DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice. Read online

  “Your brows look amazing,” Lane says quietly after a moment, changing the subject. Her lips tilt up with a kind smile. “You’ll have to teach me how you draw them on like that.”

  I chew on my lip, trying to even out my breathing. I hate being stared at like this. Not because I’m self-conscious but because it makes me feel like I’m being backed into a corner. “Sure.”

  “Eat,” she insists, likely sensing how awkward I feel.

  “No,” Stanley states and I place my fork back down having only just grasped it. “Everybody at our table says grace. You may not believe in God but this is a house of God. You will respect that.”

  His hard tone isn’t lost on me, I knew it would come eventually. Men like him love throwing their weight around. I don’t much care for it or his tone. He could have told me nicely but then men like him never do.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t say a prayer.” I glare at him. “I said I wouldn’t hold your fucking hand.”

  “Oh dear,” Lane mutters, looking away as Stanley’s face turns red with anger.

  “You will watch your language in this house too.”

  I give him a sardonic salute. “Aye, aye, Captain. Anything else?”

  “You do understand we are trying to help you, correct?”

  My eyes roll heavenward and he slams his hand down on the table, startling Lane. Here we go with the guilt-tripping. I was waiting for it. It came a lot sooner than I thought it might.

  “How do you like your room?” Lane asks as I sip my fruit juice, unbothered by her husband’s anger.

  “It’s great, thank you,” I reply honestly. “So great I can’t think of why I left it to begin with.”

  I stand so hard the chair almost tips over. The dog gives a yip, startled by my sudden movement.

  “Sit down, Mallory,” Stanley seethes, his face redder than before.

  “My name is Scandal,” I call over my shoulder.

  “I said sit down.” I hear his chair scrape across the tiled floor and hear Lane whisper his name imploringly followed by something I can’t hear. “No…” he argues finitely, “it’s day one and already she’s acting like this?”

  I head back up to my temporary lodgings with a bitter twist of my face, a sour taste in my mouth, and a growling force in my belly. Yep, I won’t be here longer than a week.

  I’m not sure why I’m here at all.

  I don’t know who these people are, what they are to my uncle, why they are offering me a place to stay…

  I decide not to dwell on it and instead move to my window and scope out the area.

  “Welcome to Haraway, Louisiana,” I mutter to myself, looking over our more private road in the busy, middle-class suburbs.

  As my uncle is a senator of the great state of Louisiana, I’ve been all over the state, but this is the first time I’ve gotten close enough to New Orleans to be able to catch a bus or a ride there. A place I’ve always wanted to go and dance, and climb, and just… everything.

  I open my window and lean out. I’ve not been scared of heights for years; I free climb everywhere. This house shouldn’t be too hard to scale if needed, I could easily drop down to the ledge of the window beneath mine, sidle along it to the drainpipe on the corner and swing myself around to the low roof above the entranceway.

  Returning inside, I blow a loose tendril of hair from my face and reach for my phone that I put on charge by my new bed.

  After an hour of scrolling through messages and pleas for my attention, there’s a knock on the door.

  I move to it and open it, wondering if it’s Stanley ready to throw more of his weight around. Instead I find a plate on the floor holding the dinner I didn’t eat. I also see Lane walking away.

  My stomach gives a happy growl but I read the note first before tucking in.

  “Eat it before the dog does and then come down for dessert. I made cake and cookies.”

  Huh… Not what I was expecting.

  Deciding to not be more of a brat, I go back downstairs, peeking around corners like a demented meercat, checking for sight of Stanley or Lane. I hear his laughter coming from the den and set myself back up at the dining table.

  Lane, having heard me, joins me with a tender look on her face. “It must be hard, not having anyone you love nearby.”

  “Trust me, I’m used to it by now.” I begin to eat without saying a prayer. I gave up on those years ago.

  “Stanley isn’t used to having kids around of any age. You’ll have to bear with him. Okay? He’s a little rough around the edges but he means well.”

