The Bunhead and the Bad Boy

Closed for ArcticAvenue


With the chaotic rhythm of the orchestra echoing off the studio's mirrored walls, the young ballerina threw her body across the floor. Her pointe shoes soundless on the wooden boards as she executed a perfect triple pirouette before leaping across the floor, her right leg extended beautifully.

The music swelled and she lifted herself up onto the toe of her right foot, spinning and spinning and spinning, going faster and faster. Her heart pounding in time with the music. Her foot began to ache and her ankle wobbled as she focused all her weight on it. As the music reached its climax she felt her ankle give and she fell to the floor, her hands slapping against the floorboards as she stopped her fall.

"Dang it!" Grace smacked the floor in frustration as the music track ended, the hard smack echoed in the empty studio.

Slow, mocking claps resounded in the room and Grace spun around from her position on the floor only to come face to face with three of the girls in her class, the three that loved to make her life a living hell.

"Nicely done, Grace." Sasha, the ringleader, placed an extra sarcastic edge onto Grace's name. "If you dance like that at the showcase you're sure to get a contract." Sasha's laugh was soon joined by the hyena cackles of her two cohorts.

"Whatever, Sasha." Grace pulled herself up off the floor and adjusted her bun, which had loosened during her frantic dance.

"Oh good come back. How long did it take you to come up with that one? No, seriously, Grace, you wound me with your words." Sasha stepped further into the studio and dropped her bag on the floor. "Now get out, we've got the space booked for the afternoon."

The icy glares of the three girls followed Grace as she picked up her bag and, without stopping to change shoes, ran from the studio before they could see the tears that pricked at her eyes and laugh at her further.

For as long as she could remember, Grace had wanted to be a ballerina. From the moment she could walk, she'd taken classes at her mother's studio back home. But she had progressed quickly and, at thirteen, had been admitted to the Dubois Academy of Dance. Now, five years later, she was entering her final year of classes before graduating, hopefully, to the Dubois Dance Company.

Grace loved dance, she loved the freedom of movement and the escape from the world around her. But it was hardly all fun and games. It had been a very lonely five years as Grace was shy and timid and didn't make friends easily. One could never, truly, make friends, anyway, when attending a prestigious dance academy. No matter what, someone was always out to prove they were better. Cut throat competition left little room for friendship, and the girls of Dubois Academy of Dance were as blood thirsty as they came. Grace had an ever growing list of girls who would sooner push her down the stairs before a big audition than happily applaud and congratulate her when she did well. It didn't help that Grace was one of the most talented girls in the school, and that she was only one showcase away from a guaranteed spot in the academy's company after graduation.

The loneliness would all be worth it though, Grace kept reminding herself, all the sacrifices would be worth it in the end. When she took her first bow on the company stage, it would all be worth the heartache and tears.

Even with the short run-up Carson could get enough air, and more importantly enough power to lift the bike up high on the metal signpost to bend it a few more inches backwards. His route imbedded into pattern, pedal hard straight on to the sign, pull up a foot in front of it, tail whip to plant the rear tire on metal, and then use the rebound to stick the landing. He looked like he could pull the trick off effortlessly. While not his favorite toy, the bike acted like another appendage even if it looked more than the half welded together shoddy excuse for a BMX.

The sign said, “No Skateboards, or Scooters.” Nothing about bikes. When he started this morning, the post was vertical. Carson was determined to bend the post in half, then bringing his bored back the next morning. He had a run in with the cops a few days back at this same place with his board, and to him the sign needed to “get bent” like he told those fucking pigs. Goddam shame though, he thought. There was not a place in this city better suited for boarding. Granite steps in a half-circle up a good ten levels, perfect for jumping. Untouched rails, and begged for some killer grinds. Three weeks of searching after he moved here, Carson found no park that matched this one for potential. Anything to beat boredom and better than finding a job.

In the cool morning air, Carson worked hard enough to remain shirtless in his board shorts. If he could, he would spend his life without a shirt. Not because he wanted to show off that he was ripped, though it never hurt to advertise when you were looking to pick up a surf bunny. Carson grew up hanging at beaches out by the coast. When you spend that much time on the surf, you get accustomed to being shirtless and feel hot & restrained when you put one on. You also get the constant tan his skin kept still, not to mention his raggy shoulder length hair sun bleached brown. The workout meant that he wouldn't worry about what he ate yet his 5’ 9” stature remained solid. On the beach, being like that meant you didn’t have to worry much about getting tail. Again, this town turned out to be different.

Growing up on the beach also meant mornings were not a problem either. He'd catch waves before school with the whole crew, grab breakfast at Quickie Stop, and still had time to make something up that stands for homework before the bell rang. After graduation, they all kept it going, but one by one they all went off for other things. Then Carson had to give all of it up for his cocksucker father. The old man started riding him about college or job and was about to throw Carson out on his ass. Aunt Zoe, who hated her brother-in-law, threw Carson a free bed at her place inland. Carson had to either give up friends and fun and live under his father’s roof, or do all that while giving his Dad the finger.

