The Bunhead and the Bad Boy

Oh nothing!” he said almost too dramatically, and with a hitch in his voice.

If she were one of the girls he hung out with back on the beach the answer would simply be: “crotch shot”, “crotch shot”, “doggie style”. But this was Bunhead, and there was something about the way she moved that made him feel … well, that wouldn’t be the right thing to say.

Still, Carson had a very real problem. Even being Bunhead, she pointed out that he couldn’t take his eyes off of what she was doing. What was a growing problem with those tight board shorts of his was now becoming a really unavoidable center of attention.

He reached into his pocket, grabbing the scrap of newspaper he kept from yesterday and throwing it to her. Quickly turning away, he hopped on his board and started to bound up the stairs trying to hide the tent in his shorts. “I read there is a ballet showcase, there in the paper,” he asked. Now back in his element, he lept up so the board was sliding down the stairs guardrail. He had to lift his arms upward, pulling his stomach taut to make the move complete. Immediately, he deftly bound up a level in order to gain some air from a step. It was all a distraction to him to get his mind off the dancer, but being able to lift off the ground, pull his ripped abs off the ground and be one with the board was the best feeling in the world.

Landing he had to spin, to finish the 360° in a half bend, his bottom pressing against those shorts towards the prostrate girl. Looking through his legs to where she was in the grass, still hiding his ‘enhanced condition’, he said, “Is that something you are doing, and do I get permission to see that?”

"You want to come to the showcase?" Grace asked, perplexed. She knew next to nothing about Carson, but he didn't exactly strike her as the ballet type.

"I mean...I guess you could come. I'd have to get you a ticket if you really wanted it." She quickly added, hoping that she hadn't offended him. She watched as Carson rode his skateboard around her and Grace watched him with a curious expression. It was funny, but Grace found she quite liked the fact that Carson was interested in coming to see her dance. No one outside of her family had ever showed much interest in watching her, especially not any boys. Not that was interested in boys. But still, it was nice to know that someone was interested in her. Her dancing that is.

Grace couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Maybe she was finally making a friend.

Her watch beeped, bringing Grace back to the present. It was her signal that she needed to start heading back to the academy.

"I should get going." She said, turning to jog out of the park. Before she started, something stopped her and she glanced over her shoulder at Carson. "You want to join me?" She asked. "And, maybe tonight you could come and watch me practice my solo? I could really use an outsiders opinion."

The workout was getting a nice sweaty gleam on his chest. It was calming him down enough that Bunhead probably wouldn’t notice anything in his shorts anymore. Not that she probably would, she’s cute and all but if anything this morning taught him it was she a little naive. Why it took him so long to figure that out was a mystery.

When she made the offer to join her and come by the practice, he had a burst of energy. He took one last grind down a handrail before lifting off with a 180° landing gracefully right beside her. “Rock on,” he exclaimed. As she jogged, he stayed up with her like he did the day before on the bike. The difference was he was so at ease on the skateboard it was like he was standing straight up.

“Does that mean I get to come inside the academy or do I have to watch from the window like yesterday. Just you and me in there, or the crowd of them all? “ He was smiling more than normal. If whatever her solo is comes across to be half as good as what she was doing the day before, he was going to be in for a treat surely.

He spun the board around and skated backwards right in front of her. “And what’s with those other girls at your school. What got up there asses yesterday?”

"Yes, you get to come inside." Grace couldn't help but laugh at Carson's eager smile. Though she barely knew him, Grace felt herself becoming more and more comfortable around him. How was that possible?

"I booked one of the studios for tonight, so it'll just be you and me. Gabe might stop in for a bit. He's been helping me with some of the choreography and I asked if he'd help me with one section I've been having issues with. I can't seem to smooth my transition from the..." her voice trailed off. "Sorry, I forget that not everyone knows what I'm talking about." She shook her head, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Carson's next words made her nearly trip over her feet.

“And what’s with those other girls at your school. What got up there asses yesterday?” He asked.

Grace's smile disappeared and she nervously adjusted her bun.

"That's Sasha and her friends," she said softly, "they don't like me very much. Sasha doesn't like to think of anyone being better than her and she's made it her personal mission to make my life a living hell."

Picking up the pace, Grace jogged past Carson, putting all her focus into her breathing. She didn't want to bring Sasha and her cohorts into the conversation. Grace's morning jog was a haven for her, a time when she could leave all the drama of the academy behind. She didn't like Carson bringing it up now. Rounding the corner, the academy came into view.

Slowing down, Grace turned to Carson.

"Meet me here at seven." She said, pausing at the bottom of the steps. Grace didn't want to climb those steps and return to the world of constant competition and pettiness. "And don't be late. I only have the studio for a few hours."

With one last gentle smile, Grace forced herself to climb the steps to the academy. She waved at Carson as she walked inside, wondering if he would actually show up or not. And discovering that, strangely, she'd be disappointed if he didn't show.

He checked his phone … 6:49.

For the millionth time, Carson called himself a dumbass for what he said that morning. Sitting on the steps in the fading daylight he kept running the whole of the conversation through his head. As soon as she started running faster, he knew he blew the pooch bringing up those girls, Sasha and them. Bunhead had a beef with them too it sounded, and that was clear in the way she ran to the door.

He threw a stick at the far side of the stairs, bored and frustrated. He pinched his nose and said nasally out loud, “Alright Bun Bun see you at seven nah nah nah nah.” Bun Bun, what the hell was that? It’s not she’s a 10 year old kid. “You’re such an ass.”

He checked his phone again, and it was 6:53. He probably looked at the thing more times than he had for a week, and this time just for the time. He’d been sitting out here for at least 20 minutes, too bored to sit around his Aunt’s house anymore.

