Fiona screeched up at the guy and jumped out of his arms the very next second. Her reaction caused him to let out a chuckle as she shuffled away like he had boy cooties.

"You okay there?" He asked her with a little grin and rose a bemused brow.

"How the hell did you get in?!" She exclaimed and wrapped her arms around herself. She could've sworn she had locked the door – she knew she had. Did he bust in or something? Wouldn't she have heard that?

"You do know that none of the locks here work, right?" He informed and shot a thumb over his back towards the door. "They're just for show. The only working locks you'll find are on the stalls to the girls bathroom."

"How do you know that?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? The only place you'll find a working lock is in the girls bathroom."

Fiona shook her head, but then instantly snapped out of it. "I had the blinds closed. Were you creeping on me?"

"Well, I was passing by and I glanced in through the cracks and saw you spinning like a fidget spinner, but then I saw your feet—"

"You were creeping on my feet?"

"—and then I noticed you were twisting your foot wrongly," He finished, and then to Fiona's surprise walked into the middle of the floor. Her eyes widened when he stepped into fourth position and held out his arms into a perfect arch. "You want to watch your foot when you go en pointe in your fouettés so that you don't travel, and more importantly, don't break your ankle."

Fiona took a quick step back when he then set off and made a clean fouetté, kicking his leg out and turning perfectly. He spun three perfect spins, then came back into fourth, ending as elegantly as he started.

"You dance ballet?" She asked. She hadn't expected that from the hiphop boy, but maybe that was presumptuous of her.

"I dance a little of everything." He grinned, then eyed her up and down. "But I don't think I've seen your tutu around here before. You new to the Dec?"

"No. I usually just dance in the evening." She averted her eyes to the floor. Why were they talking? She should be dancing, not talking with some random guy with a foot fetish.

"The evening?" He responded. "Little dangerous walking home that late, don't you think?"

"I grew up in Harlem, I know my way around."

"I grew up in Harlem too, but you don't see me walking the streets at night."

"You grew up in Harlem?" She asked and couldn't help the pinch of surprise in her voice.

He smirked slowly and crossed his arms. "What? Can't a gringo grow up in the hood? That's racist, baby."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as well. "That wasn't what I was implying. I was just surprised."

"I'm full of surprises, baby girl. So, you wanna try that fouetté again?"

"What?" She blinked rapidly when he switched subject faster than she could spin. "The... fouetté?"

"Yeah, it'll only take a minute to teach," He said and took a step towards her. "It's really easy once you get the hang of it."

"Uh... no, thank you, I'm good," She declined and stepped back when he came closer. He stopped up and raised a brow.

"I don't bite, tutu. It really only takes a minute to learn, I'm not kiddin—"

"I said I'm fine!"

He slowly held up his hands. "Alright. Easy, tiger. I was just trying to help."

"I'm sorry." Before thinking too much about it, Fiona shot for her bag, gathered her things and rushed towards the door. She couldn't be here. She couldn't. "I'm so sorry."

She blew right past him, but managed to catch his baffled expression as she practically ran from the studio. Panic was chasing her and she couldn't get away fast enough—but that wasn't all that was chasing her she quickly discovered.

"Wait, whoa, why are you leaving?" The guy called behind her as he hustled down the stairs after her, following her all the way to the doors and out. "Did I do something wrong? Did I say someth—"

"I'm fine, please just leave me alone!" Fiona threw her bag over her shoulder and ran out on the street. It was a scalding hot day in New York. The heatwave that had attacked the city blanketed everyone in a coat of sweat. The air was humid to breathe, almost drinkable, and she felt the sun sting her dark skin even through her stockings. She stepped onto the curb and begun rushing down the pavement in her pointe shoes.

"Wait!" The guy said behind her again, still following her like a lost puppy. Or a stubborn stalker. "Can we just start over? I'm Adam. What about you?"

"If I answer, will you leave me alone?"

"No promises, but I'll let you run on me while I pretend my feelings aren't severely wounded."

Fiona felt her cheeks heat up. She feared it wasn't the sun's job.

"Fiona." She hurriedly breathed out and then set into a run, leaving Adam on the curb as she rushed away. He kept his promise and stayed behind, but she did hear him call after her one last time though.

