The Ballerina & The Devil

Nineteen. How You Get The Boy

"Guys," I gasped. "You're killing me."

"Oops," someone said, and I felt the pressure from the bodies squeezed around me alleviate.

"Sorry, Dem," another one, Jen, said. "We all just missed you so much."

"I missed you the most," Derek, a very fit and good looking ballerina with sandy blonde hair, said as he grabbed me around the middle and lifted me off the ground in a tight embrace.

I smacked his shoulder and squirmed in his hold. "Derek, put me down."

"No."

I sighed and looked over his shoulder and smiled affectionately at my ballet class. "I missed you guys too. So much. Have I missed a lot?"

"Nothing the best dancer in the class won't catch up on," a fellow brunette, Lindsay, said with a wave of her hand.

"I am not," I said modestly. "You're all really good."

"True," Jen nodded. "But not as good as you."

"And Michelle has been making that quite clear for the past two weeks," Derek said with a snort, setting me down but keeping an arm around my shoulder.

"Demi would have done that pirouette better," Dylan, a red headed boy said, attempting to imitate Michelle's voice in a high pitched one of his own.

"I'm sure Demi would've landed that Emboîté with more grace," Jen mimicked.

"That Entrechat was very lacking, Demi would have done it faster."

"How come Demi is the only one in this class that can perform a Pas de Chat perfectly?"

"You call that an Adage? Wait till Demi gets back, and you'll see how it's really done."

I shrugged, feeling a little flustered but mostly pleased. "You know how Michelle is. She's just-"

"Way too honest?" Lindsay snorted. "We know."

"Way too honest as well as way too gorgeous," Michelle's voice declared as she entered the studio. "You know what I also am? I am wondering why nobody is dressed. It is," she looked down at her phone. "Four o'clock which means you should have been dressed and warmed up yesterday."

The boys and girls quickly scurried into their respective locker rooms. I tried to follow, but Michelle stopped me.

"Demi," she dumped her stuff by the large mirror stretched out in the front of the room. "I've missed you."

"I heard," I smiled and walked up. "So, you think I'm the best in the class?"

"There's no thinking," she looked me over. "You are the best in the class, which is why I'm so happy to have you back. I was so worried your arm would hold you back."

"Me too," I admitted, glancing at my arm. "I haven't tried dancing with it though so today's the day we see."

"We can work with a broken arm," she assured me. "A broken leg? Not so much. Thank god both of your legs are functioning properly."

"It's such a relief-"

"I was going to be really mad if you couldn't use them, and my one shot at getting one of my students into Juilliard was blown," Michelle said with a dramatic sigh.

I stared at her in disbelief. Was that really all she cared about? The reputation I could hand her?

"More importantly," she backpedaled immediately, seeing the look on my face. "You're okay which is all that really matters," she cleared we throat and busied herself with her clipboard. "Go get dressed."