The day was one of those that gets lost in the long drudgery. Chocolate Milk and licorice. Magazine shopping. Fixing his bike. Boarding around a mall. If it wasn’t for the hour or so he spent hanging around some sort of youth club next to the mall, where they had some free soda and popcorn, he could have just spent all his time amounting to nothing at all. They were simple enough things to make it through the day. It was the other things he was trying NOT to do that made this day so horridly long.

Trying to not run that conversation through his head, again. Trying not to come by the academy during the day and getting run off by her, again. Trying to not screw this thing up, Again!

The thing that bugged him was, what was he screwing up? She was just this girl, this random dancing girl he met only yesterday. They weren’t an item, they weren’t even friends .. what did he care if he blew this. What was there to blow?

“Bun Bun?” he said out loud again to himself. “You are such a dumbass.”

He looked at the phone … 6:54. What the hell, is it going backwards?

Dressed in a black leotard with a plum purple wrap sweater over top and black leg warmers covering her calves, Grace walked through the front doors of the Dubois Academy to see Carson already waiting on the steps. She stood there for a moment, watching as he continually checked his phone and ran a hand through his hair each time. How long had he been waiting there? The very fact that he was there, earlier than Grace had told him to, made her entire body tingle with a feeling she didn't recognize.

The sky was darkening and the streetlights had come on, bathing Carson in their gentle light. Grace bit her lip as she watched him. She hardly knew him, in fact she didn't know much else about him aside from his name, but she felt a pull towards him, one that she couldn't explain even if she tried.

"You made it." She said, moving down the steps to stand beside him. "Have you been waiting long?"

Standing there, so close to him, she felt a nervousness she'd rarely ever felt. It was the same she felt before a big performance, like everything was riding on that one moment. But why should he make her nervous? For want of anything else to do, Grace fidgeted with her tight bun, making sure it was secure.

"C'mon," she said, leading the way back into the school, "I only have the studio for three hours and I want to get in all the practice I can."

"Have you been waiting long?"

“Got here a little early, since you said to not be late,” he smiled and shrugged. Her eyes seemed bigger tonight. Blue pools of excitement, and nervous energy. He seemed to feed off it too, feeling himself starting to get warm. He was tempted to pull of the tank top he wore, advertising his favorite surf label, but he didn’t want to screw up anything tonight.

She lifted her hands above her head fiddling with that bun, and he felt a sudden urge to reach for her and pull that taut body of hers against him. It seemed natural at the moment, but … he didn’t. He shouldn’t.

Thankfully, she was quick, and guided him indoors this citadel of cuteness. She lead him down a hallway, old and granite covered. The walls included posters, pictures, and paintings of different ballet dancers, different shows, different places, in many different languages. He tried to take it in, but she was moving too fast, with a very serious step.

For the most part, the place was fairly empty. Every so often, they would pass a couple of girls younger than Bunhead whom would just stare at him. He would usually smile at them, or give a wave. Two girls just a bit closer to his age stared at him with saucer sized eyes. He gave a wink back, and as they passed he could hear a giggle bounce along the halls. If there wasn’t so much jailbait about, Carson would be a kid in a candy store.

Finally they reached a room, expansive in size and well lit. Mirrors lined a wall and bars ran here and there. It seemed like it was right out of every movie he ever seen about ballet, which is basically just one, yet it matched his expectations. Right down to the piano pushed to the side of the room.

After wandering around the room in circles he stopped looking up the size of it, he stopped as his eyes fell onto hers through the reflection on the mirror. “Alright, I’ll admit it. This is kinda awesome.”

Grace smiled at Carson's words as she led him into the studio. He had pretty much summed up how she felt every single day when she walked into a dance studio. It was most definitely "kind of awesome."

Dropping her bag by the ballet bar, Grace placed her left leg on the bar and began to stretch. This was her favorite part of the day, the time when she was alone in the studio and able to work on anything she wanted. It was the time when she lost herself in the dream of her future. The mirrors that lined the walls weren't just showing her reflection, they were the audience mesmerized by the beauty of her movement. This was Grace's sanctuary, the holy ground where she worshiped the Art of Dance. And she had invited someone into that moment, into that temple.

Had she done the right thing in inviting Carson to come? Grace was suddenly very unsure of that morning's rash decision to invite him. She glanced at Carson in the mirror, he was busy looking around the studio and didn't pay her too much attention, a fact that Grace was thankful for. Unless she was on stage, she did not want all eyes on her.

Silence filled the studio, broken only by the steady thump of Carson's shoes on the gleaming wood floor.

"Um...thanks for coming, by the way." Grace said, her voice echoing against the mirrors as she dropped her left foot down to the floor. She turned around and stretched her right leg up to rest on the ballet bar, her ankle resting against the smooth wood. She bent at the waist, her left arm over her head as she reached towards her right foot. The familiar muscle movement was soothing, the repetition of her stretches helping to calm her

"I know that you probably have better things to do tonight," she continued. Both feet now firmly planted on the floor, Grace placed one hand delicately on the bar and, with her feet in first position, bent her knees until her thighs were perpendicular to the floor. Moving slowly, she rose back up and repeated the movement four more times.

With Carson watching, Grace finished up her stretching routine, far too aware of his eyes on her.

With her muscles as warmed up as they were going to get, Grace dug through her bag until she found the CD with the music for her solo.

"So the basic concept here is my character, Victoria, has been given this pair of shoes that makes her the most stunning dancer ever." Grace explained as she placed the CD into the player that sat against the far wall. "The problem is, these shoes are pretty much possessed and they won't allow her to stop dancing. The solo I'm working on is from the climax of the ballet where Victoria is so exhausted that she just can't dance anymore and, ultimately, she dies. I've blended the choreography from the different versions and mixed in some of my own."