"Nice meeting you, princess!"

~~~

As Fiona the next day walked into the DanceDec, she felt a spike of anxiety in her stomach when she laid eyes on all the other dancers who for some reason were sitting in a circle on the floor in the middle of the foyer. Music was booming loudly and they were all laughing, and now as Fiona shyly glanced their way, she noticed they were taking a break and eating a late lunch. That is, if you could even call what they ate food.

Pizza boxes and empty burger wrappers were spread out on the floor around them, along with crushed energy cans and plastic bottles of soda. Some of the dancers were still chewing on slices of pizza and picking at left-over fries while some were just lying or sitting on the floor, talking about and discussing choreography with each other. They all looked to be having a good time, eating their calorie bombs.

So of course it was no surprise that amongst the social circle, Fiona spotted Adam. He was sitting in an elegant crossed-legged position and was explaining something with his hands to two others who were laughing and shaking their heads. One of them threw a French fry at him which made him toss his head back with laughter.

Fiona lowered her head and continued walking straight past them, hoping she could pass by unnoticed – but of course she'd never had that kind of luck in her life.

"Hey, Fiona!" Adam's voice rung through the foyer and caused all the attention to land on her as she froze up. The prickle of at least a dozen eyes on her had her nearly throwing up on the spot. "Wanna join? There's still some pizza left!"

Fiona swallowed dryly and quickly shook her head without looking at them, then ran upstairs. She almost slammed the door to her studio, but the instant she was safe behind closed drapes, she felt the tension uncoil inside her. She let her bag drop to the floor, then dropped down herself, curling her arms around her knees to try and breathe.

Breathe. Exhale. Inhale. Breathe. A simple human task became so hard whenever that prickle of anxiety skated up and down her back and bit like a thousand small ants. She managed to somehow get her limbs to stop shaking, but her breath kept coming out erratic. Hopefully dancing would rectify that.

After another moment, she slowly begun her usual routine, but her mind just couldn't seem to focus. Her eyes kept flying to the door with the broken lock instead of the mirror where she should be looking. She couldn't help but think if someone was gonna burst in like yesterday. It locked her knees in fear. They couldn't see her dance. They just couldn't...

Just keep focus, she told herself when the fear settled in her stomach and threatened to spill out. You have to practice. You only have three more weeks left, so make them count.

With a deep breath, she willed herself to start the music after she had finished warmups, and then stepped out onto the floor, keeping one thought in her head; The purpose of all this mental torture. The reason she kept dancing when fear locked her up. As usual, as soon as the music began playing, the fear dissolved into thin air. Her limbs begun moving and her breath calmed down.

This was familiar. It was what she knew. It brought her body to peace and it blocked everything else out.

Just breathe.

Fiona danced through her piece. Several times. Her feet began aching in her pointe shoes, but it was a pain she had grown almost immune to. Her toes could be bleeding, blistering, falling off, and she wouldn't be able to tell. It was one thing to feel pain in your feet occasionally; it was another to have a constant pain in your chest whenever you didn't dance.

But just like yesterday, when she came to her pirouettes, she froze up. The same sensation locked in her throat as she went into fourth and felt her knees begin to buckle. The tears came, the anxiety, and then finally, the memories.

'F-Fiona...'

'Daddy?'

'Fi...'

'Daddy!'

"I told you, you need to get on your foot," A voice broke through her pain once again. Fiona let out a hiccup and turned around, quickly blinking the tears out of her eyes until the blurry image of Adam standing in the door again cleared up.

"What are you doing here again?" She angrily snapped, feeling the tremors go through her body. "You said you'd leave me alone."

"I said no promises," He reminded her and stepped inside again, uninvited. "And you were about to go and break your ankle. You gotta let me teach you, baby."

"I don't need any help," She bit back, wishing he would just go away. What was his problem anyway? "Just leave me alone."

"Do an arabesque," He said and crossed his arms, challengingly. He raised a brow when she just pursed her lips angrily. "What? Come on, just humor me."

Gritting her teeth, Fiona went en pointe and extended her leg out backwards, finding her balance. She then went down again, turning around to just catch Adam nodding.

"Just as I expected. You're not supporting your leg at all. If you did, then you would've been able to hold your arabesque for longer."

Who the hell did he think he was? Fiona growled to herself. A principal dancer? Purely from what she had seen yesterday with his crew, he had spent more years perfecting his headspins than his pirouettes.

