to my mother.
“Hey Mia,” someone calls. “You’re not a prodigy after all, are you?”
“She’s totally washed out.”
“Yeah, she thinks she’s all that.”
“The Ice Queen has fallen from grace.”
I can hear their laughter. If I glance up, I’ll see a room full of girls of all types in here. Different hair styles, different ethnicities, different schools and backgrounds even, but all of them have one thing in common; a grudge against the top Queen Bitch.
Me.
“Mia, your mother would be ashamed of your skinny, ugly ass. It’s probably why she doesn’t come here anymore.”
With a plastic smile on my face, I face the lot of them.
“Give me a break, Mel. Even after all these years in this class, we all know your fat, disproportionate ass couldn’t land a basic Fouetté even if your non-existent friends had to hold your large cannon-like arms to assist you.
I watch with grim satisfaction as her smug smile fades, her eyes flashing with shame.
Body shaming is the worst, I know that. I know better than anyone that it does something wicked to one’s self-esteem, but today I’m just too raw and hurt to care. Besides, she freaking started it.
“And word to the wise, Mel. Buying an expensive, ugly leotard won’t make you take my spot or be me. Try to be smarter than that.”
I don’t know why I zero in on her like that. Usually, I don’t bother talking back to her or any of these bitches. It only ever takes a look to shut them up, but the fact that she spoke about my mother… that’s a hard line.
I spot a new girl I’ve never seen in this class, standing in the corner with her arms folded, staring at me with a smirk on her face that doesn’t sit well with me.
“Do you have a problem?” I question, watching her right back. She pushes away from the wall, then walks to the center of the room, dressed in flashy, rainbow colored leotards, with fake eyelashes, fake platinum blonde hair and a smile that says she knows more about my life than anyone else in here.
“Oh, come on, Auntie,” she starts, walking toward Ms. Voldemort. “Mia Montague doesn’t have a golden spoon in her mouth. I doubt there’s even a grain of silver in her house. It’s just cheap metal.”
Oh. My. God.
A shiver races down my spine as I see the look in her eyes. She looks familiar this girl, but for the life of me I have no idea where I’ve seen her or who the fuck she is, but she definitely knows me. And my life.
I choose to play dumb and offended instead. “Excuse me?”
“Come now, Mia.” She smirks. “You heard what I said.”
Yeah, I did. And so did everyone else.
“Casey, sweetheart,” Ms. V starts, an indulgent look on her face. “Be nice and meet Mia. Mia, meet Casey, my niece.”
Her niece…
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach as I wait to hear more about this…niece.
“She’s a senior at St. Jude High about to graduate. She came here to help me.”
And there it is. A senior at St. Jude High School.
“Hey!” The bitch waves her little stick fingers with even longer nails like a scarecrow, evil mirth lighting her eyes up as she looks at me. “Nice to meet you, trailer trash.”
“Aww don’t mistake me for you,” I counter then turn to Ms. V. “What do you mean she’s here to help. Help who?”
“Help around the studio, Mia.” Mrs. V waves her hand dramatically. “It’s evident to me that you need more help than I realized.”
In other words, her scrawny, Ariana Grande wannabe ass is here to ‘help’ me dance. Over my rotting corpse.
“Ms. V., I don’t think your niece has any idea what we do here,” I start.
“Mia—,” she starts but I cut her off.
“I mean, I doubt her pretty little head full of air can understand my kind of techniques. It would just be a waste of everyone’s time.”
Murmurs of agreement, something I never actually get, grow from behind me and Casey frowns.
“I know more than you think.”
“Hmm, I don’t doubt it,” I counter, and she smiles.
“Come on Auntie, let’s give Mia a break,” she starts, walking up to me as if she’s on a fucking runway show at a garbage landfill. Her walk needs work. “You can’t blame the girl for being a mess when her daddy’s a mess too.”
No, this can’t be happening.
“What did you just say?” I demand stepping closer to her.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Ms. V declares. “Class is