As she spoke, Grace moved to the center of the floor. Her body moving into the familiar starting position for her solo. The music started and she began to move, the steps as familiar to her as an old friend. It began so innocently, the naivety of the character showing through with each graceful step and sweep of her arms. As the story turned, the music began to grow in a frenzied crescendo and Grace's movements matched it. She flung her body through the air, tumbling across the floor as in battle against the shoes and their possession. Finally, as the last dizzying notes filled the air, her body collapsed to the ground, folding in on itself like a rag doll.

Chest rising and falling heavily as she caught her breath, Grace sat up and looked at Carson.

"Well," she said, the nerves clear in her voice, "what'd you think?"

While she warmed up, he wandered around getting a feel for the place. He bounced around on the floor, letting his feet slap against the wood. He really dug the sound of it in there. He wandered over to the piano, sitting on the bench and began plunking away on the keys. Not like he knew how to play it, but in no time he was putting something that sounded, well, pretty bad to be honest.

When she thanked him and suggested he had better things to do, he shrugged wordlessly. She looked so comfortable in this room, so cute in that outfit, and more happy than he had ever seen her. He didn’t think about it until she said anything, but he realized that there really wasn’t anywhere else he wanted to be than right here.

He turned away in that moment, surely this wasn’t something she wanted to hear. He found a place in the corner and had a seat.

As she danced, he sat in amazement. He was thrown into the vision of the dance taking the whole of the movements, seeing how she described the story. He could feel the girl happy to dance, could notice the frantic nature of the movement, then climax with the end. He got it, he understood it, he like that he did, but there was something about it that didn’t seem right.

“Wow … you dance … “ he started rubbing his hand through his hair and lifting himself up off the floor. They were standing close, him looking down to her smaller frame, yet still close enough to feel her hot breath on him. “You worked really hard on that.”

Looking down at her hopeful eyes he started to realize something, “You like doing this, this dance don’t you? I mean, I get the story, but .. the whole time your face was like … I don’t know … concentrating. Like you just were, I don’t know, making it into work. Not like … I don’t know … when it started when you were enjoying the dance I kinda wanted to see you smile … like you did when I saw you this morning.”

He wasn’t sure if he was saying the right thing, and was left just feeling like he shouldn’t say anything to her. She was the expert of course. “You are having fun dancing, aren’t you?”

"Of course I love dancing!" Grace snapped, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice, but failing miserably. How could he not have liked it? What had she done wrong? She had been working on this piece for weeks and, if it wasn't good, she had absolutely no hope of getting into the company after graduation.

"I just..." she ran a hand over her hair, tugging on the bun in frustration, "Dang it!" She spun away from Carson, wiping at the moisture that built in her eyes. "This has to be perfect." She muttered.

Raising her eyes, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. All her life people had been telling her to work on this and fix that and be perfect or she wouldn't get anywhere. Was it too much to want to live up to the expectations? Was it too much to ask to be perfect?

Heat spread across her cheeks as she watched her reflection blush. Tears slipped, silently, down her flushed skin, leaving a wet trail in their wake. Shame, embarrassment, complete and utter mortification coursed through Grace as she knew Carson was seeing her at her weakest. She did not allow people to watch her cry. She didn't let people see her fail. And he was seeing both. This boy whom she barely knew was seeing her fall apart.

"I have to get this perfect," her voice quivered with each word. She slumped against the mirror, the glass cool on her back as she faced Carson. "Being a dancer is my dream, I've never wanted anything else. Ever. If I don't nail this dance then I'll never even be considered to join the company. I can't let everyone down. I can't let myself down."

Sliding down to the floor, Grace pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. She looked up at Carson, nearly pleading with him. "What can I do to make it perfect?"

Even when she was trying to hide it, she wasn’t. With all the ways he’s messed with her the way he hadn’t hoped he would, he finally took a step that put her in a bad place. He did it. This was his doing. Now she she was a wreck.

He watched her with eyes like saucers, somewhere between shock and awe. After seeing her in all her elegance and control, he gave her his honesty. He kept running his hand through his hair, trying to look away to give her some relief in what seemed like waves of embarrassment, but couldn’t help to watch her. He began to choke up. Her emotion affecting him.

When she slid to the floor, he moved to kneel in front of her.

"What can I do to make it perfect?"

She looked so sweet there, he just shook his head. “It probably is perfect. I … I just wanted to see you smile. “ He took a deep breath, there was panic in his voice “I know what’s perfect or not, I’m just some guy. You shouldn’t care about what I think. You shouldn’t care too much about what others think. You worry about those other girls, or your teacher, or …”

He got a wide smile with an idea, “Okay,” he continued, “let’s practice something.” He put his hand onto her shoulder soothing her. “Repeat after me … ‘Fuck you Carson, It was Perfect’ … now you.”

Despite herself, Grace giggled at Carson's earnest expression. Her skin warmed beneath his hand and she couldn't help smiling up at him. How was it that someone she'd known for barely two days could make her feel so comfortable?

"I can't say that," she whispered, her eyes wide at Carson's language. "I've never said a swear word in my life."

Her gaze dropped to the hands that lay clasped in her lap. "You're right, though. I do worry too much. I just...I can't help it." Her eyes drifted back to meet Carson's and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Grace had never been this close to a boy outside of dancing together. Her heart beat rapidly inside her chest and she could feel her cheeks flush as her gaze drifted down to Carson's mouth before quickly snapping back up to his eyes.

What was going on with her? Her palms were sweating and her heart felt like it would burst out of her chest at any moment. What was happening? If Grace didn't know any better she would have thought she was about to step out on stage, her body acting the same way it did when she was about to give a performance.

"I think...I think..." What did she think? Grace needed to put space between them, she couldn't let herself get distracted from the task at hand. She moved to stand up, her legs getting twisted with Carson's and sending them both tumbling to the floor.

"Oh I'm sorry." Grace muttered, very aware of the fact that she was laying on top of Carson, her body flush against his. Their faces only a few inches apart, their legs twined together. A nervous giggle sprung from her lips, her skin feeling as if it were on fire. But whether that was from her nervousness or their close proximity she wasn't sure.