  I lick my lips clean and give the woman and blank stare. “Then why did you both insist I come and stay here?”

  “Because we wanted you here.”

  “Why? I’m almost an adult. I’m not cute and cuddly. I’m never going to be your daughter whose hair you braid and grazed knees you kiss.”

  Her blue eyes round with sorrow. “Have you ever been anyone’s daughter?”

  Looking at my plate, I eat more, effectively ending the conversation.

  “Do you like to fish?” Stanley asks, startling me so much that I drop my fork with a loud clatter on my plate. I twist in my seat to look at him, he’s leaning against the breakfast bar, looking down his nose at me.

  Is this how he gets me on my own and away from Lane?

  “No,” I reply firmly and we all lapse into an awkward silence.

  “Walking, do you like walking?”

  I shake my head.

  He frowns, frustrated now. “Jogging?”

  “No.”

  “Movies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Reading?”

  I don’t answer. Instead I eat more food.

  His lips press together. “Forget it.” He looks at Lane who gives him a sympathetic smile. “Call for me if you need me.”

  “I will.” She slides a sheet of paper my way when he stomps from the room like a big man child. “Here are the house rules, and our schedule. I figured you might be more inclined to pay attention to them on paper than verbal.”

  Taking it, I unfold it and look down the list. It’s pretty average. Don’t be late, behave in school, get average or above grades, don’t cause trouble, don’t talk back, put clothes in hamper, etc.

  “Which school am I to attend?” I mentally beg that she says a public school in New Orleans despite the long commute. I know it’s not probable.

  The dog rests his head on my lap and looks up at me with large brown eyes. I scratch his head. I’ve never had a dog before. I always liked the idea of a pet but not the pooping part.

  “I thought you might like to attend St. Peter’s Catholic school of Fine Arts. We already enrolled you for the semester. We will be taking you on a tour around it tomorrow and if you like it you can start next week. It’s an excellent school.”

  “You really think I’ll be here that long?” I snort and she gives me a pitying look that I despise. I get that often yet nobody ever seems to try and help beyond it.

  It’s a kick in the teeth. It’s like they’re saying, “Oh, we feel so bad for you but that’s the extent of the help we’re willing to give.”

  “My uncle will have me out of here before Sunday.”

  She really has no clue the kind of man my uncle is and the kind of man her husband likely is, what with him being on the senator’s payroll. Shame. She seems really nice.

  “He won’t,” Lane insists.

  I laugh quietly, humorlessly, and angrily while shaking my head. Poor naïve Lane.

  “Do you like your room? Is there anything I can do to improve it?”

  Finishing the food on my plate, I dab at the corners of my lips with a napkin and shrug my shoulders. “I’m not fussy, Lane. I’m grateful for what I’ve got. No use in wanting more.”

  With eyes lingering on me full of sadness and confusion, she stands and takes my plate away, replacing it with one full of treats. The dog follows her.

  “Eat as many as you like.”

  I
take a cupcake and scoop some of the frosting from the top.

  We sit in silence, it’s a bit awkward and I can tell she wants to ask me things but doesn’t want to push me.

  “What time shall I be up in the morning?” I ask quietly, swallowing the sweet cake in my mouth first. She’s good at baking. Exactly the kind of mother I always wished for growing up. It’s a shame she’s come now that I’m already grown up.

  “Eight, I’ll knock for you.”

  “I’ll be up at eight,” I mutter and stand. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. You turn in for the night. Rest well.”

  Rest well. Next joke.

  Until all intentions are clear, I won’t be able to rest at all.

  Instead I sleep sitting upright on top of the duvet with a can of mace in one hand and the fork I swiped from dinner in the other.

  “They have uniforms,” I grumble, cringing at the dark blue skirt that comes to the knee, pale blue shirts, black tie, and suit jackets to match the skirts. Though not all girls are in skirts, some are in pants like the boys and I’m surprised when a boy walks by in a skirt.