The though of his father pissed him off, and he threw more into the next run. He jumped the bike, landing the back tire square on the sign. Instead of it springing him back, the pole ripped to the ground taking the bike with it. Carson tumbled over top the bike, skidding against the pavement behind the rise. As he stood, he noticed the bike needed some work & new welds. Carson needed work too, there was a gnarly scuff on his knee and he had blood coming off his elbow. At his feet, though, that signpost was damn near destroyed, not just bent but torn from its base.

He laughed, flipped the post the bird, and yelled “Fuck Yeah!”

"So remember Sam, Katherine's older brother? I totally fucked him last night." Jenna's voice crackled on speaker phone as Grace sat on the floor of the girl's dorm lounge breaking in her newest pair of pointe shoes.

"Jen!" Grace gasped at her best friend's language. She glanced around the lounge to make sure no one had overheard. Thankfully, she was alone in the room as many girls hadn't yet woken up.

"Oh c'mon, Grace, don't be such a girl. We're eighteen, we're allowed to say fuck if we want."

Grace slammed a hammer down on teh wooden toes of her shoes as Jenna swore again. Her oldest, and pretty much only, friend, Jenna and Grace had been inseparable as children. Then, when she left for Dubois, the two had slowly drifted apart. As Jenna learned to wear make-up, Grace was tapping bandages around her bleeding toes. As Jenna started dating and sleeping around, Grace didn't even spare guys a second glance and retained her virginal, never been kissed status.

Bending her shoes until they made a satisfying crack, Grace returned her attention to the conversation.

"And oh my god what that boy can do with his tongue. Grace, even you, the ice queen herself, would be begging for more."

A hot blush crept up Grace's neck as Jenna went on in graphic detail about her night. The more Jenna talked, the hotter Grace skin felt as she couldn't even imagine the things her friend was talking about.

Girls were slowly filtering into the lounge, glancing over at Grace's red face and giggling as Jenna continued to spell out her sordid night. She truly didn't know how much more of this she could talk and, before Jenna could continue to explain the size of Sam's...man parts further, she quickly told her friend she had to go and hung up.

While she felt that she was, perhaps, missing out on a vital part of life while studying ballet, the whole thing with boys was one thing that Grace did not miss. At eighteen, she hadn't met a boy that she was even vaguely attracted to. Even if she did meet a boy, there was no way she was going to let him distract her from her goal. With so many dancers reaching their pique at twenty-five, Grace knew that she would still have plenty of time for a life and boys after she was done dancing. So why waste valuable training time with kissing and sex?

Gathering up her things, Grace moved to her dorm room. She put her shoes away and pulled on a pair of sneakers. There were still two hours before she had her first class of the day, which left plenty of time for a quick run.


Jogging down the street, her iPod set to Tschaikosvsky's Swan Lake, Grace made her way towards the park for a few laps. The park was the best place to run, at least in Grace's mind. It was peaceful and, at this early hour, almost completely empty. Turning the corner she noticed the "No Skateboards or Scooters" sign that sat at the park's entrance had been bent so that it nearly touched the ground.

"Stupid vandals." She muttered as she jogged past the sign, her ever present bun bobbing with each foot fall. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone on a bike, but paid them no mind, instead focusing on her breathing and the steady beat of the music that guided her running.

A hammer would be a good thing. Sure a wrench would be better, but that satisfying ping of metal on metal trumps wrenched nuts. Carson chuckled at the though, wrenched nuts. The bike needed work, the wheel now cocked in the fork and the rear brakes were hosed. It wasn’t dead in the water, but so much for riding tricks until he could put a fix in. He’d have to take care of that today. Take care of the cut on his elbow too, maybe wash the blood off sooner or later.

Instead, he took to riding the bike in slow weaving circles around the park. Even this was wearing thing. Weeks in this place, and he hadn’t seen a single kid out thrashing that he could hang with. Sure there were some around, but they were a bunch of clones. Wearing their uniforms and carrying their balls worried about meaningless scores and stats.

Carson though about calling back to the old gang, but either they would be on the surf or not in the mood to talk. Besides, who would he call. Skinner left for college. Jake was up the coast. Kyler worked at his dad’s shop. Phe got some summer gig in Europe. That just left Agnes, but she stopped talking to Carson before graduation. They kinda were a thing once, as much as Carson ever had as a thing.

Agnes was full on bitch when she wanted, but thoughts of her this morning brought him to why he put up with it. She could shred up a surf like an island queen. She’d be out there in her blue surf top and those marching bikini bottoms ripping a wave like a water bug dancing across the sea. When they could get away with a night on the beach, Carson would pull her over a dune where they would throw it down on a few beach towels.

Carson had to stop peddling for a minute, the bike seat becoming uncomfortable. He’d gone a few months without getting anything. So he let her memory take over. The memory of pulling of Agnes’s top, freeing her chestnut hair, looking down at the sea of freckles awash on her breasts, and the squeals she made when they crushed their bodies together in the sea air.

Sure he was in a public park, but he didn’t mind as the shorts he wore tented. He’d have to take care of that today, probably after Aunt Zoe goes to work. There were joggers about the park or he’d take care of it now, right on the picnic table if he had to.

Or at least that was what he’d say to others, just to piss people off.

