Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 17

"Don't even think about telling me how much money you spent today," I say to Maven on the block before the Academy, too many bags between my fingers and on my forearms.

Maven too, carries my bags, two or three for himself but the rest for me. He smiles at my comment, bumping me playfully on the shoulder. "You know what I'm going to say."

I do, only because he's repeated himself ten times already today, as have I.

After buying eight pairs of dance shoes among other products from the first store, I knew all too well what Maven was going to say at every stop following that. It started with the leotards this morning, continued into the shoe section, and then far into the afternoon. He told me to get whatever I thought I might need, whatever I might want, at each store we went to. I told him I didn't want extra, frivolous things, that he shouldn't be spending so much of his family's money on me, though I had agreed to go out with him knowing what I was getting into.

Sighing, I say, "I know. That it's fine; it hardly matters. You're happy to do it, and I need new things anyway." I scowl at him.

My words are a collection of the arguments he's given me throughout the day. Wherever he's held a credit card, whether it be at a checkout or the table for the late lunch we ate, he's said those things to me over and over. And I've continually rolled my eyes at him and worn a doubtful smirk all day long.

Surveying the colorful and dull, plastic and paper bags, I'd guess the Calores lost somewhere around two-thousand dollars to their new dancer, but I could be off by a few hundred. I have to trust Maven when he's said his father won't care. Otherwise, my heart starts to beat a little fast at the thought of a fight between Maven and his father, myself in the middle of it.

In all honesty, I'm surprised at myself for being able to thoughtfully spend so much money in a single day. Our initial stop at that crazy dance emporium was easily where I racked up the most debt to Maven—sometime during our adventures today, I clarified that he didn't expect me to pay him back—between the leotards, tights, shoes, and a couple pairs of warmup pants.

We ate lunch and continued for a regular shoe store, where Maven coerced me into buying new Converse after looking down at my old ones. The rest is a blur of leg warmers and ballet skirts, a variety of pants and shirts, and a pack of hair ties found throughout five different stores, capped off by a custom pointe shoe fitting in a shop edging into southern Manhattan. Soon enough, I'll be blowing through four, five pairs of those suckers a week.

"Exactly. And fine, if you insist: I won't tell you how much I spent."

We stop at the end of the block, the Academy the first building on the next. An angry red hand scowls at us on the crosswalk's other side, one of the millions of the lights in the city. The day's come and gone, giving into another night. The lights are glaring, coming from buildings and electric billboards, and it's strange, being this deep in the city instead of watching it from afar.

A dozen others gather at the beginning of the crosswalk, talking loudly in their own groups. The city isn't just bright, but it's also noisy. Very noisy indeed, much louder than I recall it being the last time I was in the thick of it at night years ago.

Though I try my hardest to hold onto my slippery anger for Maven's wealth—not Maven, but his money—it's easy to let it go, or at least neglect it for a while when I'm here, in the glittering and shiny street with these happy and loud people. I wish I didn't, but I love it: the organized chaos a bustling city brings. I almost feel like a tourist now that it's nighttime, with my hoard of bags and a set of eyes unable to stay focused on something for more than a few seconds.

But I still don't like the bags.

The light's stuck on red, and I tap my foot, unsure of what else to do. The bags continue to be a weight—metaphorically and physically—and I turn my attention from everything else to Maven, who stares at his shoes, apparently uninterested in the city. Why would he be? He's lived in the center of it all his life and has the luxury of picking and choosing when to appreciate it.