  It seems to be rather progressive for a Catholic-named school. Either that or he lost a bet and the teachers haven’t spotted him yet.

  “Pull down your hood,” Stanley orders. “And spit that wad of gum out.”

  I curl my tongue and spit the gum into the grass, smiling at him in a way that infuriates him. Then I yank down my hood enough to show the twist of blonde hair at the base of my skull.

  “There’s no point in this. You’re wasting money on sending me here.”

  They both ignore me as I trail behind them, eyes on the students whose eyes are all on me. As is usual for any new kid.

  I haven’t been the new kid many times because for a lot of my life I haven’t been in school. Not that I didn’t get an education… it’s just complicated.

  Neither of them speaks. They gave up speaking to me during the journey here. They kept asking me questions about my life thus far, like they think I have a ton of happy stuff to gab about.

  Not that I’m depressed but conversation leads to attachment, and as I’ve said many times, I am not going to be here for much longer.

  Blowing a breath out of my nose, I twiddle my lip ring with my finger and thumb until Lane gently pats my wrist. She doesn’t even look at me as she does so.

  “Habit,” I murmur, scowling at a dark-haired guy who whistles at me as I pass. I hate it when men… or more aptly boys give me that smarmy appraising look like they’re picturing me naked. It makes me feel sick. “NEW BLOOD ON THE BLOCK!”

  “I will kick you in your tiny dick,” I reply, stepping towards him but Stanley grabs my hood, keeping me back.

  Stanley glares at the boy who just salutes him and laughs as he runs off and even more people start whispering about me.

  We enter the front office and I’m relieved to put the grounds behind the door. It makes me feel less open.

  This place is old but painted new. The building itself is large but not as large as my last school. There looks to be plenty of kids so it’s not a small school by any means.

  “This is the school Stanley attended,” Lane whispers in my ear as the military guy I distrust starts reacquainting himself with the aged principal. “Mr. Jefferson used to be our math teacher back in the day. He has since moved up in the world.”

  “So you’d think,” I murmur to myself, looking through the glass windows at the courtyard. A couple of people cup their hands against the glass to see inside. I feel like slamming my hand against their noses, hopefully startling them. I snigger at the thought until Lane gives me a little nudge.

  I realize that Mr. Jefferson has his hand extended.

  “S’up, teach?” I say stupidly and shake his hand.

  Surprisingly he replies with a smile. “S’up, homie?”

  I decide then that he might be alright.

  “I already apologized in advance for her manners,” Stanley reminds the kindly older man.

  I give him an incredulous look. “Don’t apologize on my behalf.”

  “Then use good manners.”

  I look at the teacher. “Can I start right now?”

  The man smirks, lips twitching and eyes alight with humor. The bell rings overhead and somebody is called for over the speakers but I lose interest and stop listening.

  “Don’t,” Stanley warns the man cryptically but Jefferson just chuckles and leads us out into the almost empty hall.

  “So, this is St. Peter’s Catholic School of Fine Arts,” he announces so loudly it echoes off the walls. “I attended this school as a child, I worked here as a teacher, and now I run it as the principal.”

  “You’re not bored?” I ask, quirking a brow as we turn down another hall.

  “Sometimes,” he admits. “But I’m usually too busy for boredom to bite.”

  My eyes scan the trophies in the glass cabinets. There are so many, some for cheerleading, basketball, chess, dance, acting… so many. I’ve never seen so many trophies.

  “We have a broad range of activities here. I find a busy teen is a happy, well-behaved teen.” We stop at the largest trophy in the center, I expected it to be for football but it’s an inter-state trophy for highest grades in Louisiana. There’s another further along which is tall but narrow with many pillars, that’s for dance. I wonder who won that. It’s got to be from the international Dance Xtra competition for high schools. “Is there anything you’re interested in, Miss Newman?”

  “Actually, she’ll be attending under the name Oaks,” Stanley corrects. “We feel with her history she’ll have a better chance of fitting in with a new name.”

  I snort and shake my head but remain silent.