Comfortable enough to ride now, he got back on the bike. He was getting hungry so maybe he’d ride down to some place that had coffee or a yahoo. He picked up speed on the grass, doing a couple of laps through the trees. The bike felt awkward under him, but he needed this burst, if nothing to get Agnes out of his head. He pumped the pedals, spotting a grassy rise up a bit of a hill. He headed full speed to that point bearing down on it quickly.

As soon as he hit the slope, he saw her; and it was too late. A jogger lost in her earphones and right in his way. He gripped the brakes: the front wheel stopped, the back wheel didn’t . He tossed in the air, light metal spun below him, and all of it heading her direction.

The final score of Swan Lake sounded through Grace's headphones as she ran, her steps keeping time with the music. Her small chest rose and fell with each controlled breath and a sheen of sweat covered her ivory skin.

About to begin her final lap, Grace could faintly hear something off to the side. Turning her head slightly, she caught sight of the biker as he skidded out of control, his bike heading straight towards her. Speeding up, Grace jumped out of the way just as the bike and rider came to a stop right where she had just been.

Pulling out her earphones, she glared down at the rider.

"There are rules for a reason, jerk." She snapped, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest. "Bikes are not allowed in the park."

The bike hadn’t tossed him, only smacked him good. The tail swung up behind him, so the seat got his side pretty hard. That would be the source of his pain long term; but short term the frame bumped his sack forcing an groan on impact. He heard the call from the runner, and righted himself. “No,” he responded when he caught his breath, “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.”

The first reaction he had was to adjust himself through the shorts where the gut wrenching pain was coming from, and his hand brushed over the bulge before he pulled away trying to hide it from the runner. Then the soreness in his ribs took over. He lifted his arm above the painful rubs and rubbed the area with the other hand. A previous injury left a rib bone not at a smooth curve like the rest of them, but lifting his arm this way all of them became pronounced as his skin grew taut. He winced slightly at the touch of the rib, making the flat stomach flex unintentionally to a defined six-pack.

Satisfied things weren’t too worse off, he looked upon the jogger. Even with her arms crossed, his eyes fell to the small breasts and the glint of the sweat on her skin. As he stood more upright, his gaze went up to her face.

Her comment sank in now and he retorted, “What are you? Some plain clothes park cop, fresh out of middle school?”

Grace rolled her eyes at the boy's sarcastic remark. She really did not have time to get into any type of confrontation with him. The clock was ticking and she only had forty minutes to get back to the dorm, shower, and change into her leotard and dance skirt before getting to class.

"Look," she said, giving the boy in front of her a quick once over but barely registering his well-formed physique, her brilliant blue eyes returned to his own dark eyes. "Just follow the rules and don't ride in the park. Okay?"

Having already wasted too much time with this hoodlum, Grace popped her earbuds back in and began her steady jog back towards the dormitory. As her long, lean legs, covered by a pair of form-fitting yoga pants, made quick work of the distance to the park's entrance, Grace couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching her. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed that the boy was following her movements with his eyes. A chill ran down on her spine; a chill that was both unnerving and alarmingly pleasant at the same time.

In all honesty, he knew he was a bit hard on the girl. You don’t get knocked in the junk and become the most welcoming personality an instant later. Bad enough she wanted to run him off from the only thing that was interesting about this place. Besides, she just put him on the defensive, and ... okay, middle school was an exaggeration.

Something dug into him about her, though, and he wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was because he almost killed her. Maybe it was the way she didn’t laugh at his joke, or how she looked in those pants. Maybe it was because she was the first person his generation in this town that said more than two words to him. As she went on, he didn’t want to take his eyes off of her.

He was about to head off, find something else to do to fight this boredom. Let her keep on going, and go get some breakfast. Then something happened.

She looked back.

It triggered an immediate action. In an instant, he chugged the pedals full speed through the park following her lead. Without an idea or a thought why she did it, he felt the urge to follow. He caught up with her enough to be within shouting distance when he made it past the park gates, so that’s what he did:

“Hey!! Wait Up,” and almost too eager, “Hey Bunhead, where you going?!?”

Her playlist had changed and through the soft swell of Cinderella, Grace could vaguely hear someone calling out after her. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she saw the boy riding towards her at full speed.

"Hey Bunhead, where you going?" He had almost reached her and Grace fought the urge to run faster and avoid him.

She'd never had much interaction with males outside of the ballet studio and she didn't know how to interact with this boy, who was so unlike the boys she danced with.

After a quick inner debate, Grace slowed her pace, but continued to run, allowing the boy to catch up with her. Why she did it Grace couldn't say. Perhaps she was just ready to have someone who wasn't intimidated by her to talk to.

"What do you want?" She asked, removing her earbuds and letting them fall around her slender neck. She glanced over at him, taking in the muscular build and strong arms. If he were a dancer she had no doubt he'd make the perfect dance partner.

The pace she ran kept him on the pedals, but not so much that it winded him. She wouldn’t have lost him if she kept it up, but she could have if she freaked out or something. and ran off or called the cops even.

