Blue (The Spectrum Series: #3)

Chapter Five

The rest of the weekend flies by without a hitch or anymore parties, thank god. I managed to avoid Blue. I guess he was too busy partying and wasting away his nights for me to cross paths with him. Which was lucky since I made a point to spend time with Finn and Riley, and we were in his dorm room most of the time. When Riley and I arrived, Blue had either gone way before or was still out and wouldn't come back until the early morning. I wondered why he was always out, but I stopped that train of thought every single time. I've slowly acquired Riley and Finn as friends, which was gratefully way easier than I thought.

I also managed to turn down Riley's persistent desire to get me to join her at her many parties. The girl is basically the princess socialite of Manhattan with how much her phone was blaring every two seconds. And despite her boasting about how huge the party would be and the hot guys that would be up for my taking, in her words of course, I couldn't for the life of me find the desire to go to a party and be surrounded by drunk people and deal with a massive headache the next day.

I spent the entire day yesterday touring the immaculate campus. Where it lacks in acres it makes up in jaw-dropping sculptures and the breathtaking view of the sun peeking through buildings and the sense of freedom sprinkled in the air. I took one lap around Times Square and had a feeling in my chest, thankful Riley pulled me away from studying the campus map with highlighters and everything – a feeling that said anything is possible, that this was it. This was where the rest of my life started.

On Monday morning, I'm up before most of the people in the dorm wing. My eyes are droopy, my limbs a bit noodle-like, as I take an extra steamy shower at five in the morning, but the emptiness of the bathroom is worth it. I don't have to awkwardly bump into a person half-naked or worry someone will accidentally yank the curtain back. After I shower and brush my teeth, I hurry back to the room. Riley is still asleep, snoring louder than a bear in hibernation. I wonder what time her classes start and if I should wake her now or not, but then I decide to focus on getting ready; she probably starts a little later. I have no idea since we're taking two completely different programs and she's a year ahead of me.

I stare at my simple outfit in the tall mirror leaning in my corner of the room. I'm wearing a white cashmere sweater and a pastel-lavender skirt and white Tom shoes. I didn't put on much makeup because I barely wear any, just the usual: some lip-balm and a dab of blush on my cheek. I fiddle with my high, tight ponytail on top of my head and gently tie a lavender ribbon around it. I stand in front of the mirror for ten more minutes, making sure there is nothing out of place.

I have about two hours left before classes begin, so I read over the campus map and my planner and my schedule for the remaining time. I've read these things about a million times the minute they were in my possession, but I want to be sure of where I'm going. On top of studying these and nearly perfecting my pirouettes and every dance move I know over the summer, I took multiple virtual tours back at home. Walking around campus with my map stapled the last bit of confidence of knowing where I'm going. It may have been excessive, but I just want to know this place like the back of my hand, partly in awe and pure educational purpose.

I've dreamt of walking the immaculate halls and city streets of New York ever since I was five-years-old. I would print and tack pictures of the city and snippets of the modern building in my room. I'd spin around in my room with butterfly wings, wishing to be a famous ballerina living in the Big Apple. Pretend my wings could sweep me away to the breathtaking views of this enormous city of intricate cultures and the school that shaped many dancers and artists I'd idolized growing up.

And now that I'm actually here... I can't help but soak in every detail I can get my gaze on.

I leave the room and building thirty minutes before classes start. The dance studio is empty, save for the teacher, Mrs. Rhodes, who is both surprised and impressed by my early arrival. I flush, and she lets me change into my dance clothes, which is just black shorts and a light-blue tank top. I pin my hair up into a tight bun and practice my posture after tying on my pale-pink ballet slippers. I stretch and prepare my mind before spinning my combination lock and heading back into the studio. I make small conversation with her. She tells me we'll just be stretching and showing her what we can do since today is only the first day.