Chasing you | ✓

Chapter 7 - Stupid lies

Friday afternoon, I left campus as soon as my classes were done for the day.

I walked the ten minute route back to the dorms, lugging my heavy gym bag with me. I was exhausted, feeling lightheaded after grinding the ballet routine all afternoon until I was a sweaty, panting mess.

When I was younger, ballet always surprised me. I couldn't understand how something that looked so elegant and graceful could be such hard work.

That was part of why I had loved it so much. All those stretches to find the perfect posture, the precise movement of the legs with the pointed toes, and every movement that was made with intention. Whenever I danced, I felt like I was a part of that perfection. Even if only for a little while.

What surprised me was how much I enjoyed the dance classes, even though I didn't see a point of dancing anymore.

The sun was still high in the sky, a perk to living in southern California that I hadn't quite gotten used to yet. It was already late september, late afternoon, and I was still feeling like I was on the verge of getting a heat stroke. I always had a large water bottle in my gym bag, but today's ballet session had emptied it in no time and I hadn't wanted to pause to walk away and refill.

When I got to my street, I went to Starbucks instead of back to my dorm. It was Friday after all and I needed to get some studying done for class. Since I was attending the sorority party tonight I wouldn't have time for studying later.

Back home in Pennsylvania, I never would have set foot in a public place while sweaty or after a workout without a proper shower first. Here in California though, it seemed to be a common thing for people to walk around in tights all day, as if always going to or coming from a workout session.

Perhaps it was because people were constantly sweaty during the warmer months.

I went inside into the cool, air conditioned venue, and stood in line to order.

"Hey, what can I get you?" the young barista asked in a cheerful voice.

"Hi, can I get a venti iced pineapple matcha, please?"

The barista was already scribbling with a marker on a plastic cup.

"Of course. What's your name?"

"Um..." I swallowed. "It's Cade."

I pulled my phone out while I waited for my drink to be ready. I knew I probably shouldn't have ordered matcha this late in the day because I was very easily affected by caffeine, but I could feel myself getting sleepy from the intense workout. I would need a boost if I was gonna get any studying done.

Besides, I was going to a party tonight. Who knew how late I would get to bed anyway?

"Venti pineapple matcha for Cade!"

I grabbed the green drink from the counter and went to sit down on a stool by the windows. I pulled out the novel we were assigned to read for ballet class, a biography of a famous ballet dancer in the '50s. We were all supposed to read it and hand in an essay on it in just two weeks.

College was stressful.

The book had a slow start but was starting to get more fascinating. I could see why they wanted us to read it for class. But what I couldn't figure out was why a dance major needed to write so many essays. I already had three essays due in the near future.

"We're educating mature, well rounded dancers!" was the mantra that all the teachers so proudly presented.

I suspected that going to an older, prestigious school had more traditional education than a modern art school would.