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PERFECTION COULD BE FOUND IN THE form of a boy named Emerson Blake. Straight As, captain of the soccer team, charming and holding the ambition of someone two times his size. A masculine boy, the picture of American pride. And, to most he seemed perfectly happy at Northridge High. (Save for the fact the white boys in his Chem class making unsavory jokes about his family eating dogs.
Excusing the way the other boys on his soccer team ask him to do his homework because well "Aren't you like... used to it?") His parents, Laura and Jae-hyuk Blake were well known in the industry, with his mother being a director who had brought home two Oscars, and his father a set designer with 5 Oscar nominations.
But it was never spoken of. Emerson made sure of it, not wishing to be attached to the Blake name anymore than he would enjoy going to Northridge.
Emerson Blake was right on the cusp of perfection for a happiness not well suited for him.
His truest smiles and purest joy could be seen in the dance studio off of 3rd and Main. Quinn's Home of Dance was run by Bianca Quinn, his best friend Briar's mother. Private lessons were 75% off and paid by Emerson's "allowance" given to him by his parents. Far too often Emerson lied to his parents when it came to his whereabouts because if they had known he had spent his money on studio time, a harsh lecture about throwing away his life would come about.
Briar had once mentioned how his parents were the weirdest film majors she had ever meant. And of course, Briar knew a handful of future film majors because she wanted to be one. That was how she had gotten into one of the most prestigious highschools in the country, Hollywood Arts, on a full ride scholarship; a short film she had directed over the course of a summer.
Hollywood fucking Arts. Anytime Briar mentioned her school, Emerson found himself wishing she would talk about, well, anything else, really. He couldn't help but to envy the fact that she experienced creative expression every day. At school. With people she actually liked.
Yes, he was jealous; but he would never say it outloud. He loved Briar; he would give anything to see her be happy and his own bitterness at his parents, who supported Emerson in most everything he set his heart on, except dance, wouldn't change that.
So Emerson never thought about attending Hollywood Arts; it was a childish hope really.
A childish hope that he entertained while he put his supporting leg on relever and began his sequence of a la seconde turns.
He had been on turn number five when the mosaic he had been creating in his head was shattered by someone talking to him, when Emerson had made sure he was to be alone.
The ruiner of Emerson's day dreaming had an airy voice, with a lilt to it. "Oh hello!" She said, more so cheered.
Emerson yelped, making eye contact with the girl in the large floor to ceiling mirror. "Uhm. Hi." He replied as he turned to face her only after he had pulled his PearPods out of his ears.
