Chapter 2- End of Tunnel

At around the beginning of the next school day- I was summoned to the director's office.

Upon coming back I knew that my future with the school was still undecided. In fact, it was in the hands of a number of people. Whether I'd join the advanced placement dance class like I originally would've, or redo the entire year and forget about all the hard work I had done.

Knowing that the verdict about my life depended on whichever direction these people would decide to take, made me feel both restless and helpless.

I hadn't expected all four dance instructors to be part of this decision-making meeting.

But there I was; sitting in front of the director's desk, two instructors to my left and two more to my right.

"This is about whether or not you believe she can still make it in the class." Madam Bennett,our school director said, sharp-nosed and grey-haired like I remembered.

"I don't think she can cope in advanced placement. I mean, graduation is just a few months away." Cavanaugh, an instructor I worked with while still a junior voiced out.

"I agree. She would be under a lot of pressure, especially with picking up the combinations that the others already know. And she'd still need to choreograph her own routine for the upcoming trials." Madam Richardson, my contemporary instructor said adding another nail to my crucifixion.

"I don't think that would be the right course of action. Our advanced placement class is too small as is. And if what she lacks is already known, I say give her that. Classes are resuming this week, put her back in and get her training again." Disagreed the new instructor, I had learned in the beginning of the meeting that his name was Luca Bianchi.

"Impossible. She'll still be hopelessly behind her peers." Richardson continued throwing me under the bus.

How dare she? In this room, she's the one person who I thought and believed knew exactly what I was capable of.

"No I won't," I argued. But no one listened to me, obviously.

"Then give her extra training sessions," Luca said.

He and Madam Richardson continued on with the back and forth, while I and the others watched the exchange like it was a ping-pong game.

"Who's going to put in the extra time?" Bennett demanded, interrupting the back and forth. "You?"

That's when the poor guy hesitated, "well, that's not what I-"

I saw Richardson crossing her arms with satisfaction: as if to say, 'that's exactly what I thought'.

Clearly at a loss, he frowned. His eyes flicked toward me, and I wondered what he saw. A pathetic girl, looking at him with big pleading eyes? Or someone who was willing to do anything to prove herself? Realizing that this was a battle I was already losing, I looked away from him.

"Yes," he finally said, causing my head to snap up again. "I can mentor Brianna. What I've seen in the records makes me believe she's raw potential. So, I'll give her the extra sessions along with her normal ones."

The school had a habit of recording some of our performances to keep for future students to learn from. To know that someone had seen mine and realized the extent of my potential, made me feel a trickle of hope.

"I'm inclined to agree with Bianchi, I think the extra sessions can hone Brianna until she returns to her former glory." Marples, the instructor I had before I left suddenly spoke up from her corner.

Bennett's' lips tightened into a straight line as she realized the tie in the votes. She turned to me before verbalizing the verdict, "you are being offered a very generous deal, I hope you'll take it with both hands and run with it."

I started to say they knew I was good enough as everybody else, exceptional even. But then I caught Luca's gaze. It was hard to read. He might have been telling me that he believed in me. He might have been telling me I would be an idiot if I picked that fight. I don't know. Looking away from him for the second time during the meeting, I stared at the floor.

"If Miss Whitlock stays, here's how it will be." Bennett turned to me. "Your continued enrollment at Walnut Hill School will be strictly probationary. If there are no signs of improvement or you fail to step up to the plate in the upcoming month, you won't be allowed to join the class.

You will attend all classes and required trainings for dancers your age. You will also train with instructor Bianchi in every spare moment you have- before and after your normal classes."

I was waiting for her trademark line; "and we won't tolerate tardiness, ever." I said it with her in my head.

In the end, I thought that things had turned out pretty well for me. Especially because this was more than what I had hoped for. Finally, there was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. At long last, I exhaled and looked back up at the director.

"I accept."

The Bianchi guy and I were the last ones out of the door. As I hopped away to share the news with my friends,he called out. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To see my friends,why?" I'm sure a frown formed on my face.

"You have practice right now, that's why." He said sternly while turning to walk towards the halls, as if he knew those words alone were enough to compel me to follow him wherever he went. And I did.

Curious about everything I'd learn from him, I jogged after him.

At around the same time I reached the hall, a splitting headache began assaulting my skull. In attempt to soothe the veins,I started massaging my temples. His tall form walked over to where I stood, "are you okay?" he asked as his pale blue eyes bore into mine.

"Just a slight headache," I lied. Telling him that I thought skipping breakfast was what was causing it wasn't an option, especially if I wanted out of the probationary period. Everything else could wait, and that went for friends,food or literally anything else.

"Can you keep going?"

The hard, stoic man I'd met earlier was gone-just for a moment- he actually looked concerned. Genuinely concerned. Feeling his eyes on me like that made something flutter inside of me- which was stupid, of course. I had no reason to get all goofy,just because the man was too good looking for his own good. After all, he was a maestro, according to Christopher. One who I'm sure would leave me in all sorts of physical pain, every passing day.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I lied.

Then disappeared into the gym's dressing room and changed into workout clothes. Indecisive about my shoes, I peeked from the door "which ones should I go with?" I inquired, holding the pair of running shoes I'd been wearing earlier-in one hand- and my point shoes in the other.

"You won't be wearing those for a while," he told me gesturing at the point shoes.

Some dance it'll be without them, I thought to myself as I complied.

When I emerged he showed me the sets of workouts he wanted me to do, then sprawled in a corner with ear buds on. Some Maestro he was.

I motioned to him when I finished; then he came over, stood beside me and demonstrated a few cool-down stretches.

"How'd you get to be Moore's replacement?" I asked.

He didn't answer right away. I got the feeling he didn't talk about himself very often.

"The director called to offer me the job," he said curtly.

"Well, you've got big shoes to fill here." The words got out before I had a chance to stop them.

A glint of something--maybe amusement--sparked in his eyes, but he didn't acknowledge the joke.

"After I graduated, I started choreographing dances with a partner. Which I loved, but when I got the offer I figured the change would do me good."

When his smile dropped and face grew dark, I knew there was something he wasn't telling me. But I decided not to push it.

By the time I did the second set of exercises, my muscles informed me they'd had enough for the day.

So I suggested to Luca that maybe he should let me off this time.

He laughed,and I was pretty sure it wasn't with me but at me.

"Why is that funny?" I asked, breathing heavily and shakily.

"Oh", he said, voice filled with mockery. "I didn't realize that you are serious."

"Of course I am! You know that everyone is outside catching up, right? Serious training won't begin until this dance is out of the way. Let me live a little too," I whined.

"It's just one more hour, I'm sure you can live through that."

He crossed his arms and looked down at me. His earlier concern was gone. He was all business now. A true embodiment of tough love.

"How do you feel right now? After the training you've done so far?"

"I hurt like hell," I said pouting.

"You'll feel worse tomorrow." He told me, matter of fact-ly.

"And you're telling me this because?" I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Because it makes sense to jump in now while you still feel...not as bad".

"What kind of logic is that?" I retorted. But I didn't argue anymore because he joined me for the third set of exercises,as if to make me feel better about working while my peers played.

Due to the exhaustion, I fought to keep my eyes open through dinner. When I went to bed afterward, I passed out before even hitting the pillow. And just like that, what looked like the rest of my senior year had began.