Why he focused on that bun he wasn’t sure, but now the name was out there he had to admit it was cute on her. Carson knew a girl who wore one before, but she was on the fast track to being a career librarian. Bunhead here was too muscular for that. Maybe muscular wasn’t the right word, she wasn’t beefed out or some tough chick. In fact he couldn’t put a finger on it. She didn’t seem weak, but she still seemed ... soft.

Once she slowed, Carson flashed her his most charming smile he had in his arsenal. "What do you want?" She asked.

“Well, I wanted to know where you were running off to,” he said while pedaling. The bike weaved some in the street, but he generally matched pace with her. “Been in this town for a couple weeks, and ain’t seen nothing to do. No beaches, no skate ramps. And rumor has it that they don’t allow bikes back there in the park. So I was gonna tag along with you.”

"You can't 'tag along' with me." Grace snapped, completely ignoring his attempt at charm and witty banter. Though she hadn't ever had guys flirt with her, Grace wasn't unaware that, perhaps, that's what this boy was trying to do. Well, if that was the case, she wasn't going to respond. She had far too much to focus on in her life to get caught up in any drama, especially of the boy variety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and noticed the confused look on his face.

"Madame Claudette doesn't appreciate people watching her class." She continued. "And I'm not about to let some stranger into the academy anyway."

As if on cue, the large, brick building of the Dubois Dance Academy came into view. Grace jogged up the first three steps before turning back to face the boy. There was something strangely sad about him. She felt that he mirrored some of her own loneliness and Grace took pity on him.

"Look, if you want something to do around here, I know that a lot of people hang out at The Boathouse. It's supposed to have really good music. You should check it out. Apparently all the cool kids hang out there."

Grace's watch beeped in warning. Her time to run was up and she had to get a move on if she wanted to get to class on time. She moved to run the last of the steps and paused. What made her do it she didn't know, but something came over her and she turned back to face him.

"I'm Grace, by the way." She said, her voice soft, nervous, and bewildered at her own show of courage. "I run the park every morning if you ever want to join me." With that she turned quickly and sprinted up the steps.

When it came into view, the name Dubois Dance Academy sunk in.

She’s a dancer. It made sense, didn’t it? Not that he was much of anything off his feet when they weren’t planted on his toes, and not that he knew a tutu from a jazz hand. The thought of it though was depressing. While he had no comprehension of what they did in that place, it was an Acadamy. Academies meant to him college, and the only one interesting he’d met so far was busy taking classes. During the summer even.

He caught what she said. Some of it at least. Alright, nearly none of it. Carson wasn’t one for listening. It seemed from the moment she started talking, very little of her words hung out in the space between his ears. When she made it inside, he hadn’t even realized he forgot to say goodbye.

After she ran off, Carson went back to his morning routine of the last few days. Yahoo & Twizzlers at the convenience store for breakfast. Ride back to Aunt Zoe’s place now she was off to work. Take a nap. Shower. Then feel the crushing weight of boredom destroy him from the inside out.

It was early afternoon by then, and flipping through magazines on his bed wasn’t doing it. So he tried to remember what Bunhead was telling him. A Boathouse with some tunes, that could be good. Was it near the park, did she say? She said something, also about having grace; maybe a dance thing. He thought he better find out, otherwise he could get stuck here all day.

Plus he knew where to find her.

At first he was just going to hang out to ask her what she said when she got out of class. Lucky for Carson, the windows on the Academy were low enough he can climb up the wall. He could haul himself up enough to peer through the large glass windows in an effort to find which room she may be in. It may take a with all those windows, but he was determined to find her again.

"First position." Madame Claudette's voice rang through the studio as the students quickly moved the ballet barres to the sides of the room and returned to the center, striking the correct pose. Her French accent was as thick as molasses and her words difficult to understand for someone who hadn't been under her tutelage for any length of time.

As Madame, her wiry grey hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, called out positions, Grace followed along with the orders. Her arms moved in a graceful arch above her head as she lifted herself up onto pointe, her entire weight, as slight as it was, balanced on the first two toes of each foot.

"Tres magnifique, Grace," Madame Claudette stopped next to the young woman to examine her movements. "Beautiful lines, as always." The teacher granted Grace one of her rare smiles and, pleased with herself, Grace couldn't help but return the grin.

"Teacher's pet." A stage whisper from the back of the room caused a wave of hushed laughter to roll through the class.

Grace could feel her face flush with embarrassment as Madame's eagle eyes searched for the source of the taunt.

"Focus." She snapped. "This is a classroom not a forum for gossip."

All eyes returned to the front of the class as Madame ordered them to find their pas de deux partner. Grace moved to wear her dance partner, Gabe, stood with Sasha, who was openly flirting with him.

"Front row?" He asked, already pulling away from Sasha's clutches and moving to their usual spot in the front row of the paired off dancers.

Grace bit back the smile that tugged at her lips. Gabe was one of the only boys she could really stand. They understood each other as dancers, having been partners since their first year at the academy.

As the music started, Gabe's hands rested on her slender hips, and the two began to move as one. Grace glanced at her reflection in the mirror, checking her lines. Her reflection stared back at her, a reflection that she had never liked. Her eyes were too big, her nose too long. Her hair was the same dull blonde as a wheat field, which did nothing to help her pale complexion. Her blue leotard, paired with a sheer white dance skirt, put her thin, almost boyish, frame on full display. Grace had never liked the way she looked, yet, somehow, when she danced she felt beautiful.