He got her to giggle, and the warm smile that he missed from her dance bubbled across the short distance between them. When he looked directly into those doe eyes, he felt entranced by her. She looked down and spoke, but he barely heard her. It didn’t matter what she said, he just liked watching her smile, it happens so rarely with her.

Somewhere in his mind, certain triggers were firing. Being so close, her face so near hers, and the flush of her cheeks, it all made him react. His hearing closed off by the thumping in his chest. His skin blistered from the heat running through his blood. ‘Wow,’ he thought to himself, ‘she’s going to kiss me.’

In true Bunhead form, she broke the moment and tried to get up. He tried to stand too, much more awkwardly than hers, and somewhere in the mess of limbs they fell.

She landed right on top of him, laid across him and in full contact. Instinctively his arms came up and encircled her waist. She felt so thin, but not frail, not even soft. Her legs entwining his were sleek. Her stomach flat against his stiff as a board. Her small breasts pressed into his chest were firm. Looking up at her face, with its fair skin bright eyes and soft lips, she was like a doll.

Unlike before though, she wasn’t quick to move.

“You know, I am not normally this easy,” he whispered, just barely above a breath. “I usually expect dinner first.” His hand slid up her back slowly, and he leaned his face closer to hers, their lips just a paper thin distance between touching. Reluctant, he kept his eyes on hers, wanting this one last moment before she runs off again to linger.

Carson's hand felt like fire on the small of her back. With her chest pressed tight to his, Grace could feel each breath, each beat of his heart. His hand slid up her back, causing her to shiver at the intimacy of his touch. She could feel her nipples harden as Carson brought his face up close to hers. Her heart hammered in her chest, and Grace was certain that Carson could feel each frantic beat.

“You know, I am not normally this easy,” he whispered, just barely above a breath. “I usually expect dinner first.”

Grace could feel his breath on her lips, his mouth mere inches from her own. Was this really going to happen? Was she really going to kiss him...or rather, let him kiss her?

"Carson..." Her own voice was husky with need. But need for what? Grace could feel her body responding to his touch in ways that she'd never thought possible. Her whole body was on fire, every nerve reacting to the simplest touch. The look of pure hunger in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

She swallowed, trying to regain some composure. Grace was more than certain that they were going to kiss. But what if she was bad at it? She'd never been kissed before. What if Carson thought she was a horrible kisser? Would he want to ever kiss her again? Would she want him to kiss her again? Thoughts kept running through her head, over and over in a circle that made her want to scream.

"Carson, I..." she tried to speak again, tried to make some sense, but every time she opened her mouth nothing came out. She wanted to tell him that she had never kissed a boy, to ask him to be patient with her if she sucked at it. Why wouldn't the words just come out?

Grace's lips parted, ready to force the words from her mouth.

Screw it, she thought as the words froze on her tongue once more. If she was bad he would just have to deal with it. Lowering her head, Grace breached the last inches that separated them. Her lips brushed against Carson's, soft and hesitant, but ready for more.

She was so close, her breath & body so warm, he could feel sweat building on his brow. She hadn’t rejected him, hadn’t pushed him away, and almost welcomed their embrace. The only thought that went through his head when her lips touched his was, ‘whoa she didn’t run!’

The first kiss was light, soft, reluctant, like that you get when it really is a first kiss. It was quick, and as they looked to each other afterwards he couldn’t stop smiling. He closed the space again between them and pressed his lips against hers. He was more aggressive than her, but like a deer is more aggressive than a rabbit. His lips opened slightly to find hers, tasting her skin in his mouth. She felt so timid, yet so ready to be kissed.

While continued to stroke her back with one hand, the other moved up to hold her head. His fingers found her soft light hair right at the nape of her neck. He found her bun, tight and in place. Tempted too deeply, his finger found a pin and pulled starting to feel the hair unwrap.

They stopped to catch their breath, and he couldn’t stop breathing heavy, couldn’t stop smiling. He wanted to say something, something nice, not his usual teasing but something … something she deserved. He was about to speak until…

The door to the studio started to open, and there coming in was the dude … what’s his name … the guy that danced with Bunhead. Whatever his name was, they were caught.

"Am I interrupting something?" Gabe's voice was like a whip cracking through the charged air. Grace quickly fell off Carson, her hands immediately going to her hair to repair the slight damage done to her bun.

"Gabe, we weren't...well we...you see Carson was helping me..." Grace sputtered, trying to find a way to make sense of the situation. She stumbled to her feet, adjusting the leotard and sweater, her eyes running over the room too restless to settle on one point.

"Oh fudge," she muttered, running a trembling hand over her face. If only she could have a moment to think and process what had just happened. She had kissed Carson. And he had kissed her back. What did it mean? This was all new territory for Grace and she wasn't equipped to handle it at all. If only Gabe hadn't walked in right then, Grace was fairly certain that she and Carson could have talked about what the kiss...kisses?...meant.

Drawing in a deep breath, Grace plastered a smile on her lips and looked at Gabe.

"Gabe, this is my...friend Carson. Carson, this is my pas de duex partner Gabe. I asked him to come help me with some of the choreography."

"What's he doing here?" Gabe asked, his jutting out to indicate Carson. "He's not a dancer."

"No, Carson's not. But he's my friend and I wanted a non-dancer's opinion of my solo."

Grace tried desperately to calm her racing heart. Her palms felt sweaty and she couldn't seem to stand still. What was going on with her?

"Now...um..." she moved to the CD player and fiddled with the buttons. "I guess now that you're both here I can go over this again and get your opinions. That cool with you?" She turned around to face the two men, only to find them staring each other down like alpha wolves fighting for dominance. But dominance over what? Grace was far too clueless when it came to boys.

