Dance With Me ((Harry Styles & Selena Gomez))

01.

Selena's POV: 

"You're late, again," the raspy voice I've become accustomed to, calls me out in the same annoyed tone as usual and I wince, knowing my futile attempts to tiptoe into the back of the room failed miserably. 

"My last class is really far away, Mr. Styles. It's in the science hall across the whole campus," I protest, repeating what I've been saying everyday since this quarter began. 

"Have you tried running? You should practice your cardio if you want to improve in my class which you're barely passing," he raises an eyebrow at me as the whole class laughs at my expense, except my best friends and roommates, Miley and Demi. 

"Yes, I did. I run here everyday," I huff, blowing a stray strand of hair away from my face. He knows I run everyday; it's almost impossible to not see my heaving and sweaty forehead. He rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

"Punctuality is key if you plan to succeed. I also cannot afford to have you disrupt my class everyday. It's unfair to my other students. I would ask you to apologize but we can't risk losing more time. Today's lesson is important," his glare is so intense and in my opinion, totally unnecessary. 

Well, I would not disrupt your class if you decide not to call me out and waste your own time scolding me.

I hate him and this whole school. He's insanely young to be a teacher, nonetheless, a professor; one would think that he'd be more hip and easy to talk to, but he's the complete opposite. A pang of sadness hits me like a wave, one that comes and goes and suffocates the shore each time, trying it's best to hold onto the surface. I wouldn't be here if things went differently. 

"You sure have some nerve to be in a daze right after you're tardy, Gomez. I can't believe you have the audacity," he scowls and I have to bite my lips to restrain the line of words that would probably get me expelled. We both don't say anything until his eyes finally leave mine and he clears his throat, explaining the next set of moves. I love dance and though I thought this class would be my saving grace in my mess of a life, I was only proved wrong when it turns out to be another hell thrown at me. The only thing keeping me on my feet are my girls; they enrolled in this class just for something to fulfill their art credit but I'm so thankful I have them by my side. 

Once we finish the new routine he demonstrates to us, everyone picks up their belongings, ready to trudge out the room and into warm showers; however, the clearing of Mr. Style's throat stops us. 

"I have an announcement before you all disperse. As some of you may know, every year there is an annual international dance competition. Our university has been lucky enough to be one of the two dance classes that will represent London," he speaks slowly as everyone takes in the news. Some look like they could give no shits while the others are practically squealing with excitement. My heart races as he continues to give us information--this is what I've been waiting for the whole quarter.

"There are many different dance categories and I am allowed to select two or three for everyone. Email me which ones you are interested in and we'll hold auditions next week. Practice a performance if you'd like," he offers but when he notices the obvious split of the room's enthusiasm, he continues, "the ones chosen also get a bit of a grade booster." This spikes the attention of the ones who could not bother earlier and I mentally sigh, aggravated at the increase of people to fight for this position. My life rides on this competition and I'm determined more than ever to get myself there. 

"See you next week and I hope to see you prepared," he quips and I suddenly feel more alive. Before I can even leave the room, spirits a lot higher than earlier, Mr. Styles calls me back to stay behind and share a talk.