Gabe's hands slid down her body, she turned her head so that she was looking up at him, her eyes half-closed in an attempt to look like an innocent maid being seduced by a devilish duke. The dance they'd been learning was incredibly seductive, something that Grace knew nothing about, but that didn't mean she couldn't try. Gabe flung her body to the right and she spun three times before his hand gripped hers and pulled her back to him. Their bodies flush against each other, it was the point of the dance where the maid gives in to the duke, and Grace wrapped her right leg around his waist, leaning back so that Gabe could run his hand between her breasts and down her stomach. It was at that moment that Grace's eyes landed on the one window in the studio...the window where the boy from that morning was watching her.

He hadn’t seen her yet, but Carson struck gold. Only after a few tries of empty rooms and offices, he found himself looking in on a vast studio. While those inside contained the obligatory teachers, there seemed to be more girls than men in the room and they all wore really tight outfits. Not only that, they all were really flexible, some of them even could keep one foot on the ground and the other one above their heads. Score!

Carson wanted to be discrete, and hanging by the ledge wasn’t that. He noticed one of the stones on the front entrance steps was loose, so he dragged it through the grass and propped it up against the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to stand upon and see in without having to hang.

As fate would have it, he spotted Bunhead almost immediately in this room right after he got settled. While some of the others in the class were dancing, springing about, and doing different stretches; Bunhead was talking to a dude and girl on the other side of the room. The dude was just a dude, who seemed extra big and strong surrounded by all those thin dancing girls. The dark haired girl he was chatting up, now she was a hot one. As Bunhead and the dude wandered off together, Carson focused on the girl. At first he just liked the way she could fill out that leotard, especially in front. That being said, she seemed like she had an attitude, and definitely didn’t like Bunhead dancing with the dude - or maybe she just didn’t like Bunhead. Still she was hot, so Carson started to think how to ask Bunhead to hook him up with that girl.

The dude and Bunhead moved into their dance, at pretty quick it wasn’t what Carson expected. The two moved across the floor with purpose and energy. They swayed in time, they lifted and pulled as one. While the dude was strong and heavy handed, but danced with a lightness that appeared like she danced on wind. There was a beautiful that even he could appreciate in a touch of a toe, a bend of a knee a turn of the arm.

As the dance progressed, Carson started to feel an anger rise in him though. If he didn’t know it any better, her partner was too physical with her. She seemed to want to be free and light, but he kept using their closeness to put his hands more intimately on him. He was was being brutish, aggressive. She seemed model of innocence. It seemed like play acting, but .. well .. wasn’t. Carson wanted to do something about it, but the way she moved made him think she could break away at any moment.

She spun away from him, fully in control of herself outside of his reach, and Carson knew she was free. Instantaneously he had her again, pulling her closer than he had at any time before. This time though, she gave herself to him. There in front of the whole room she wrapped her leg around him, and his hands went to chest.

Carson flushed. Deeply across his chest a fire burned. It wasn’t that he wanted to punch that asshole for taking advantage of her, or that she gave herself so willing to him. He wanted her to do that to him, wanted to be that one to bring out this magic she seemed to create in his arms.

In that moment somewhere between desire and jealousy, she looked his way her eyes locked onto his. That moment the rest of the room didn’t matter. Not the other students, not the teacher, not the ledge he stood against; none of it registered. Just her.

With their eyes locked, he couldn’t help but to smile. Unbeknownst to her, she shared though her dance one of those rare moments that could leave a man breathless. He barely understood it himself. He couldn’t help to feel good that in that moment she still recognized him; and all he could do was smile.

"So I was thinking that we should maybe do some extra practice tonight," Gabe stood behind Grace as she gathered up her dance bag, "What with the showcase coming up and everything, it couldn't hurt to put in some extra hours."

"Absolutely," Grace said, completely distracted as she stuffed her pointe shoes into the bag and zipped it shut. "Extra practice is always good." She turned to head towards the door.

"Great." Gabe beamed and followed along behind her. "So I'll meet you here at like eight?"

"Wait...what?" Grace looked at him, confused. What had they been talking about? The rest of the class had been a blur since she'd seen the boy's face in the window, seen the way that he watched her so intently as she danced. Grace had been torn between anger, confusion, and, surprisingly, pleasure at the fact that he spied on her for the remainder of class. All she could focus on was getting out of there and confronting him. And she knew he would still be around, she didn't know how, but she just knew.

"Tonight. You and me. Practice." Gabe said, his smile faltering slightly.

"I can't tonight." Grace replied with a shake of her head. "Madame Claudette is helping me with my solo."

"Oh, well maybe another time." He moved past her quickly, leaving Grace in a haze of confusion as to what had just happened.

Shaking her head, Grace made her way out of the studio and, quickly, out of the building to find the boy waiting for her on the steps as if he knew she was going to come out.

"What are you doing here?" She snapped as soon as she saw him. "You can't be spying on classes. What if someone had seen you?" Grace grabbed his arm and, with all the strength in her small body, she pulled him towards the sidewalk.