He was a little slower getting to his feet, but when he did he stood sheepishly next to Bunhead. He put a hand to his lips, wiping it, but relishing the feel of the freshly kissed lips too.

"What's he doing here? He's not a dancer."

Well, that’s a comment wasn’t very welcoming.

"No, Carson's not. But he's my friend …”

Friend? She called him her Friend? Two seconds ago he was practically rounding first base, and now he is just a friend? Moreso, why does that bother him? It’s not like they had a chance to talk about it. But if she is trying to downplay him to THIS guy, does it make this all worse?

She moved over to the CD player, and Gabe moved in closer to Carson. She was saying something, but neither Carson nor the dude heard it.

“Learning to dance skater boy?” Gabe spat quietly so she wouldn’t hear him.

“Cock block much?” Carson returned just as carefully.

“Grace isn’t your type,” Gabe took a quick look at her then whispered, “asshole.”

Carson turned red, knitted his eyebrows, and tightened his jaw.

“That cool with you?”

He stood tall towards Gabe, who postured just as sternly. He felt his fingers tight against his palm, preparing for a swing. “Nah,” Carson said finally, “I will let you dancers practice.”

He took one look at Grace, and headed to the door. It took only a quick walk down the hall and he was out, but he didn’t get far. Just out to the sidewalk off the Academy’s steps. Pacing back and forth, he ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to punch the guy. He wanted to punch something. He needed to punch something.

Actually he wanted to punch himself. She kissed him. He got her to kiss him. He knew what he was doing, even if she didn’t. ‘Grace isn’t your type,’ ran the words in his head. “Grace isn’t your type,” he said out loud. Grace. He didn’t even know her name, and he had made out with her.

He shut his eyes, choking down the anger and bile, and breathed out slowly. Saying out loud, he finally admitted it, “I’m not Grace’s type.”

“I will let you dancers practice.” The bitterness in Carson's voice confused Grace. She watched him stalk out of the studio with wide eyes. She had missed something. But what?

"What...what just happened?" She turned to Gabe, her eyebrows arched in confusion. "What did I miss?"

"It's nothing, Grace." Gabe shook his head and moved to place his hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, let's go over your solo."

"But Carson, is he coming back?" Something inside her ached as she watched the empty doorway. There had been a moment between them, a moment where Grace had felt things she'd never felt before. She'd been fairly sure that Carson had felt it, too. So why did he leave?

"He's not coming back. You heard the guy, he doesn't know a thing about what we do. Best to leave him be." Gabe said, something in his voice telling Grace that he was more than happy to see Carson leave.

"I need to talk to him." Grace took a step towards the door, wanting...no needing to look Carson in the face as he explained what had happened between them and if she was the reason he was leaving.

Gabe's hand gripped her wrist, pulling her around to face him.

"Let the dude go," his gaze rough and almost territorial. "You don't need him in your life. I know guys like him, they're bad news, Grace. You're better off without him."

"But I..." Her head turned, her eyes searching the door, hoping to see Carson walking back in.

"Come on, are we going to practice your solo or not? You do want to win the showcase, don't you?"

With a sigh, Grace hung her head. Gabe was right, she needed to focus on her future and not on Carson. Forcing a smile onto her lips, Grace looked back up at her partner. He never would leave her astray. He knew the commitment that their careers took. He was only looking out for her.

"You're right, Gabe." She said with a brisk nod. "Could you start the music?" Moving to the center of the floor, Grace once again took her position and waited for her cue.

“I’m not Grace’s type.”

“What’s that?”

Carson turned quickly, and found the girl Grace called Sasha standing there with her two friends. They were all dressed in normal clothes. As in, clothes not like what dancers wore. Sasha especially, she was in a deep purple dress that stopped at her thighs, and white leggings running down to matching flats. Her cronies stood behind her equally dressed in their own normal looking blouses and skirts.

“Huh?” he responded still torqued up from what happened inside.

“I don’t know,” Sasha swaggered. “I thought you were talking to us.” She seemed to about to move along then caught him in the light, “wait, you are Grace’s boy, aren’t you.”

Grace’s boy, no, she made that clear. “I’m Grace’s friend,” he responded with the enthusiasm of someone waiting for paint to dry.

She immediately smiled, “yeah, she’s not the boyfriend/girlfriend kind is she.” Sasha turned to look at her friends, and if there was some silent message they made some excuse and headed inside leaving the two alone.

“You not going in with …,” stumbling because he didn’t know their names, knowing in this case it was because he really didn’t know their names. “Shouldn’t you get in for some curfew?”

She shrugged and moved closer to him. “I won’t be missed, besides I thought I could get to know you better …,” she stopped and shook her head, “I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

“Carson," he said. "It's Carson."

"Nice to meet you, Carson," she greeted. Her voice carries a coating of sweetness that he couldn't help but to feel was genuine. It had a way that calmed his hightened tension. She offered her delicate hand to him. "I am Sasha."

He took it and gave it a light shake, "I know. I'm good with names," he lied. "Grace told me about you. What do you have against her, anyway."

She gave an innocent shrug, and spoke kindly enough. "Well, ballet is competitive. Whoever does well at the showcase can be move up. While I try to make it with my skill, she uses her cuteness to manipulate." She gave a deep sigh and crosses her arms. "Grace cares only about herself, and will use her little girl ways to get it. So, I hold it against her." She turned her eyes to look directly into his, and really pouring it on now. "Forgive me?"

Carson could help but to look down at the ground and kick at some dirt. It was as good of a yea as he could give.

"You come by looking for her?"

"Help her practice, got chased off by that patter do day guy, Gabe." Carson still wasn't looking up yet, but he was genuinely calmer.

"Ahh, yeah, well," she chuckled. He could hear the grimising smile in her voice. "Gabe is likely spending his own time with her. He's the lead bull of this ranch and every girl goes thru him at some point."

