Feed the Flames

..::~^Ronan^~::..

I sat cross-legged on my bed reading ‘The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath’ by H. P. Lovecraft before going to sleep. I could never fall asleep without reading for some reason. I guess it was some weird thought process that if I didn’t read before bed, that Jason Vorhees would kill me in my sleep, or something totally reasonable like that. Ironically, I invested the majority of my reading into horror novellas, primarily the short stories of Lovecraft.

I barely looked up from the pages as I heard the door nearly slam close. Cell must be done with classes for the day. I wondered if our schedules linked up at all, but I didn’t know how to ask. I was trying to use the art of conversation, but Cell obviously was not comfortable with talking. It was clear on her face, so I didn’t want to push her boundaries. I’d just have to adjust and come up with a way to communicate with her.

I looked at my digital alarm clock. It was only three in the afternoon, but I had jet lag, and I was tired. I was going to try and stay awake until the end of the day, and go to bed at a normal time, but my body disagreed. The words on the pages became blurred, and my vision soon began to double. I decided to dog-ear the page and shut the curtains once I wasn’t taking in what I was reading anymore. I threw my covers over my body, and drifted off to sleep.

____________

My alarm sounded off bright and early. Despite the fact that I got more than enough sleep, that sound automatically made me feel like I had gotten into a train wreck. I took no time in pulling the clock from the wall, and dropping it onto the floor. I opened the curtains to let the small amount of dusk fill the room. The bed slightly creaked as I stood up, and grabbed my uniform on my way to the shower.

The light from Cell’s room illuminated under her door off of the wooden floor. While I had the chance, I quickly retrieved my class schedule from my room, and resumed to knock on her door. She seemed as though she was ready for the day ahead of her. I handed her my schedule and a pencil, “If you have any of these classes with me, can you put a check mark next to it?” I thought that was an ideal way to communicate. She didn’t have to talk, and I’d get my answers. She handed the piece of paper back to me, and it looks as though she had every class with me, except for dance.

“Do you mind if I sort of follow you around for like a week, or until I get the hang of where I’m going and what I’m doing? I’m sort of lost in the sauce, and I’m bound to get lost in the castle, too,” I said, and half smiled, “I won’t hound you with questions or anything. I get you don’t like to talk, and that’s fine, I don’t expect you to. I just need a little help,” she almost looked relieved after I told her I wouldn’t ask her to talk. She barely hesitated as she nodded, and handed my back the piece of paper. I gave her a smile, and thanked her.

I finished getting ready for the day, settling for light make-up and throwing my hair into a pony-tail. I looked at the clock, which I had plugged back in. 20 minutes until the first class, and Cell would be waiting for me. I grabbed my bag and slung it around my shoulder. I stopped by the kitchen to fill up my water bottle, and noticed Cell was standing by the door and looking at me expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. I knew I had taken longer than I needed to. It’s not like I had much to do in the morning. Nothing that I did to my hair or face would make me stick out in the army of robot zombies that were the students of Bal Voyeux du Leon. I quickly followed after her as we left the dorm hall and headed towards the main castle. We weaved our way through the courtyard, and I took in all of the trees. It looked like it would be a wonderful day, but I was going to be stuck in the dungeons of Frankenstein’s castle. I exhaled deeply as I followed Cell to our first class.

By the time we were released for lunch a few hours later, my brain was fried. It hadn’t been the classes – they were by far very easy. It was the people, the place, and the knowledge that we were in the middle of nowhere. I was filled with the day-nightmare that a serial killer could essentially kill everybody in the Academy and nobody would know. I still followed Cell as we made our way to the cafeteria, which was as crowded as I had seen yesterday. This time, however, I wouldn’t have to eat by myself. Once again, I settled for a salad. There was an empty table that Celine and I began to maneuver to, until we ran into a shorter somebody. A familiar shorter somebody. It was the nameless guy who had helped me get to the office.

He looked at us both and smiled largely, “and here we have the two very attractive women I met yesterday, and am still unable to put a name to either of their faces,” the smile didn’t leave his face, “this seems like fate, ladies. We were obviously meant to be best friends. Come on, follow me to my table,” he turned around without giving us a chance to answer. I looked at Cell, who looked at me. Her eyes were wide, and she quickly shook her head from side to side, which I knew no doubt meant ‘hell no’.

“Come on, it can’t be that bad,” I grumbled, and what resembled a scowl planted on her face. I followed the guy to his table, and sat down next to him. There were four other men sitting at the table, and they all looked at me curiously, except for one of them. He didn’t look like he could be bothered. I looked around for Cell, and she was nowhere to be found. I immediately felt bad. I didn’t know much about her, except for the fact that she was extremely uncomfortable in social interactions. I didn’t take that into account and I felt so guilty.

“So I’m Frank. Do you talk?” he asked, with a rather serious look on his face. Funny enough, a lump grew in my throat. Would I be able to talk? Luckily, I was able to find words.
“I’m Ronan,” I introduced myself.

“Nice to meet you. This is Mikey, Gerard, Bob, and Ray. Dudes, this is Ronan. She’s new, I think she got here yesterd – where did your friend go?” he abruptly stopped.

“Celine? I don’t know. I think –“ I was about to tell them that she likely got uncomfortable, and decided not to, “I don’t know,” I concluded finally.

“Celine? That’s her name?” he asked. He had this look in his eyes, almost as if he had accomplished something.

“Cell. That’s what she told me to call her,” I said, not feeling comfortable talking about the roommate that I knew close to nothing about.

“That’s more than she told me,” Frank mumbled to himself.

“So where are you from,” Mikey thankfully interrupted.

“Oh, the west coast. No place spectacular,” I answered, not much more comfortable talking about myself either.

“Why did you come here, then?” Ray asked.