Grace was fully aware of the stares from people walking past and of the students who were slowly filtering out of the school. She ignored them all and focused her attention on the boy in front of her.

"Well?" She asked, her foot tapping impatiently on the sidewalk.

While he waited for her, Carson sat with his board in his lap aimlessly spinning his wheels, figuratively and literally. He’d never been one for ballet. (That was what he saw in there wasn’t it? Ballet?) On the surface, if all they did in this town was ballet, he’d be bored all the time; and sooner or later he’d have to find something else to do with his life. Yet it was something special to watch, wasn’t it? The whole way she … danced … and spun around and … jumped … maybe.

So there loomed the other problem Carson had with ballet. She was good enough to know everything about it; and he couldn’t even talk about what he just watched. What would he even be able to talk to her about.

When students started to leave the academy, he stood and started to scan the crowd for her. He remembered he was shirtless here, so he quickly pulled on the one hanging from his back pocket, a sleeveless faded brown cotton tee with the words “Save a Tree, Eat a Beaver” blazing across the chest.

Spotting her, he waved and called “Bunhead!” The call caught the eye of some of her classmates, namely the cute ones.

As she dragged him to the sidewalk saying "You can't be spying on classes. What if someone had seen you?" He was all smiles as she led, strangely excited by her nervousness about being here.

Reaching the sidewalk, he smirked “Not spying, I came to see when you said you were going to that Boatyard or Boathouse or whatever you were talking about. And if you don’t want me to spy, you should pull the curtains, the next time you’re in there shooting a porno.”

From the moment she came out of the building her face was turning colors he hadn’t remember seeing previously. The redness there flushing over her normally light skin, in soft contrast to silken hair. Tempted to reach for her cheek, to stroke it, to see if her skin was as soft as it seemed; he became aware this place was too full of people.

He pulled his eyes off of her and looked around at the others. Pointing towards the entrance of the academy, “Isn’t that your boyfriend hitting on the hot chick?” It was the dude (Gabe) and the girl that was being a bitch (Sasha). Both were talking, smiling, and about the only ones so far that didn’t opening gawk at Grace & Carson’s display.

“Not spying, I came to see when you said you were going to that Boatyard or Boathouse or whatever you were talking about. And if you don’t want me to spy, you should pull the curtains, the next time you’re in there shooting a porno.”

Grace shook her head, completely frustrated at him. How did he not understand that the academy was private property and his spying on them could lead to big trouble for him.

"It was so spying," she sighed, "and I'm not going to The Boathouse, I just know that people hang out there. And it's not porno, it's dance." She was so frustrated she could scream. Here was this boy, a perfect stranger whose name she hadn't even learned yet, all but jumping out of his skin in an eagerness to...what?...hang out with her? It would be endearing if there weren't so many people watching and laughing at her.


“Isn’t that your boyfriend hitting on the hot chick?” Did he have ADD or something? The way that he flipped so quickly to a new conversation left Grace's head spinning.

She glanced over her should to see Sasha, once again, glued to Gabe who, in turn, was watching Grace with an expression that she couldn't even begin to guess at.

Shaking her head, Grace waved away his comment. "He's not my boyfriend. Just my pas de deux partner." She fixed her gaze on the strange boy, "Why do you even care? And what's your name? If you're going to keep popping up around here I should at least know what to call you."

It can take some doing to embarrass Carson, so it didn’t phase him that in this dissipating crowd of dancers the little spitfire was laying into him. She, on the other hand, seemed to be lit up like a sparkler. He clearly unleashed her embarrassment without even trying. He may have pushed her too far, now that those blue eyes pierced into him.

For the most part what she said to him stood out no more than the rest. Except of course one. He didn’t know what the term was about the dude but he heard loud and clear “not my boyfriend.” That being said, watching her have a virtual breakdown on the sidewalk was absolutely hilarious. Wait, hilarious wasn’t the word. Cute.

“You know, you are cute when you get all worked up,” he flirted with a cheeky smile. “Sorry if I got you in trouble in there. Carson, my name is Carson. Does that give me a free pass to keep popping up then?”

"No that does not give you a 'free pass'," Grace had to fight the urge to stamp her foot like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. Why was this boy so thick headed?

Carson's comment about her being cute and his flirtatious smile were completely lost on Grace. Having spent her entire life wrapped up in dancing, she was oblivious to his flirtation. All she knew was that he was popping up at her school, making everyone laugh at her.

With a frustrated sigh, Grace fidgeted with her bun, tucking in the few strands that dared to come loose.

"Look," she sighed, "I just need you to understand that you can't just come by here. What do I need to do to make you understand that?"

Not too far away, Grace could hear Sasha and her cohorts laughing. Glancing over her shoulder at them, the three girls met her gaze with icy stares. This whole situation was too much for Grace. She wasn't used to dealing with people outside of class. She wasn't used to being the center of attention unless she was on stage. This was too far out of her comfort zone and she did not care for it one bit.

"Please, Carson," her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes pleading, "just go. Please."

Carson's smile faded. He watched as hairs fell from her bun like pieces of her self control. Somewhere between her noticible frustration and a borderline plea, he realized something here is fucked up. The question is, is there something with her that's fucked up or did he fuck it up.

