episode 4, 'welcome to hollywood arts' & other niceties
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EMERSON'S SMILE WAS infallible, wide and beatific, the apples of his cheeks glowing with the work of both dance and saturated happiness. He couldn't believe it. He let out a small squeak as he opened one of the front double doors to his home. Bounding into the kitchen with ease, he hummed a song he had been working on to himself. The sun was high in the sky, concentrated light brushing against every surface of the modern style room.
"How was coffee?"
Emerson jumped, his mother's lack of a usual screamed greeting from somewhere deep within the house led him to assume she was still out with Briar's mother; he had assumed, apparently, incorrectly.
He placed his hand over his heart, his breathing ragged as he stared at his mother wild eyed. "It was... it was good... Gosh, Mom, a little warning first?"
She put down her e-reader, took of her glasses. Her stare was unwavering. Emerson took note of how his father was nowhere to be found. He blinked slowly, despite of how he had the aching suspicion it would be a forfeit in his mother's eyes.
She continued staring. "Are you going to be honest with me? I'm giving you one last chance to."
Emerson's expounding happiness that made his bone marrow feel like jelly and smile so big it ached died quickly. His smile slowed as his face morphed, slack jawed blank.
"Mom?" Emerson whispered, "Wh-What are you?-"
Laura sighed, a heavy exhale, "You disobeyed me."
Emerson's stomach twisted. "Mom."
"You lied and you disobeyed me." She repeated herself, the shock bled through her stagnant pauses. As if she couldn't believe her son, her Emerson had gone off and taken apart of the world for himself without her permission.
Emerson didn't hold back the tears. "I got in, Mom. I got into my dream school." He pulled the folder of papers out from his bag. His name was written on the manila lining in loopy, commanding cursive. The enrollment forms were a blank prophecy awaiting his mother and father's signed approval.
Laura stared at the folder. She took the pen that lived forever tucked in her above her ear and signed the Terms and Conditions. Flipping through each page of the Hollywood Arts — Welcoming New Students and Parents, pamphlet her lips were pulled into a thin, grimace, which made her unrecognizable to Emerson.
"You can go, Emerson. And when you end up wanting to back to Northridge, you can't say I didn't tell you so." She said, looking at him as if he was fading away into a ghost of a person, as if he were blinking in and out of her reality.
When she left the kitchen, Emerson laid his face against the cold marble of the kitchen island and let his tears run free down his face.
What a poor congratulations.
***
DUTY CALLED EVEN WHEN one's heart and mind were at war with one another. Emerson repeated this mantra to himself as he slipped on his dance leggings. He crept down the stairs with soft feet, hoping to not be asked by his mother or father where he was headed.
Before he could leave to get into his sleek, grey, Lexus, he was stopped.
"Emmy," His father called. Emerson looked over his shoulder. His dad shook Emerson's signature turquoise water bottle with one had, the rattling noise was a sign it was filled with ice. "You're forgetting this?"
Emerson grabbed the bottle, "Thank you, Dad."
"And Emmy," His dad called once more. Emerson stopped, now halfway out the door. "I'm proud of you, kid."
Emerson nodded with a quivering mouth, afraid to speak in fear he would just let out a small, embarrassing noise.
He drove to dance in silence, with a jittering leg.
***
"YOU'RE LATE, BOZO." Briar observed as Emerson signed himself in for his ballet class. She had an unusually big grin on her face, he could see her teeth, a rarity for Briar. "And congratulations! God, I can't believe we're going to go to school together. I've waited for this since we were like learning our vowels, dude!" Briar's happy rambling carried throughout the whole studio as she followed Emerson into the studio.
Emerson didn't have it in him to share her excitement, even if it lived in every piece of him, "My parents found out." He breathed, the words felt like a confessional.
Briar's face twisted up, "I mean, how were they not gonna find out Emmy."
Emerson groaned, "I know. I didn't think this far ahead. My mom was, pissed? Like more upset with me than she's ever been like ever... but my dad... he was... chill? I dunno. I don't know!"
"I told them," an older feminine voice supplied, Miss. Quinn.
Emerson's dance bag slipped out of his hand and his water bottle followed. The noise created a symphony of clanging and cloth against the bright hardwood floor. "Miss Quinn-"
Miss Quinn pointed to the door and out of it Briar went, waving a small goodbye to Emerson through the rectangular window.
"I convinced them to let you try it for a semester. If it doesn't work out, you go back to Northridge." She continued, picking up his bag and handing it to him.
The rushes of excitement and glee began to pump back into Emerson, revitalizing him and fueling a small smile. "Miss Quinn, I can't thank you enou-"
"No need for thank yous," She interrupted, a trait that Briar must've inherited from her. "What you do need is to warm up. Your lesson started 5 minutes ago."
Emerson jumped a little, he punched the air and tried not to shout.
"Emerson. Warm ups." Miss Quinn reminded, a Briar like smirk on her face.
Emerson slid onto the floor and into a wide split, with his arms in a gentle oval shape above his head. He took a deep breath in and exhaled, looking over at her with an all too wide grin for her approval.
Miss Quinn laughed, and pointed a small remote at a speaker, which began to play soft classical music. Emerson smiled; class had officially begun.
nya's notes. i'm back! #slayboss #writer #consistentupdates #yas this isn't edited and i'm kinda obsessed with writing rn so i might update again by the end of the week. we'll see. i make no promises.
