she calls, but Sadie pretends like she's heard nothing as she leaves the room, shutting the door forcefully behind her.

Finally, I can breathe.

A migraine is tugging at my skull as I turn around to look at Tara, embarrassed she'd heard the lecture. But she doesn't look disgusted by me, not at all. She looks amused.

"Stepmom?" she asks as I cross the room and sit back down on the edge of the not-so-cozy bed. I don't care that it's not expensive or fancy. I'd sleep on a concrete floor before returning home and living under her roof.

"How did you know?" I ask, reaching for the outrageously tight clip in my hair to undo it, letting my golden blond curls escape from their prison and down my back.

"The dynamic between you two," Tara says with a laugh. "The hate is real. She seems like a right bitch, that one."

"She is." I can't defend her, not even a little. Sadie is beyond a bitch. Sadie is a fucking monster.

"You seem like a smart, well-rounded woman," Tara continues, her bold brown eyes scanning me, sizing me up. "Why do you let her treat you like that?"

"It's a long story," I say with a sigh. "She might look like a bloodsucking demon from the outside, but on the inside, she's so much worse. Trust me ...you don't want to tangle with her."

Tara shrugs as she lifts her suitcase onto her empty bed and unzips it to begin unpacking. I watch her for a moment, smitten with this girl already. She's unabashedly her, and I like that in a person. It's been a long time since I could be unapologetically me, too.

As Tara unpacks, humming silently under her breath, I figured I should do the same. I unzip my bag and pull out all the shitty, conservative garments Sadie had bought and packed for me. More long skirts, more leggings to go under said skirts, and too many sweaters to count. As I'm folding these things and stuffing them into a tiny drawer on my side of the room, I notice that Tara is watching me.

"Is that all you have?" she asks. "Sweaters and pioneer skirts?"

I laugh, although it's not funny, and shake my head. "The majority of it, yes," I say, shoving a pair of stockings into the top drawer before slamming it shut. "But it's not everything." Nibbling my lip, I pull out the remainder of my clothes, the ones that had been safely hidden beneath Sadie's mess of crap. A glittery, spaghetti strap top with the word Dance scrolled across the front, as well as a pair of fishnet stockings, frayed denim shorts that make my ass look good, and a pair of ballet flats that would have given Sadie a stroke if she'd seen them. As I drape my outfit over the bed, Tara's eyes light up.

"Damn girl," she says. "Maybe you're not the lost cause I thought you were."

"I haven't always been like this," I say, glancing down with disgust at my current outfit. "This is all Sadie's doing. But ...Sadie's not here now, is she?"

Tara beams. I have a feeling I've made my first real friend here.

"No, she's not," she confirms. "So how about you throw that spicy little number on, and we can take a tour of the campus."

I run a hand through my loose curls and lean into my suitcase for one last thing; a small bag of hidden makeup that Sadie never knew about. I hold it up and grin at Tara. "Give me five minutes."

It takes me even less time than that, and I'm feeling so much better about today as I rake a hand through my blonde hair and then follow Tara out of our dorm room and toward the quad, where new freshmen orientation is taking place. Strangely enough, the vile weather seems to have vanished right alongside my evil stepmother, and I raise my face to the sky as the Washington sun peeks out from behind the clouds and basks us in warm light.

"This is so nice," Tara remarks, taking a deep breath of the bitter air. "I love when the rain washes away all the pollution and junk in the air."

"You're in for a real treat, because it's rainy here all the time," I remark, unable to focus for too long on one single thing as we walk through the quad, glancing between the booths showing off their organized activities, sports, and clubs, encouraging new students to join. "Where are you from anyway? Are you a Seattle native?"

"New York," Tara says, and this hardly surprises me. I can see it in her; she's got that hood rat kind of vibe going on, but only in the best way possible. I could guess she lived close to, if not inside, the city.

"New York," I muse. "That was my first pick for school, actually."

"Was it?" Tara glances briefly at me, her silver nose ring catching the sun briefly. "What school?"

I almost lie because it seems so ridiculous and far-fetched now. A child's dream. "Julliard."

Sure enough, Tara giggles at this like I've said something funny. When I don't laugh, she stops smirking, plastering an apologetic look on her face. "Sorry," she says quickly. "It's just, you know-well, it's Julliard."

"I'm aware."

"So, you're a dancer?"

I pause, wishing I hadn't said anything at all. It's easier that way. "I used to be," I say softly. "When my mother was alive, anyway."

Sensing we're on thin ice, Tara nods and stops walking, giving me a moment to compose myself as we look around, watching the students around us.

"What made you stay here instead?" Tara asks, but something in her tone of voice assures me she already knows the answer to that.

"My step-monster," I tell her, and that's the truth. While getting into Julliard had always probably been nothing but a pipe dream, Sadie had ensured that's all it would ever be.

"What a bitch," Tara says for the second time that day, and I nod in agreement. As we step forward to continue walking, the sudden blast of hip-hop music pulls my attention from the sidewalk, and I look over my shoulder, turning in the direction of the music. Out on the damp lawn, a team of dancers unites in a circle, drawing in curious stares from bystanders. I glance at Tara, who is already headed in that direction, and follow her.

There are both men and women on this team, and I watch in awe as they begin their number. Confidence pours from their very core as begin their dance, which I can only describe as a fascinating concoction of hip-hop, jazz, and dancing dirty. Three men and two women shake their asses to the beat. It's enthralling, and invigorating, and as I watch the women grind against the oh-so-sexy male dancers, a tingle between my legs reminds me that I am still human.

"Damn," Tara says with a small whistle. "Hopefully they're using protection."

