![]() My ballet coach scoffs, digging his fingers deeper into the bone of my arm. “Where are we going? I need to get back to rehearsal.” “Please, let go of me.” The words scrape the sides of my raw throat. As one of the best, he gets away with more than most. God knows this man has unconventional coaching methods. I have no idea where we are or what he has planned. We drove thirty minutes to an unfamiliar neighborhood, well outside of the city. Mid-way through rehearsal for Giselle, he pulled me from the stage and hauled me out of the theater with a look of disgust on his aristocratic face. My ballet coach, Baker, has my arm in a vise grip and no amount of convincing will make him release me. They’re caked in filth and puddle water, growing more and more soaked by the moment as I’m dragged forcefully through the dingy, moonlit alley. I’ve just broken in this pair of pointe shoes and they’re already ruined. ![]() One night with wild eyed Smith should cure her of any interest in romance, says Posy’s coach, as he locks her inside a room with a monster…and a mattress. Instead, he drags her-still dressed in a tutu and pointe shoes-to his reclusive brother’s door, located in an abandoned warehouse. Posy has reached the height of her ballet career, but if you ask her coach, she is merely mediocre and distracted by the male dancers, which couldn’t be further from the truth. ![]()
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