Ballerina and the Boxer

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday went by slowly. I went to class, went to dance, and went home. It seemed that was how most of my days went; all up until I met Harry. The weekend we met- the weekend I was introduced to a completely different universe called boxing, was the most thrilling of my life. I absolutely hated it and then I loved the adrenaline rush. I loved feeling powerful (even though I was far from it). Just the act of throwing a punch at a punching bag was exhilarating.

So when I realized I didn't have Harry's phone number and their was a strong possibility I'd never learn anymore, and I'd never teach him ballet, the days seemed dull. I was bored of what I was doing. Dancing was the only time I felt whole.

Samantha came to the studio today after a few days off and I'd give her the match at the end of the day. I couldn't lie, I had watched it quite a few times. I loved watching his muscles flex and the way he turned his opponent in the matter of seconds. Each time I watched it, the easier it was not to flinch each time a blow knocked him over. He always got back up so it didn't matter much.

The part of the video I always paused on, my favorite part was when he looked at me. The first, soft glow in his eyes before anger took over his face. I don't know why he was so angry to see me; I was just another body in the crowd. But the glow, the shock and innocence he relayed to me was something I'd love to feel again. The short span of butterflies were all it took for me to feel a rush.

"Clara?"

I snapped out of my thoughts as Samantha walked into her office. She caught me staring at the disc in my hand. I transferred it from my phone at her request. Technology was never her strong suit and it showed when she took out her flip phone.

"Yes," I smiled, standing up hugging her softly. Her body was growing weaker and I hated it. She was only in her late forties which hurt me knowing the damage ballet had done to her body. I knew for a fact she was a ballerina who took things seriously. She worked until her toes bled and she threw up as much food as she had to. I'd like to think she didn't seduce the directors just to get the lead role but it wasn't something to look over. It was a method many ballerinas tried.

"It's so good to see you! I'm so sorry I've been gone for almost a week!"

"It's okay, Samantha. I'm just glad your back."

I sat across from her, Samantha behind her desk as she placed some files on her desk. It was that time of year when applications came flying in for dancers who didn't make it to Juilliard. Because I was already dancing at Cardinal when I was young I never needed an application. Thank God- I couldn't handle the pressure of going through the intense auditions.

"I have the CD for Harry's match. Unfortunately I didn't get the whole thing but he did win."

"Oh, wonderful!" she clapped her hands before taking the disc from my hands. "What did you think?"

"Oh, of the fight?"

She nodded with a light grin. I didn't want to tell her how scared I was so I remembered the best parts. "It was, interesting. I'd never seen anything like it before."

"Yes, it's a tough game they play. I wouldn't even consider it a sport; I wish he'd just get into something like soccer."

I kept a straight face, trying my best not scowl at her. Yes, those would have been my exact words just Sunday afternoon, until he taught me.

"I don't know, I think you should see him. He loves it. He even taught me a bit."

"What?" a gasp fell from her lips and I rolled my lips beneath my teeth. I wasn't planning on letting that information out.

"Oh, I just, he asked me to come to the gym and he-"

"Clara," she said sternly before smoothing her voice out, "Harry isn't someone you should hang around. He's my son and I love him dearly but, I just think it's best if you don't see him."

"Samantha-"

"That's all for now Clara. Why don't you take off, I'll clean the floors tonight."

My mouth dropped for a moment while I tried to regain my composure. How could she? My idol, telling me to stay away from her own son. Telling me he's no good and what he does with his time is useless. And the way she spoke to me. The only time she ever raised her voice was during practice and even then I knew it was to help us as dancers.

"Actually, I think I'm going to stay after and work on my audition bits. You go ahead and go, I'll be okay." I tried to smile and it worked on Samantha even though I was absolutely disgusted with her.

"You're so sweet," she stood, kissing me on the forehead before grabbing her jacket. "Don't forget to lock up."

"Of course."

I was drenched as I fell to the hard, freshly waxed floor. My ankles were sore and the strength in my arms were completely gone. Not only was I still sore from my boxing session a few days ago, but I was sore from the nonstop ballet consuming my mind. Final auditions were on Friday and on Monday I'd know if I got the part. Odile and Odette.

"If this is ballet, I think I'll do just fine."

I sat up quickly--too quickly when a dizzy feeling rushed through my head, causing me to fall back down. He was the last person I thought I'd see here at 10:30 pm. He was in his gym clothes; a white t-shirt and long, black shorts that reached his knees. His hair was down, touching his shoulders, and his sneakers were snug. A bag was thrown over his shoulder and he gripped a water bottle tightly.