I silently agree, pulling my lip between my teeth to gnaw on it again, a bad habit I'd had since childhood, one that Sadie despised. It was a nervous tick, and as I watched the dancers on the lawn, my nerves felt sky-high, though I wasn't sure why. Envy, maybe. Apprehension. What would Sadie say if she'd seen this before leaving? She probably would have ripped me off campus and loaded me back into the car.

As the dance number ends, leaving students clapping and hooting on the lawn, Tara glances at me with raised eyebrows. "Check it," she says, nudging me in the arm. "The hot guy has flyers. They must be recruiting."

Before I can come up with some excuse-any excuse-as to why I need to heed caution and stay as far away from these people as possible, Tara has me by the arm and is dragging me towards their little booth, right in the direction of the kid-or should I say, man-handing out fliers. He's one of the dancers who has just performed, and his steady, domineering gaze settles on us as we step into his space.

"Hey there," he says. His sharp, focused gaze is intense and unwavering, and the ice blue of his eyes almost makes me cower. His gaze flickers over the scrawl on my shirt, and I want to kick myself for putting it on before leaving the dorm. I should have stayed in the nun outfit Sadie had forced me into all along. "Do you dance?"

I glance down awkwardly at my shirt and sigh, wishing I was anywhere but here. "I used to," I say. Next to me, a scoff of irritation escapes from Tara's lips and she pinches me, making me jump.

"This is my roommate, Faith," she says. "I'm Tara."

"Danny," the guy says, and I squirm under his scrutinizing gaze as he offers his hand to us. Danny's posture alone is confident and assertive, with a strong, commanding presence that demands attention. He exudes an air of authority, and I can almost tell just by the way that he holds himself that he must be the team leader of this little troupe. As my hand touches him, a shock of electricity pulses down my arm, and I yank away, growing more uncomfortable by the second. Danny is a few years older than me, well-built and athletic, with a toned physique that suggests a commitment to fitness and discipline. This is exactly the kind of guy I used to drool over.

Okay, and maybe still do. A little.

"Here's a flyer," he says, handing one to me and one to Tara. He looks bored with us already, and I can't blame him. I'm not exactly offering enthralling conversation topics. "We're always looking for backup dancers and whatnot." He turns away, making it clear that he's finished with us, and I glance briefly at the paper.

"Thanks, but I don't do hip-hop," I tell him, folding the sheet in half to shove it into my back pocket. "I'm only really trained well in ballet."

At the word ballet, Danny's attention focuses on me again, and his dark eyebrows furrow. "Ballet, you say?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." He glances at Tara as if to confirm this, but she just shrugs. He averts his attention back to me and smiles for the first time since saying hello. "We're looking specifically for ballet dancers," he says. "There aren't a lot around here."

"Yeah, I know."

He scrutinizes me, those blue eyes raking over my body as if trying to determine if I'm lying to him or not.

"How much experience do you have?" he asks. I glance awkwardly at Tara, silently wondering if I could get away with bolting and hiding until Danny has vanished with his team. All I can think about as he drills me for information is what Sadie will think when she catches wind of my little chit-chat with the dance team here. I've been strictly forbidden. And there are no secrets from Sadie. I'm not so sure this is worth the risk.

"Faith," Tara hisses under her breath. "Are you still with us?"

Hardly.

"A few years," I say vaguely. "But I'm sorry, I really don't have time for this. I'm not supposed to be dancing. I need to focus on my studies."

"You're not supposed to dance?" Danny repeats. "Is that what your mommy told you?" He's teasing, but a shard of ice rips through my heart anyway. He has no idea. Nobody does.

"Sorry to waste your time," I say. "And good luck with finding more dancers for your team."

I turn to walk away, holding my breath, but just before I can escape his clutches, Danny reaches out, taking me by the arm and pulling me to a stop. I'm so surprised by this that I don't fight him, and instead turn to face him as that strange buzz of anticipation travels through me.

"Look," he says. "I don't know your story, but there's something about you that makes me think we could use you on the team."

"I don't think-"

"We're holding special tryouts tomorrow evening in the auditorium," he continues, cutting me off. "This tryout isn't on the roster. It's invite only."

"Great, but-"

"Don't say anything. Just think about it. If you think you'd like to kick ass this semester, then show up and show us what you've got. Okay?"

I don't say okay and I don't agree, because I don't want to bid myself to anything, especially knowing that it's not going to happen. Sadie would flip a bitch, and the last thing I need is her wrath coming down on me before the semester has even begun. But since it doesn't seem like Danny is keen to let me go until I acknowledge this, I nod my head, just once, and then pull my arm out of his grip before turning to walk away. Tara follows me silently, and I can feel Danny's eyes on my back as we retreat, putting as much distance as possible between us and that guy before I feel comfortable enough to breathe again.

"Damn, girl," Tara says, jogging to catch up with me. "That was intense. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Tara nudges me as we walk, insisting I tell her the truth. "It's because of Sadie, isn't it?"

I blow out a breath of air between my teeth and nod. Tara is my roommate now, and unless I plan on lying to her about everything, there's no harm in fessing up.

"She's a nightmare," I tell her. "It's not worth the risk."

"Hey." Tara reaches out and pulls me to a gentle stop, deep brown eyes meeting mine. She shakes her head. "I don't know this woman nor your relationship with her," she admits. "But I do know that it's toxic and probably abusive." She must notice the tears in my eyes because she draws me in for a hug. For a second I resist, but then I let it happen. It's been a long time since anyone has hugged me like that. "Fuck Sadie," Tara continues, holding me out at arm's length as she squeezes my arms. "You're free of her now, I promise. It's time to stand up and live your life, girl. Do you understand?"

"But I-"

"No buts," she insists. "Take tonight to think about it, okay? If by tomorrow you think you're ready to escape that witch's clutches, let me know, and I'll escort you to tryouts myself."