No Saints Around here

YN was still trying to figure out when she first realized she despised Michael. Perhaps it was due to her great competition and desire to succeed.

And, unlike the others, Michael was unyielding in his pursuit of the title of finest dancer. Perhaps it was because he made fun of her, calling her untalented and ineffective. He had repeatedly demonstrated that he did not believe she was worthy of being a dancer.

YN couldn't figure out what she was feeling around him, despite the fact that she detested him for his cruel attitude toward her and his flawless dance style. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to kiss him or strangle him when she looked at his face. She found it really frustrating, but she tried not to think about it too much. He was a pompous, egotistical, brainless idiot who could only express himself through his body. She sneered at her own thoughts, as if he could possibly say anything with that look.

YN stretched her muscles, ready herself for the barre, as she broke free from her thoughts. She shifted her gaze left and right, hoping to complete some practice before the rest of the class came.

YN began her exercise by pushing her shoulders back and assuming her regular posture.

The music began quietly, with a thrumming, tranquil rhythm that filled the air and drowned out the birds' morning chirp. She did a lovely plié with her knees bent, immediately jumping onto her toes and positioning her arms in a graceful arch. She took a deep breath and began spinning. She went around and around until her vision became hazy, but she never took her gaze away from the mirror. She needed to be flawless in order to be cast in the following ballet's principal part.

It was unusual for first-year ballerinas to be cast in leading roles in Clarice. Michael, on the other hand, was cast before even auditioning. The others, who had worked so hard to get a part, were left empty-handed. Most people thought it was humiliating, proof that Michael had to be incredibly skilled to achieve what he had. YN saw it as a learning curve and an opportunity. She felt confident that she would defeat Michael. It would simply take some time.

YN reverted to a relevé and walked forward, practicing the technique. She had to get it right, to time that final move just. The anticipation rose as the music became louder, and Cordelia sprang into the air, twisting and swirling as she landed. The music came to a halt, signaling the end of the piece. As her heartbeat calmed, YN inhaled deeply, her rough breath labouring. "You're not on beat," a dark voice said as she ran to get a glass of water, ready to retake the entire dance.

As Michael stepped into the studio, his hands lazily dwelling in his pockets, YN snapped her head around, furious at him. As he glanced in the mirror, his hair was unusually ruffled, and he had a smirk on his face. She exhaled deeply, attempting to regain her composure. Sweat streamed from her brow and ran down her cheeks. She was ashamed for no apparent reason.

"Let me demonstrate how to accomplish it." Michael wore his shoes languidly, preparing himself. Meanwhile, YN sat silently at the studio's edge, staring at him. She tried to suppress her interest in seeing how he would perform the routine. She snidely hoped he wouldn't impress her. YN focused on Joseph, cursing herself for her horrifying thoughts.

The music began to play, and Michael began to dance as if his body were nothing more than a musical instrument. As he whirled, his eyes closed and he lost himself in the music, he closed his eyes. She stood there in astonishment, her eyes widening as he flawlessly executed a jeté. He leapt into the air before crashing to the ground and rising into a relevé. He opened his eyes and glanced to her as the music faded away. YN got up from her seat and walked up to him.

He inquired softly, "Did I end on the beat?"

YN shifted back into reality as she rolled her eyes. "You certainly did. What exactly are you attempting to demonstrate?"

Michael's knuckles became white as his stare sharpened and he clenched his hands. "So, you know what to do now. So let's get started."

"You don't have the rights to tell me what to do."

"Don't I? I'm the chief attraction, as far as I'm concerned. Everything is under my control, cupcake."

YN's fury rose to the surface as she cocked her brow. He had no right to call her that. To say the least, he was being impolite.

She went to the barre to wait for the other students. As both dancers stood in the room, there was an unsettling pause. The rest of the class came minutes later, with several of the kids avidly discussing the other roles set up for the dance. Madame Poulin soon followed, her face molded into a neutral mask that merely spoke "business." "I presume you have done your stretching?" she replied without greeting.

None of the late students were going to tell her they hadn't arrived on time, so they all nodded yes. And, like every other class, this one was incredibly painful, pushing the dancers' bodies to their limits and seeing how far they could bend. Ballerinas were musicians, and their bodies were finely tuned instruments. After all, what good was a ballerina if she wasn't flawless?