And they're still better than yours.

"I told you, I don't need your help," Fiona replied in a more than snappy voice. Adam pointedly ignored it and came further into the studio which only pissed her off more. "Do you mind?"

"Do you?" He shot back. "Just let me show you how to stay centered. If you keep doing what you're doing, you're gonna end up twisting your foot."

"I've been dancing like this for years, I haven't broken my foot yet."

"Yet," He strongly echoed and looked firmly at her. "You've been doing it wrong for years then. Why won't you just let me show you? It takes a minute. Come on."

Fiona pressed her lips tightly together. He really just wasn't backing down, was he? Why was he so stubborn?

Pot, kettle.

"It kills me to see someone dance in a way that could potentially damage something," Adam voiced, as if reading her mind. He looked at her for a moment and then put his hands on his hips. "If you're gonna do ballet for several more years, you might as well learn it now; No company is going to take you in if your footwork is sloppy."

Sloppy footwork? "Fine. Teach me then. You have exactly one minute." Before she ran out and never came back again.

Adam split his lips into a grin. "Hand me your foot."

"What?" Fiona blinked when he immediately crouched down in front of her and held out a hand. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to show you how to place it so your balance gets centered right up your leg. Just trust me," He said and smirked up at her. "Foot?"

Fiona took a deep breath. It was just her foot. Just that. It wasn't like he was dancing with her. He just needed her foot. Nothing more.

Nervously, she lifted her foot into the palm of his outstretched hand. When she felt his warm palm close around her pointe shoe, her throat closed. 51 seconds.

"Alright, so the way you do it is like this," He explained and bent her foot skillfully, letting the tip of her shoe touch the floor. "It strains your ankle and—" He placed his thumb right below her ankle and pressed. Fiona felt something twitch inside her foot that made her leg shake, "—that's what happens. Instead, try this," He instructed and now bent her foot seemingly the same way, only he twisted it ever so slightly more inwards. "You flex your foot out too much, but by just turning it in an inch, like this—" He pressed the same spot as before, but this time, Fiona didn't feel any twitching. She blinked perplexed down at him. "—it releases the pressure on the ankle and sends the support straight up through your leg. Try putting some weight on it."

He completely let go of her foot and stood up, crossing his arms as Fiona tryingly stepped en pointe and felt as her feet carried her a lot easier.

"See?" Adam smiled. "Much better, right? Now try that arabesque again."

Blindly following his orders, Fiona let her other foot raise from the floor, lifting her leg up behind her in a small extension with a slight curve at the knee. She felt her toe lift all her weight, but it didn't hurt like it had before. The support went straight up her leg and lifted her easily as she extended her hands above her head.

"Nice," Adam noted and walked around her to observe her. "Tuck in your ribs a little, strengthen your core—there you go."

Fiona did as he told and felt herself centre completely. Dancing had never felt that easy.

- Until she suddenly felt a hand on her hip and another one smoothing up on her elevated leg.

Sucking in a gasp and almost losing her balance, she switched her eyes to the mirror and saw Adam right behind her, standing centered and supporting her leg like a pas de deux partner was supposed to. "Wh-what are you—"

"Focus," He said and lifted her leg ever so slightly, giving it the last extension it needed. Fiona's body tensed up and she felt herself burn where his hands delicately held her. "Keep your eyes on the mirror. You're losing your centre. Focus, Fiona."

Focus, Fiona.

In shock, Fiona couldn't think of anything else to do but to do as he said. She got on her leg again and felt as Adam lightly tightened his hold on her thigh, took a small step and then begun walking around her, spinning her elegantly.

Fiona couldn't breathe. The music was still playing and now they were turning. This now categorized what they were doing as dancing; Dancing together.

"Stop!" She immediately lowered her leg and went off pointe. She was out of Adam's arms before he could even blink.

"What happened?" Adam looked at her with a perplexed expression as Fiona raced up to her bag to pick it up. "You're running again now? Is that just your answer to everything?"

"It's none of your business," She breathlessly replied. Her pulse raced. Anxiety pumped through her body and made her dizzy. Focus. Breathe.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and bolted for the door, but before she could get there, Adam stepped up in front of her, looped an arm around her waist and spun her right back into the room. She almost stumbled again if it wasn't for his strong arm. She felt him grab her bag, snatching something that was apparently sticking out of it.