“Good reputation,” I lied. Honestly, I didn’t wanted to talk about why I was here. It brought up sour memories, and I couldn’t afford to start crying at the lunch table, “my parents saw the brochure and they just couldn’t say no!” my enthusiasm was the same as it had been yesterday when I arrived – nonexistent. I began to pick at my food, feeling out of place as four of the guys talked about dates in history. The boy introduced as Gerard did not say much. Instead, he had a glossy look in his eyes, and it seemed as if he hadn’t slept for days. I automatically assumed he was on drugs, and was thinking about how I should probably start taking the same drugs because I was still confused as to how in the hell I was going to survive this place for three years. Three years! That’s like, an eternity.

Eventually, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. I hadn’t really talked much at the table. Instead, I listened to the conversation between the five guys and thought about how I would have enjoyed eating by myself a bit more. I adjusted my glasses, which seemed too big on my head, and stood up. I fought with the crowd to put my tray up and leave the cafeteria. I had two more classes for the day; dance and art. I loved doing both, and there was nobody that could ruin that for me.

I walked into the large studio, thankfully on the bottom floor. Mirrors covered the walls, with ballet bars lined up in the middle of the floor. It was bigger than any dance studio I had previously worked in, and looked around in awe.

“You must be new,” the voice came out of nowhere, and I looked behind me to see a girl, already in her leotard.

“Yeah,” I confirmed nonchalantly.

“Do you need help finding the dressing room,” she offered. This raised a red flag. In my experience, you experienced two types of people in a dance studio; genuinely nice people that danced for fun and assholes who danced to be better than other people. This person, being a stranger that they are, could be either.

“You’re not going to lock me in the utility closet, right?” I asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She let out a giggle, and her eyes lit up. I then knew that I wouldn’t spend my whole night waiting for the janitor to save me.

“No, of course not,” she assured me, “it’s right this way,” she turned, and I began following her.

“So, your leotard – does everybody else have to wear that?” I was quick to assess the situation. It was damn near neon pick and…it just was not a thing I would wear.

“Oh, no. This is probably the only class in this whole school where you can wear what you want,” this was good to hear. I was a little worried when there was no uniform for the class in my pile of uniforms, “Did you bring something to wear?” She asked, opening the door to the dressing room.

“Yes, thank you,” I said.

“Okay, so the instructor is Madam Flint. Change, stretch, and be ready at the bar in twenty minutes with your point shoes on,” she instructed.

“Thank you….uh….I didn’t catch your name,” I half smiled.

“I’m Abigail. You are?” She asked, and I realized I had failed to introduce myself.

“Ronan,” I offered. I was quick to change. First, I had to put in contacts so that I wouldn’t have to dance while wearing my glasses. I threw on a pair of tights, a plain black leotard with an intricate lace back, and grabbed my pointe shoes after putting my hair into a bun. I left the dressing room and began stretching. After twenty minutes had passed, I decided to take my place at the front of the barre. Not five seconds later, there was a girl in my face, staring me down.

“I stand at the front of the barre,” she challenged.

“Is that like a rule? Are there assigned spots on the barre, because at this point, that really wouldn’t surprise me,” I tried to make humor of it. She was doing her best to intimidate me, but it just wasn’t working.

“The best stands at the front,” she snapped.

“Oh, you’re one of those,” I said, over exaggerating an eye roll. Although it was something I would never do, I decided to let the argument go. It was my first day, and I didn’t want to start any unnecessary fights or gain any unnecessary enemies. I could use all of the invisibility I could get. After all, I was still planning my escape, and I needed as few people to notice as possible, “Well, you should probably get your named etched into your spot on the barre,” I winked, and moved towards the back. She didn’t look at me twice as she took her place.

“Girls,” and older woman said as she made her stride out to the front of the barres. She wore a skirt that went down to her ankles, black heels, and a green sweater that nearly matched the school uniforms. Her graying hair was in a sloppy bun, and she wore thick glasses that were larger even than mine were.

“Madam Flint,” the rest of the girls responded. She smiled deeply, and her eyes landed on me.

“Well, it looks like we have a new pupil,” she pointed out, and I wanted to bang my head into the floor. Everybody looked back at me. I could feel my face growing red, so I mocked everybody else, and turned my head in the same direction so that I was looking behind me. That had earned me a few laughs. I looked back at Madam Flint.

“Ronan Dahl, reporting for duty!” I exclaimed, and she smiled.

“Nice to see you,” she said. That was the end of a game I liked to call ‘humiliation of the new student A.K.A me’. We began doing simple bar exercises, starting with Pliés, moving on to Elevés, Tendus, and then Rond de Jambes. We then did floor exercises, such as grand jetes. The two and a half hours of dance class seemed so short by the end. After taking a shower and getting dressed, I started heading towards the door in order to meet back up with Cell for art class.

“Ms. Dahl,” I could hear Madam Flint call my name from across the studio. My head snapped towards her, and I began walking her way. She smiled at me for about a minute before talking, which sort of creeped me out. “You’re a really technical dancer. However, you move as if dance was made for your body. It’s rare to come by with somebody as young as you. Each week, there is a dance assignment. I gave the assignment out for this week yesterday, but if you’d like to do it still, the assignment is to choreograph a dance based off of your favorite book,” she said, “If you decide to do it, I look forward to seeing it,” she smiled. My mind started racing. Favorite book? I have like at least 20 favorite books. Ideas began flowing through my head as I found my way to art class, where I met up with Cell.

We sat together in a comfortable silence, obviously enjoyed by us both. Gerard was also in the class, but sat alone. If I had to be honest with myself, I was merely sketching on a piece of paper, and in autopilot. I was already choreographing my dance in my mind, and I haven’t even attached a book to it yet.

©Shannon

Notes