"Hey," he said quickly running to my side as he noticed my dizzy state. It was nothing new, I'd just wait it out, "have some water."

He cradled my head and squirted the water in my mouth. I coughed, laughing quietly.

"Are you trying to choke me?" I sat up a little more, resting my palms behind my back.

"You looked like you were about to die or something."

"Just tired," I yawned, "and hungry."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"Hmm," I hummed, "ten-ish."

"That's not that long ago," a beautiful laugh escaped his lips. I smiled back at him, biting my lip. I couldn't help admire the moments he shared when he was happy. Genuinely happy.

"Ten this morning."

Oh, but there it was. His face dropped. I watched as he scrounged through his bag, grabbing a granola bar.

"What the hell are you thinking? You can't just not eat for 12 hours!"

I opened the bar gratefully and took a bite. It was best just to ignore his comment and sit up, crossing my legs. It hurt to move just an inch but I held back my signs of ache.

"Thanks," I took another bite, "why are you here anyway?"

"I saw the lights on and then saw you dancing." he pointed to the window with a perfect view and I nodded. I guess I should probably close them at night. Being the only one in the studio with the doors unlocked isn't the smartest on my part. "And then you fell to the ground and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"My hero," I held my hand to my heart, Harry rolling his eyes. "So, ready to dance?"

"What, no! You already look exhausted, you haven't had food, and we both smell like ass."

"I'm not that exhausted, I just ate food, and I do not smell!"

"Oh, you smell. And that granola bar doesn't count. Now come on," without a second thought, Harry lifted me off the ground and slowly tossed me over his shoulder making me dizzy once again.

I drummed on his back, begging for him to let me down but I was carried until we reached the locker rooms. I was in front of my very own locker and Harry watched as I pulled at the lock. I was planning on showering here but I guess not anymore. However, Harry had the same idea.

"Want a shower?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Oh come on, I won't look." he winked tortuously. I wouldn't mind seeing him in the shower. "Or I can go alone. That's fine too. Then you'll be the only one that smells."

Harry dropped his bag and began pulling his shirt over his head. I looked down, seeing a small bottle roll out of his bag. I ignored it, though my curiosity was hitting hard. I didn't want to set him off and medication can definitely be the start of a huge argument. Instead, I caught him mid-shirt off and pulled it down.

"You are not showering here. I'm sure you have a perfectly, working shower at your house."

"But you wouldn't be there."

"Who are you again?" I laughed, shaking my head.

I dug through my locker, finding all of my belongings and waiting a little longer until he picked up all of his things; hopefully including his pill bottle. When I closed my locker he was up, arms crossed and a cheeky smile. "Next time?"

"No," I brushed past him until the bottle came into view. I guess it rolled across the locker room. "I think you dropped something."

"Instead of picking it up, I pointed and his face did another famous drop and he picked it up, unzipping his bag, and throwing it in.

"Thanks," he mumbled, following me out as I nodded.

"So, when do I get to teach you?" I locked the door behind us as we began walking. I knew he'd follow me home, making sure I got their safely.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "I have a match this weekend."

I secretly wanted him to invite me. As much as I didn't want to see them fight, I now knew of a different side to the game. I wanted to find their weaknesses. I wanted to see how he does it.

"What about Sunday?"

"I'm busy."

"Monday?"

"You really want to see me again?"

"Once I teach you ballet, I'll never have to see you again," I said jokingly. Harry didn't find it funny.

"You know what, let's just get it over with tomorrow morning then."

"Harry," I sighed as he walked ahead of me. "turn left," I said as he continued forward. He paused, looked at me unwillingly, and turned left. I swear I was watching a child just before my eyes.

"Harry," I said again as we reached my home. "You know I want to see you more than just for dance."

"You do?"

"Of course! I know you aren't stupid, come on." I punched him in the shoulder lightly and smiled. He grinned back at me, "you're literally like a child."

He scoffed as I hopped up the stairs, reaching my door.

"Clara?"

"Yeah?" I took out my keys, waiting for him to continue.

"Do you want to come to my match Saturday?"

I wanted to say something smart. I wanted to say, I was busy or that he originally said, 'I'd never want you to come to one of my matched,' but instead I said, "sure, I'd love to."

So he gave me his number and texted me the address and time of the match. There was a back door so I wouldn't have to pay and he'd let me in.

As I closed the door behind me and sank to the floor, I smiled like an idiot. It had been years since I had talked to a boy. As far as I knew this was just friends, but oh, did I want so much more.

Notes