She didn't want him to come here but what he watched would be hard to forget. Then he saw her look to the others, Thor bitch and her little friends. They seemed to be on the verge of laughing at bunhead; and even if they weren't the little spark plug in front of him was falling apart. She tried to put that bun back in order but she couldn't. He tried to muster the nerve to go after those girls, but he couldn't.

She couldn't hold it together; but he was pushing it too. Far again.

Something clicked in his head. Running every morning. He remembered that now.

He looked at her as he dropped his board to the sidewalk. His words were quick and determined. "Tomorrow morning. Park. Promise, ya?"

He got on his board ready to roll on the answer.

"What? Fine, whatever, just go." Grace shook her head, speaking quickly, her mind barely registering what Carson was saying. Something about the park tomorrow? She didn't really know, all she cared about was him leaving so that she could run and hide. But no matter where she went, Sasha and her goons would not be far behind.

Carson rolled away on his skateboard and Grace tugged her bag up higher on her shoulder, turning towards the dorm and the sanctuary of her private room - a rare luxury at Dubois and one that her mother had insisted upon.

"Nice boyfriend, Grace," Sasha's mocking voice dogged her steps. Grace closed her eyes, wishing away the tears that threatened to spill as she sprinted towards her room.


Being a prima ballerina had been Grace's dream since she was a little girl. She could vividly remember prancing about her parents' home in her little pink tutu, begging her parents to let her take dance lessons. Her ever doting parents had agreed and soon Grace was dazzling her teachers with her hard work and natural talent. It had been her teachers who suggested she try out for the academy, one of the best in the country. At her audition, Grace had been hand-picked by Madame Claudette and her husband, Jean-Claude Dubois to attend their prestigious school. It had been a dream come true. Until the other girls had begun to treat her like dirt, to belittle and bully her until Grace spent all her free time crying in her room. But she would not let them defeat her. She kept her eye strictly on the prize and any outside distractions were forbidden. She would show them, once and for all, that she had what it took to be at the top.

But that did not keep their words from hurting.


Tucked safely away in her dorm room, Grace curled up on the bed and let the tears fall in a hot, salty waterfall. Her body shook with each heavy sob and, before long, her pillow was soaked with tears.

After what seemed like hours, Grace dried her eyes, now red and dry, and took in a deep breath. She pushed herself off the bed and moved to the sink. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she grimaced. She looked like hell. Eyes puffy and bloodshot, skin paler than usual. She looked like death warmed over. Splashing cold water on her face, Grace patted her face dry and glanced at her reflection once more. Long, nimble fingers adjusted the tight bun at the nape of her neck.

Time to get back to classes.





The next morning Grace woke up feeling as if she'd been run over by a truck. Her body ached from the extra hours of practice she was putting in at night and her brain felt foggy. She had spent a long night tossing and turning, plagued by nightmares that escaped her in the early morning sunlight.

Donning a pair of black leggings and a white sports bra with black piping around the edges, Grace tied on her sneakers and set out on her usual running route. Her ever-present bun resting securely in place.

He rolled away effortlessly down the sidewalk. Looking back to watch her spring quickly past the bitch’s crew and into the dorm. He didn’t feel much like putting in any kind of effort into anything, so he simply skated around the corners that led to next downhill. It was all quite random, meaningless, senseless. Kind of like how things have become here. No beach to catch waves. No park to grind on his board. Nothing to do but to find something to make the days pass by. It wasn’t anything that required focus, like what Bunhead was doing.

He stopped at another Quicky Mart, and along with the standard dinner of Champions, chocolate milk and Skittles, he grabbed a newspaper. Sitting out front of the shop, he flipped thru the paper. Classifieds were there, fill of their bullshit jobs for warehouse this and supervisor that. Sure, he knew that someday he would need to get a job, the money he made from the last surf gig would dry up soon enough. Nothing seemed interesting there at all. Maybe he should go back to school, get a degree in something. Be accomplished at something, like Bunhead was doing.

The sun was setting, meaning he should probably but something warmer on. Stuffing the paper in his back pocket he skated back to his aunt’s house. While he was changing before heading back out the paper had opened to an ad. Dubois Dance Academy showcase, complete with picture of a ballet dancer. He tore it out and shoved it into his pocket, determined to bring it up when he talks to Bunhead. Surely that is something she is involved in.

He found the Boathouse, and it wasn’t all that. Music was alright, but the place was full of people too full on themselves. When he walked it, there seemed nothing worth his time. Douchebags and bitches, lined up to go home with their partners. As he walked home, he found himself going by the Academy. The lights were on in the a classroom and a few of the rooms in the dorms. Tempted to peek in, he started to walk across the lawn. But a pain bit at him. Disturbed by her reaction.

As he lay in his bed, he found himself replaying that scene in front of the Academy. Without the distractions of a skateboard, a newspaper, a cheap dance bar, or even the chance to stare in on the classrooms, his mind focused on how quick she was to reject him. What bothered him is that it bothered him at all. She was rude to him in the morning, rude to him in the afternoon, and was quick to push him away every chance she got. As he closed his eyes, that dance she did played out in his head. How she sweetly moved in the grasp of her partner, how she toyed with him, and fought to keep her distance. Sure he didn’t understand it, but it was special.