There was a tear that ripped thru his gut. It clenched, rolled, tore. He didn't believe it really was
true but the hint that Grace was inside doing anything hit him like a frieght train. "H-how do you know?"

She gave him a look that said one word "duh!!" She stepped closer to him and pulled playfully on his shirt. "Who do you think all the boys go thru?"

He looked at her fairly confused. He got it, but why tell him.

"Come on," she said just over a whisper. "What do you think we all think about? Using our bodies." She extended her leg in a long sidewards stetch and grabbed her ankle with her hand keeping it waist level. "Being flexible." She placed her ankle onto his shoulder, extending it upward right in front of him. Her dress bunched around the hips but she was too close for him to see anything - but boy did he try. "And we are always touching." She took his hand and placed it onto her tight bottom on the side of the uplifted leg. Being exposed by the position, he felt her panties through the legging and the tension of the material was tested to their limits. "Isn't that the only reason you like Grace, because you want to touch her? Wouldn't you rather touch me?"

He swallowed hard, wondering if Sasha could be tight. He moved his hand along the curve of her thigh beginning to come close to warmer flesh.

She tilted her head and pulled her leg down. "Not yet, bad boy," she breathed.

As she stepped off, Carson moaned in the loss of the closeness, he was sure he was giving her pleading eyes.

"Tomorrow, meet me here at 7, then we will find someplace where we have the time." She threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her lips into him. Just as abruptly, her mouth opened and he felt her tounge trying to get at his. Before he had time to react, she was off him again.

"Wha..." he whinned. "Don't leave .. Like this"

She smirked, then looked down at his tented shorts. "Sorry Carson," she teased. "He'll have to wait too." She reached for the front of his shorts, seemingly to give him a grab then leave it but she stopped, looked down at what she had a hold of the smiled impressed.

She turned and walked towards the door, "poor Grace doesn't know what she's passing up."

Carson was .. Well ... Some nights it's just best to get home and hope you can sleep on it.

Three days had passed since the kiss and Grace had yet to see Carson. She'd fallen asleep that night, thinking of the way his lips felt against hers, the way it felt...right. Knowing that she should have gone after him, Grace kicked herself for letting Gabe talk her out of chasing after Carson. She needed to know what the kiss had meant to him. She needed to know what it had meant to her. But she'd been foolish and had let her ambition cloud her better judgement. The next morning she'd gotten up earlier than usual and raced down to the park, but Carson never showed. Same for the next two days. She waited in the park, pacing back and forth by that stupid bent sign, hoping that he would show and that they could finally talk.

Waiting backstage, Grace stretched at the ballet bar that sat in the wings. It was the night of the showcase and she had been hoping to talk to Carson before now. The past few days had been hell for her, her concentration and focus completely shattered as her mind continually went through the events of that fateful night. The night that, for her, had changed everything. Up until that kiss, Grace had had her life completely planned out. She knew what she wanted and how to get it and nothing would stop her from reaching those goals. Then she and Carson had kissed and everything had shifted. The feel of his lips on hers had opened her eyes to what she might be missing in life. And she wanted to know what it would feel like to know that someone wanted her simply for her, not for her talents, but simply for who she was as a whole.

"Where's your boyfriend, Grace?" Sasha stood across the bar, her thin lips pulled into their ever present sneer. "I would have thought he'd be here tonight seeing as it's such a big night for you."

"Go away, Sasha." Grace muttered, dropping her gaze to the floor. The last thing she needed tonight was for Sasha to distract her.

It was the night of the showcase and Grace needed all of her focus set firmly on her performance. There could be no mistakes.

"Whatever," Sasha rolled her eyes, "I've got better things to do."

Standing at the edge of the stage, Grace was minutes away from her performance. Shaking the nerves out of her hands, Grace watched another of her classmates finish and take her bow to a decent applause.

"Three minutes, Grace." The stagehand stood behind her and Grace turned to acknowledge him with a quick smile. It was then, in that moment that she saw Carson.

He wove through the small group of students, his eyes searching the faces around him. Inside her chest, Grace's heart sped up with something other than nerves. He was here! He had made it! Grace had thought she'd never see him again, that he'd fallen off the face of the earth. But here he was. And he was looking good dressed in something other than his scruffy shorts and t-shirt. A smile tugged at his lips and Grace felt her own mouth moving to mirror that smile. And then her heart dropped into her stomach and the smile slipped from her face as Sasha pulled Carson tight against her. They moved into the darkened corner of the wing and Grace could only make out their shadows. But what she saw made her sick.

"You're on." The stagehand touched her shoulder, causing Grace to jump.

"Th...thank you." She stuttered, taking her place and waiting for the music.

Carson borrowed the shirt from Father Jack, which meant it had long sleeves, stiff collar, and too many buttons. Good news was it was black and he had white board shorts to match, so at least he likely looked awesome. Father Jack ran this youth center at the mall to give them something to do during summers and after school. The day after the night with Grace, Carson ended up at that place and while he was way too old to use the youth center, Father Jack put him to work. Yeah … Work. And he liked it. Carson liked having a job … who knew!

Chances are, Carson got the job because he was a mess, and Father Jack felt bad about it. He didn’t sleep the whole night until just before sunrise, and then when he woke up from that he completely missed Bunhead’s run. Still, maybe Sasha was right, maybe he was only into her for the body. Carson kept the date with Sasha as they planned, but she had no intention to have a dinner and a nice conversation. They went behind the academy and made out. After he rounded second base, she called a halt when he went sliding into third. After that, she stood him up the next night. Then he had to work, which helped get his mind off of things.

Still, the showcase hung in his head. When he thought about it, it wasn’t that he wanted to see/make-out with Grace (or for that matter, see/make-out/feel-up Sasha) … well, he did want to see Grace, but …

So there he was, in this hot, itchy, sleeved shirt. He got in and found his seat, but the other dancers were just making him bored and anxious. He couldn’t sit still. Plus that shirt was so, damn hot.