"What's this?" He asked and held out the brochure Fiona had picked up a few weeks ago, the one she slept with under her pillow like some absurd tooth-fairy wish. Her eyes widened as she saw him read the cursive text on the front. "The New York Ballet?"

"Give that back!" She raged and ripped it out of his hands, quickly stuffing it into her bag again and zipping it up.

"You're trying out for the open auditions?" He asked with a slightly amused grin, lifting his brow. "Seriously? You think you have a shot?"

"Get off my case!" She furiously replied. Who was he to judge? He'd caught her dancing twice. How could he determine whether or not she had a shot from just that? Just because he thought he was some sort of dance guru—

"I was just asking," He defended, raising his hands again. "I just wanted to know if you were auditioning or not. If you are, I think you're gonna be greatly disappointed. You're way technically limited. Have you ever danced anything but ballet?"

Question upon question. Why didn't he just poke her with a stick? They were complete strangers. She didn't owe him any answers.

"Go away," She spat, her words much harsher than the crumbling sensation that tumbled inside her. "Leave me alone, I don't want your help."

"The New York corps dances a lot more than just ballet, Fiona," He stated and walked up to her. "If you want even the slightest chance of getting in, then yeah, you sure as hell do want my help."

"How can you possibly help me? You're just a hiphop boy with a crew who happens to know a little ballet. That doesn't make you an expert." Now who was judging? Rage was whipping her up.

"You got that from Wiki?" He rightfully deadpanned at her. He then leveled with her. "I dance a lot more than just hiphop and ballet, Fiona. Like I said yesterday, I dabble with a little of everything. It's my passion. Just let me help you with yours."

"Why do you even care?" She loomed.

"Because I love dancing with black chicks."

She was so done here.

"I'm kidding," He chuckled when she tried to get past him again. He stepped in front of her once more. "I care because dancing means something to you, and here at the DanceDec we help each other. Even the ones who judge me by my cap."

She glanced up at his cap and saw him take it off and run a hand through his brown hair. He threw it away on the floor, then looked at her with a little smirk. "Good enough for the diva?"

Fiona rolled her eyes and looked away. "You're not the problem."

"Then what is?"

She was.

Ballet was as competitive as modeling, except it was fifty times harder. A model could get a dozen pictures taken and the photographer could pick the best one that would get showed to the public, whereas in ballet there were no stills. When you stepped onto that stage and danced, there wasn't room for mistakes or flaws, only sheer and utter perfection, bodily and technical. You had to be the best at everything and that included all types of dancing.

Fiona knew her chances of passing through the first rounds of the open auditions were bleak, but every time she had thought about signing up for a dance partner or instructor, fear had crippled her and she had chickened out.

Her father collapsing played before her eyes every single time she tried to spin, and that was when she was alone. Imagine how catastrophic it would go if she tried dancing with someone else judging her. Looking at her. Correcting her.

Looking at her right now was Adam, and his eyes weren't wavering as he waited for her answer. It scared the shit out of her. He was a complete stranger and he was volunteering for weeks of tutoring her to prepare her for an audition she'd probably end up blowing. What did he get out of it? She had practically been nothing but rude towards him since yesterday, yet here he still stood. What was his gain? Gratification?

"Look, let's just take a step back, alright?" He offered. "When's your audition?"

Fiona bit her lip. "Three weeks from today..."

"Three weeks? Shit." He scratched the back of his head and thought for a moment. He clearly hadn't counted on the audition being so close. "Alright, look, I can't perform miracles, but I can teach you all the basic stuff you need to know to get you through round one. We'll have to train every day, all day, after school, so no rest. After that, if you're still interested, I can keep coaching you through to the callbacks. What do you say?"

She was terrified. She wanted to run. She also knew this was the best kind of offer she would ever find, but could she do it? She wasn't worried about the three weeks of intense dancing, she was used to that. What concerned her was... could she dance through her fears?

"I..." She knew one day she'd have to get over them. If she got accepted into a company some day, God allow it, she couldn't be afraid to dance in a theatre with a packed audience.

"Sleep on it," Adam looked at her, watching the indecision in her eyes. "You'll be here tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah..."

"Give me your answer then. But decide fast," He opened the door to the studio and then paused in it, giving her a glance over his shoulder. "You need all the help you can get."

• • •

And let's just say he's the Hamburger Helper for dancing 101.