Somehow, he got enough sleep that he wasn’t feeling that bad in the morning. Damn the rules of the park, he was going boarding there until she showed up. He was in his grey board shorts, a brown shirt tucked into his back pocket like a tail flying behind him, leaving his smooth torso exposed to the morning coolness. He was there for maybe five or ten minutes, doing a series of kickflips, adding in a bit of rotation. Off the high steps he went for a nice frontside 360, when he spotted her in his run-up. Smoothly he made the turn in the air, his taut stomach flexing in the turn, and he landed with a easy grace that allowed him to right the board and bring it to a stop safely in front of her.

She looked tired, not as sleek of a runner that she was the day before, but quite fetching in that tight running outfit. With a smirk, he flirted “Hey Bunhead, did you miss me?”

Lost in her own little world, Grace nearly collided with Carson as he stopped his skateboard in front of her. He grinned like a little kid in a candy store and Grace felt her own lips pull into a shy smile.

“Hey Bunhead, did you miss me?” He asked.

Oblivious to the flirting tone in his voice, Grace cocked her head, confused.

"I just saw you yesterday." She stated, "how could I miss you?"

While pretty much every girl her age could tell when a guy was flirting, Grace was always completely clueless. She just wasn't used to that type of attention, not to mention it wasn't something she was even looking for to begin with. Her mind was focused solely on reaching her dream. Which left any thoughts of boys completely out of her mind. Even if she had realized that Carson was flirting with her, Grace was pretty certain she'd been born without the ability to flirt back.

All that Grace knew at that moment, was that Carson was being friendly. And he had a pretty nice smile.

The earbuds of her iPod lay around her neck, piping the final solo from The Red Shoes faintly into the air around them. The music was reaching its frenzied climax and Grace could feel her feet itching to move through the familiar steps. This was to be her showcase piece, the one that determined whether or not she would be asked to join the academy's dance company once school was over.

Aware that she would probably seem very odd if she simply started to dance right there in the park, Grace knew that her body needed to move, if only to keep her muscles from freezing up.

"I see you left the bike at home," she said as she began to stretch, pulling her left foot back and over her head. "Though you do know skateboards aren't allowed either." She held the stretch for thirty seconds before lowering her foot slowly and repeating the action with her right foot.

If Grace had been anyone else, anyone normal, she would have known how sensual and seductive she seemed at that moment. But Grace, being Grace, was oblivious to the fact that normal girls don't stretch in any shape or form in front of guys...especially when the guy was flirting with her.

This was more the Bunhead that was palatable. Relaxed. Oblivious, Not trying to get rid of him.

He couldn’t help but to keep that smile going now that she was here, just as he had her promise. Sure she might be here because she was going to be here anyway, but that’s what he said, to be in the park this morning. Here she is.

While she bugged him about the board he was kicking it about before turning back towards the beat-up signpost, pointing, and quipping, “the sign that says boards aren’t allowed seems to have been misplaced so I can only guess they had a change of …”

His train of thought was completely interrupted when he turned back to be presented with her tight body arching in front of him. He did everything he could from keeping his eyes from leaping from his head as she pulled her leg behind her. Her exposed stomach exploded with definition, her small breasts leaped from her against that poor sports bra, and for God’s Sake those leggings were maxed out. Just when his jaw couldn’t get unhinged anymore, she dropped her left foot and lifted the right.

Of course he thought she was cute. Of course he was smitten by that dance she was in yesterday. This of all times was the first time he actually thought she was in anyway sexy. Well, maybe he did, but that was downright worth a subscription to a website. The problem was that of all the things he did the day before, the one thing Carson forgot to do was to ‘take care of himself.’ He quickly turned away from her, frustrated the board shorts he wore today were tighter than normal. He bent down and picked up his board, fumbling it a couple of times before standing again holding it up to waist level, and turning back with a smile. Thank goodness she stopped stretching so that he could actually keep his stare at eye level.

“You knoooowww,” he said trying to find a less arousing subject. “You never did apologize for so rudely running me off yesterday like you hated me or I was some kind of disease.”

"I wasn't rude." Grace replied quickly with a shake of her head. "I was merely telling you the rules of the academy. 'No outsiders are allowed to view classes unless specifically invited'." She quoted the Dubois Academy's handbook word for word. Before her first day at the academy, Grace had memorized nearly the entire handbook and could still repeat it verbatim.

"Besides," she continued, sitting down on the cool grass, spreading her legs out in front of her, "you were the one who couldn't take a hint." Grace's words were matter of fact, yet held a teasing quality. As she spoke, she bent forward at the waist, moving her torso between her legs so that her chest was perfectly parallel to the ground. She breathed into the stretch; deep, slow breathes, before pushing her torso up with her arms. Her legs moved, as if on autopilot, into the plank position and she walked her hands back so that she was in a downward dog position. With a final breath, Grace pulled her body back up so that she stood facing Carson.

Cocking her head, Grace studied Carson's expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked curiously.