He got up during one of the songs and made his way around the crowd. He got pushed away from some of the doors, told to leave where a dressing room was, and basically got lost. He ended up in a crowd of dancers, running from young to old. A lot of the girls were looking at him, either confused why he was there, and just checking him out. He didn’t recognize a one of them … but one of them recognized him.

In an instant, he was getting pulled by the shirt and he was pressed up against Sasha. “Hey there sexy,” she said looking up into his eyes with a sly smile. “I was wondering when I would see you again.”

Carson smiled back to her but started to look around, “I got a job, so …” Across the crowd of shorter women, one bun moved into another across the sea of dancers. “Have you seen ..”

Before he could finish he was getting dragged into a corner of the stage, “Come on, make it up to me. I don’t have long” Sasha was pulling him eagerly.

Pulling him made the shirt just that much more uncomfortable. It shifted against his skin and bugged him as much as this conversation seemed to bug him. Still, he was a guy. “How long do you have?”

“Ten minutes, tops,” she said wrapping herself around him. “Just after Grace.”

He was just about press his lips into her, when his eyes went wide, “Grace is on?” He pulled away from her the best he could and started to move towards the stage.

“Wait,” Sasha called, “it’s too late, you have to stay here.”

Carson was a guy, but this seemed different. This was different. As she grabbed at him to stop him, he completely tuned her out.

He found a door that when he burst it open dumped him out on the audience floor. Only a couple people turned to look at him down, but the place was quite dark. All the light came from the stage, fully bright ready for the next performance. There, in the middle of the stage, stood a single dancer dressed all in white and the symbol of ballet. She was poised ready for her first move, eyes cast to the floor, noticeably breathing heavy with the coming explosion of dance. She looked like a flower ready to bloom, a dandelion seed ready to go forth to the wind, the wisp of a cloud ready to release into the blue. She was as beautiful as anything Carson had seen. She looked like she was aptly named, Grace.

Carson breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t missed it. Not one note, not one move. He was here, she was ready, and he got to be a part of it.

Not knowing much about ballet, Carson only did what he felt was the right way to hope someone does their best.

Placing two fingers into his mouth, he gave a shrill loud whistle that rang through the silent theater. “DO IT UP BUNHEAD!!!” he yelled. “You Can Do It Grace!! Show Me that You Love This!! WOOOOOOoooooooooo.”

The spotlight hit Grace, burning with the intensity of the noonday sun. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped slowly along her spine. Wearing a white dress, Grace hoped that the sweat didn't show too much. She waited for the music and her cue, all the while replaying the image of Carson being pressed up against Sasha.

How could he do that to her after the kiss that they'd shared? Grace didn't have much experience with boys...okay, she didn't have any experience, but still didn't a kiss mean something? It wasn't like she thought that she and Carson were now boyfriend and girlfriend, but weren't they more than friends now? How could he be off kissing Sasha - or more accurately being devoured by Sasha - when the two of them had kissed only a few days ago.

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and Grace blinked them away. From the corner of her eye she could see the stagehand give her a thumbs up, letting her know the music was about to start. And, just as the first strains of music were coming through the speakers, she heard a shrill whistle echo through the theater.

“DO IT UP BUNHEAD!!! You Can Do It Grace!! Show Me that You Love This!! WOOOOOOoooooooooo.”

Grace bit her lip, her chest rising and falling quickly with suppressed laughter. Her cue sounded and Grace felt her feet moving, as if moved by the music itself. She let the music carry her, unthinking. The soft melody flowed through her veins. Grace's body and the music became one, the building crescendo driving her movements into a frenzied dance. Her heart thundered with the emotion of the music, the tears that she'd forced back coming to the surface and spilling down her cheeks as she flew across the stage, giving herself over to the dance's story. To the pain and heartache of the Red Shoes. Her own hurt and, dare she think it, jealousy fueling the dance. With a leap across the stage, she allowed her body to collapse to the polished wood floor, the music ending with a final flourish.

The proverbial crickets sounded as silence filled the theater. Grace lay there, afraid to look up and see the disappointed look on Madame Claudette's face and the disgusted expressions on the judges's. Suddenly, applause so loud that it nearly made Grace wince exploded. She looked up, her eyes wide as she saw the audience on their feet. Standing, Grace bowed quickly and retreated backstage, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She had done it! She had bested the Red Shoes and, she was fairly certain, had cemented her place in the dance company.

Backstage, Grace smiled as her classmates congratulated her. The attention was more than she'd ever had and she wasn't entirely comfortable with it. But in that moment, she didn't care. Sasha brushed past her, her shoulder hitting Grace roughly. Grace stumbled, but even Sasha's bad mood couldn't dampen her own thrill at having given the performance of her life.

Making her way through the sea of dancers, Grace headed for the door that would lead out into the theater. She wanted to see Carson, she wanted to thank him for coming. She wanted to hit him and yell at him for being with Sasha. She wanted to kiss him. If Grace was being honest with herself, she really didn't know what she would do when she saw Carson.

She pushed through the door nearly colliding with Carson as he was coming backstage.

"You made it." She smiled at him, not sure what to do. So she gave in to instinct. Flinging herself at him, Grace's arms wrapped around Carson and her mouth pressed against his in a kiss that took her breath away. Her lips moved against his, her tongue tentatively brushing against his lower lip.

As the dance began, Carson immediately felt the looming figure of an usher, but Carson kept his eyes on the stage. “Come on, kid,” whispered the guy grabbing his shoulder. He wasn’t much of an usher, just some old guy with an attitude but still.

Carson shrugged it off, and said quietly, “Dude, not yet, let me watch this.”

“Not if you are going to act out,” he still whispered, grabbing for his shoulder again.

