His Tiny Dancer [COMPLETED]

XII

~Friday January 7th~

Though Mrs Linn picks on me to answer all the questions no one else wants to answer, the rest of class is pretty uneventful. I still can't get over the fact that I got a detention. Even though I don't plan on going to college after I graduate so I guess it doesn't really matter, I can't help but feel awful that there's an imperfection on my perfect record. And who knows what my parents will say.

My mom is a doctor, and she works some really long shifts at the hospital, so I really don't see her very much. My dad is gone a lot too, he works as an engineer which means he has to go on a lot of business trips to other countries to promote his company and products. Though I miss them a lot, I know I should be grateful that they are willing to work so much to provide for me. Ballet isn't cheap, especially pointe shoes which cost about seventy dollars a pair, and I need a new pair about once a month. So, when they are home I cherish every moment I have with them, but I am thankful for how hard they work.

I fidget in my seat as I consider the consequences, and involuntarily bounce my feet on the floor, creating a soft tapping noise. Considering that I am also occupied with Mrs Linn's lesson and my own thoughts, I don't notice, but someone else does.

"Will you stop that?" Noah whisper-yells at me from his seat at my side. I immediately zone back into reality and realize what was bugging him. I feel my cheeks rush with a slight amount of heat as I still my feet, crossing my ankles to resist the temptation to continue.

"Sorry," I whisper, turning back to the board to catch back up on my notes. Half an hour later the bell rings, signalling my temporary freedom. I silently pack up my things, purposefully avoiding making eye contact with Mrs Linn as I walk to the door. As I walk through the doorway, a taller figure locks into step next to me. Looking up, I am surprised to see Noah already looking down at me.

"We still didn't pick a day to meet up," he explains when he sees my dumbfounded expression.

"Oh," I respond. After a pause in conversation he realizes that I'm not planning on saying anything more, so he talks instead.

"What about Thursday, or Sunday?"

"Those are usually my days off, so that should work. This Sunday?"

"Sure. I don't know what time I'll be free, but I could text you when I figure out."

"Oh, okay. Here, we can exchange numbers then," I say as I unlock my phone and create a new contact, then hand it to him as he hands me his. I type "Teresina White" into the name slot and my cell phone number into the number slot. I hit done and hand his phone back to him as he finishes up and hands me mine. Looking down at the contact, I scoff. Instead of putting "Noah Thompson," he wrote "That-hot-guy-who-got-you-a-detention."

"Seriously?" I say, looking up at him. He looks back at me with an amused and pleased expression.

"It was necessary. How else would you remember me?" I could think of a couple ways, I restrain myself from saying outloud. Instead I glance back down at my phone.

"Actually, that reminds me. What time does detention get out?" I ask, the apprehension growing inside of me.

"Like three fifteen. Why?"

"I was worried I'd miss my dance class, but I'll be fine," I respond, relieved.

"Wait, if you don't know what time detention gets out, does that mean you've never gotten a detention?"

"Pretty much..."

"What do you mean 'pretty much?' It's either you've gotten a detention before or you haven't. Have you?" Noah responds snarkily.