Marinette

The door slams hard behind me when I walk into my small house. My mother, who was washing dishes, gives me a concerned look before I run upstairs.

I half expect her to gripe at me for slamming the door. But when I finally make it to my room, the only thing I hear is the soft hum of running water.

My bag slips out of my hand and lands on the floor with a thump. I'm already reaching for my second dance bag before I could stop myself. I look inside, my dance clothing just where I left it last night.

It sits neatly folded at the bottom of the bag, as well as my light up sneakers and bottled water. I make the stupid choice to sniff the shirt and gag at the strong scent of sweat. I groan, then look at the clock.

The dance school always opens its doors at 6 am for morning classes. Then closes for the day by 4pm.

But what some people don't know is that it reopens at 8pm for late night dance battles. So the students could have a little fun.

I take a deep breath. I only went on Thursday's. Yet the adrenaline and anger pulsing through me made me think otherwise.

A quick wash in the washer should remove the scent of sweat. Hopefully mom doesn't get suspicious. She knows I only go out one day a week.

I head to the laundry room. I'm sure she will understand I want to go out today. It's not like I'm out of the house everyday.

I caught myself thinking about Chat and almost feel the cringe. I bet he's going to be there. Heck, he may ask for a rematch. Like that would solve anything. I've already token his place on the leader board.

I tsk. Even if he does challenge me again, I'll be ready.

And beat him better than before