  I mean, he’s right but that doesn’t mean I have to like the fact he said it aloud.

  “A name change won’t erase her history, but I suppose it’s a good start to a new future.” Mr. Jefferson’s kind hazel eyes look me over. “Is that okay with you, Mallory?”

  “Stanley can call me whatever he wants.” I give him a saccharine smile. “Right, Stan?”

  Stanley blanches and glances at Lane who looks confused. I often have that effect on people.

  Mr. Jefferson frowns but it’s one of concern, not annoyance.

  We move on and I listen to them drone on about how things are different and where things are. It’s boring. I don’t need a tour.

  “So, back on topic… what are your interests, Mallory?”

  “My name isn’t Mallory, it’s Scandal,” I state firmly.

  “My apologies,” Mr. Jefferson continues. “What are your interests, Scandal?”

  “You’re just going to let her use a ridiculous name like that?” Stanley asks, looking between me and the principal.

  “I’ve been doing this for many years, Stanley, as you know.” The man pats my foster block on the shoulder. “I’ve learned to pick my battles and if Scandal would like to be known as Scandal, then that’s what I’ll refer to her as. A name is just a name, we let our pupils prove themselves through grades and behavior.”

  “You couldn’t have chosen the name Chloe or Rachel or something wholesome and normal?” Stanley shakes his head at me like I’m exasperating. “You do realize in a few months you’re going to be an adult and nobody is going to take you seriously with a name like Scandal.”

  “Depends if I go into porn or not,” I reply, my tone high and wistful.

  Lane slaps a hand against her mouth and Stanley’s entire body starts shaking with anger. He really doesn’t like me, which has me wondering why the fuck I’m even here.

  Mr. Jefferson is trying his hardest not to laugh. At least he has a sense of humor.

  “Back on topic,” the principal tries again, “interests? Hobbies?”

  I shrug my shoulders and don’t reply.

  “I’m sure we’ll find you something. The best thing you can do is join one of our many clubs and groups to make friends quickly.”

  “I�
�ll check them out,” I lie. I doubt there’s a single club I’ll be interested in.

  “That went well, don’t you think?” Lane asks both Stanley and me when we all climb back into the car. “Are you happy with the school choice?”

  “Sure.”

  “She’s going there whether she wants to or not,” Stanley mutters and pulls out his phone.

  I flip the bird at his back and Lane gives me a pointed look.

  I sit and look out the window, my brows pinched together, my legs crossed. I couldn’t burrow myself into the corner of the car anymore if I tried.

  That tour was hell on earth. Mr. Jefferson is alright as far as teachers go, but he’s not my ally or my friend and as soon as I enroll I’ll be pushed to the backdrop like kids always are and forgotten about. That suits me just fine. I’m out of here as soon as I turn eighteen anyway.

  “We will go and get you fitted for your uniform in town, and then head out for something to eat if you like?” Stanley asks, his tone a lot softer than before. “Do you feel like pizza or Indian? Maybe Mexican?”

  “Wendy’s,” I reply quietly.

  “Wendy’s it is.” He turns right at the next stop sign and away we go, for unhealthy food and my favorite shake in the entire world.

  When we arrive at Wendy’s after a long hour of me trying on the fancy-ass uniform I’m going to start wearing Monday, I can see this is some kind of high school dive. It is heaving with teens on their lunch break. They all cluster around cars and trucks with their food, music blares through open windows and some are even dancing on a small patch of grass.

  I press my face to the glass to get a better look before we hit the drive-through.

  It’s hard to see because of the circle of students around the dancers but I make out a guy with bleach-blond hair, cap on backwards, shuffling like a pro with a guy with brown hair. They’re laughing and joking around but they’re really good.

  Their uniforms are untucked and their ties are off. They are so teen-boy cool.

  I smile slightly at the sight of it and twist to continue watching through the tinted back window as we vanish around the bend of the drive-through.

  “You won’t be eating here at lunch every day,” Stanley informs me.