“Okay,” Carson whispered back. “But give me this one. She’d kill me if I made a scene during the dance. She’s … she’s my girlfriend.” Sure it wasn’t really true, well, she would kill him but still.

The usher sighed heavily and nodded. “You’re outta here after this.”

Carson nodded and turned back to the dance. By this time she had already began dancing more fiercely. At least that is what it seemed to him. It was the same dance he saw earlier in the week, but in a way it wasn’t. It was brimming with emotion. It was as precise and exact as she had danced it before, but each step, each turn was full of something deeper in her. He could even see the flush in her cheeks reminiscent of anger. She wasn’t just dancing it, she felt it. She felt it so strongly, he felt it too.

The climax was coming, the one he remembered, and as she lept through the air he felt the air gush from his lungs. Then he realized it wasn’t just him, the theatre echoed from a unison breath of the whole of the audience. They all saw it, everyone saw it, and it was beyond what any of could expect.

When the crowd erupted, Carson just stood there, smiling, proud as hell of that little bunhead.

“That’s your girl?” The usher asked.

“Yeah,” he replied as wide as the stage, “that’s my girl.”

As she went to the side, the usher tapped him on the shoulder. “Alright then, let’s go, you got to see her.”

The crowd remained unsettled, happy, left in that afterglow after sex. The usher was leading him out the back, and Carson just couldn’t get over how everyone was so happy. It wasn’t just a crush or wasn’t something in his head because she was nice to him, he was right to think she was pretty good at this ballet thing. The thought made his face burn red, his heart start to pound a little more. Maybe, just maybe, he could be her type.

He turned from the usher and made a run for the door that led backstage. The old man didn’t notice at first, and for that matter probably couldn’t catch him anyway. He made a turn down a hallway and nearly ran into her.

"You made it."

In an instant, she was wrapped around him. Her strong legs encircling his waist, her thin arms around his neck, and her feather light weight held up on him. He could feel the heat from her freshly exercised body all over him, from her small breasts to her firm hips. Yet her lips, that was what he felt the most. Pressed against him with a passion like he never thought she had, he kissed back putting his arms under hers to hold her shoulders to him and more directly, to keep her mouth on his.. He kissed as deeply as he could, unafraid when her dainty tongue found his lips.

When the usher made it into the corridor, Carson broke the kiss still holding Grace in his arms. He looked at the old man and with a smile he said, “Do you mind, dude? I’m kinda getting with my girl here.”

Lost in the feel of Carson's lips against hers, Grace gave herself over to him, letting him deepen the kiss. She'd thought that her inexperience would get in the way, that she wouldn't know what to do, but instinct took over and she met his forceful passion with her own.

Grace whimpered slightly as Carson pulled away to address the usher who had interrupted them. She hadn't even heard the man approach.

“Do you mind, dude? I’m kinda getting with my girl here.” Carson's words made her giggle like a little school girl and she tightened her legs around his waist, her arms wrapping further around his neck. She wanted to hold on to this moment, to Carson, for as long as possible.

"It's okay, Mr. Stephens," Grace smiled at the man who had been the head usher for all of the Dubois Academy's productions for as long as Grace could remember, "he's with me."

"Well your young man here interrupted the show." Mr. Stephens huffed.

"I'll make sure he's thoroughly punished for it." Grace said with mock seriousness, a devilish glint in her eyes. Never had she felt so, for lack of a better word, frisky. Playful even. She felt like a kid in a candy store and a kid on Christmas morning all rolled into one.

With a last harrumph, Mr. Stephens stalked off, leaving Grace and Carson alone in the little hallway between backstage and the main theater. As the door closed behind him, Grace turned her attention back to the boy who held her tightly against him.

"Now," she said, tapping a finger against her chin as if deep in though, "whatever shall I do to punish you for disrupting the showcase." She leaned forward until her forehead rested against Carson's, their noses brushing and her lips centimeters from his. "Well, sir? What do you think would be a good punishment? Because you know that I gave Mr. Stephens my word and I am nothing if not true to my word."

"Well, sir? What do you think would be a good punishment? Because you know that I gave Mr. Stephens my word and I am nothing if not true to my word."

“Hol-Ly Crap!” Carson emphasized each syllable with a sarcastic head nod topping off his smile. “Look who has a little bit of a masochist side of them. Guess I should have know, all dominatrix where their hair in a bun.” He nipped at her nose playfully to tease her a bit.

He leaned them against the wall, still more than satisfied to hold her body with her limbs surround him, but he felt more comfortable along the wall than just standing there in the middle of the hall with her like an attachment. “If you are asking me, this shirt is punishment enough. I can’t remember the last time I wore something so … hot. I mean … these sleeves. How can people wear them every day,” He showed off the length as if they were alien to her, bending and stretching his arm. The effort not at all effecting the hold he had on her. “I mean … I wasn’t going to miss this … not miss you for .. well for anything. But … this thing has sleeves on it. I can’t tell you how much I hate sleeves.”

His rant actually got quite serious serious by the end, by he caught her eye and forgot about the whole problem with his shirt. Man she was cute, and not just that, right now she was sexy. The sweat across her brow, the perfect hair, the perfect make-up, the outfit. That smile too, that smile that doesn’t show itself enough.

He turned her so her back was against the wall, his hands sliding down to better support her at the hips. In the back of his head, something began to twitch, something that every man fears in such a place. The question began to rise. Is this what she wanted? This place? This time? He leaned in and kissed her, more passionately than before. His mouth opened slightly to feel her lip enter. This was a moment that started to let his mind shut off and his body take over. Holding her like this, he had the whole of her body against his, more so that what made her less of an awkward adolescent and more of the woman she was. In the shorts he tried to pass as formal, he could feel himself rising up to meet her. Doing so, he felt the mold of her nethers contact him there. The point where the questions could get silenced was approaching, but they still hung in the back corner as he felt for her response.