As the music continued to play, the students continued to practice their barre, robotically moving their bodies. They took a break from the barre after nearly an hour, preparing for the most important portion of their semester: auditions. Thus began the difficult task of selecting the lead roles, which necessitated the most stringent procedures. Each dancer took a step forward to the center, where they would perform their allotted piece before being picked. Michael had already been cast in one of the key roles, so he didn't need to dance anyhow, which came as a surprise to no one. Still, he stood in the corner of the studio, leaning against the wall. Although YN pushed herself to look away, his gaze seemed to follow her.

Many dancers stepped forward, repeating the same routine until Madame Poulin forced them to return to line. YN was apprehensive, afraid that she wouldn't receive the lead role, that her hard work would be for naught. She waited patiently for her time.

"YN YLN," Poulin exclaimed, her brows furrowed in puzzlement. YN walked to the front of the studio, gulping, and stood in place as the music played. And she started dancing, swirling like a spinner in the air, her hair tumbling out of its stiff bun and flowing freely, almost as if it were dancing along with her. Michael was mesmerized as she moved to the beat of the music. Looking at Madame Poulin, he realized she might be impressed as well. As the music came to a halt, she went into an unexpected additional plié. Her head was almost touching the spotless floor as she slowly arched her back. She finished the dance perfectly in character and rose after a few moments.

She could hear loud applauding and a few hoots and cheers from around the studio in an instant. Madame, too, joined in the ovation, a rare smile on her face. She remarked, as the ovation faded, "Perfect, you'll be the prima ballerina in the performance, dancing alongside Michael. I'm hoping you won't let me down." YN could only nod, unable to speak. Instead of being absorbed by a numbing fear, she was too preoccupied with trying to comprehend while feeling excited.

The room began to empty after a few minutes, leaving only Michael and YN. Michael hurriedly whispered a quiet 'see you later' and walked out of the room, but not before YN caught a sight of him blushing. She felt it was interesting how rapidly his mood shifted.

That night, she had a slew of strange nightmares, nearly all of which focused around the same person: Michael. She couldn't believe how much she thought about him, and while she hoped her hatred for him was the main driving force behind her actions, she could see it wasn't.

One dream in particular took a different turn than the others. It happened during the production of Romeo and Juliet, a well-known play about Juliet's murder by Romeo. Everyone claimed it was suicide, although many people knew it wasn't the case. This time, YN was Juliet, and Michael was Romeo. He approached her with a knife in his hand and a deformed mask covering his gorgeous face. Fearing for her life, YN attempted to flee. Michael attempted to flee, frightened for her safety. Michael accelerated his pace, drawing closer to YN until she could no longer run and shoved her into a corner. Michael drew the knife over her face, marking the sharp angles of her face, and she stood still, her eyes widening with panic.

YN awoke with a shiver in her hands and a splatter of sweat on her torso and face as she moved from her bed. She had been scared by the terrible malice she had seen in his eyes. She realized she was late when she looked at the alarm clock. She dressed quickly and dashed to Joseph's workshop, where he sat fidgeting with his hands.

"So, shall we begin?" she inquired nervously.

He took her by the waist and helped her into position while playing the music, and he did it without saying anything. The narrative began with her back to his front. He pushed the other across her breast, tucking her securely under his chin, while holding her by the waist with one hand. He was supposed to play the seductress, while YN was supposed to be the victim. She tried to push him away, but he grabbed her arms and pulled her back to him. He drew her in close and tenderly caressed her face with his one hand. She attempted to push him away by resisting, and he allowed her to. As Michael followed her, she lifted into a relevé, delicately rotating on her toes. YN got into a jeté in the hopes of escaping, but Joseph was already waiting for her on the other side. He snatched her up in his arms again, and YN gave in this time, coming closer till her breath mixed with his and their lips were almost touching.

He dropped her instead of kissing her, as he should have. Her nostrils flared as she fell with a thump on the floor and stared up at him. He stepped away from the mirror, not meeting her gaze, and towards his suitcase. YN ran behind him, gripping his arm, standing fast. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded, her grasp on his arm becoming tighter.

"I- I don't know..." As he wriggled his arm out of her hold and went towards the door, Michael stammered.

Madame Poulin, who was watching the entire narrative with a sneer on her lips, had gone unnoticed by both of them.