Red Pointe Shoes

Chapter 9

A/N: Yuppie, here's another chapter with some Ave and Evan bonding time :D This chapter was fun to write, nuff said.

Chapter Nine

"Twenty questions, go!" Evan slams his hand down on the table, getting weird looks from others.

"Favorite movie!" I holler back enthusiastically, after taking a gulp of my chocolate cookie fudge smoothie.

"Barbie in the Twelve Dancing Princesses!" He says, calming down somewhat. His face is poker straight, and I have to admire his acting skills. "Fine, it's actually The Apparition, you?"

"No way! That movie is awesome!" I cry, bouncing in my seat. "Not as awesome as 27 Dresses though."

He wrinkles his nose cutely before protesting, "But that's a chick flick!"

"Evan, I am a chick."

He rolls his eyes before asking his question, "Okay, what about favorite ballet?"

I pause to think for a moment and take another mouthful of my drink before answering, "Coppélia."

"I don't like that one, Swanhilda's fiance was practically useless."

"And that's why I like it," I smirk, "the guy isn't the knight in shining armour for once." I have to laugh at his affronted face for a good while before gathering myself to ask the question. "Okay, this one's a bit deeper, why did you choose ballet?"

"Why wouldn't I? I chose it because I was passionate about it. Do I need any other reason?" He shrugs nonchalantly, his eyes meeting mine effortlessly. That's what I admire about Evan, he was straight to the point and didn't stand for unnecessary drama. The practice of subtlety is an art, I must admit, but I prefer it when people are succinct and to the point. Beating round the bush, yammering on and on, what's the point? You get to the same answer in the end, anyway, and wasting a whole lot of time as well. "My turn now," he grins, "why do you dance with red Pointe shoes? I mean, they do look awesome, but why?"

His asks his question in the most innocent of intents, and yet it still manages to turn my mood completely around.

Back when I was a child, in the time when my mom was still alive and laughing, I used to watch her dance every Thursday, when I tagged along to her practices. She was an understudy for the prima ballerina of Faye's Dance Theatre, the company that I now aspire to go to. She didn't mind me following her, and often even included me in her practices for fun. From spinning around in her arms to trying on her too big red pointe shoes, we always had a good time.

And then she fell sick.

Week after week I watched my mom waste away, our Thursdays now confined to the hospital room. It was heartbreaking seeing her forbidden from the very sport that she enjoyed and still keeping a smile on for me. Why do I dance with red pointe shoes? It is the only thing besides dance that brings me closer to my mom.

But how can I tell Evan that? We are friends at the moment, but this is still a lot to unload on him. Instead, after blinking away some unexpected tears, I reply. "I dance with red shoes because red stands for passion, for anger and for... Love."

***

"Someone had a hot date," Nat sings, waggling her eyebrows suggestively at me as I walk into the studio. I swat at her playfully as I sink into a split beside her. "Nonsense, you're delusional my dear Natalie."

"But you're blushing!" She exclaims, laughing knowingly. "Now spill! Who is it?"

"It was more of a friendly talk, between friends." I say relatively, emphasizing on the last word.

"You're no fun Ave," she whines before shoving me with her shoulder, trying to send me off balance. I laugh as I shove her back, and she wobbles slightly. "Someone needs to work on their abs," I tease lightly before retracting my legs and standing up, alerted to the sound of the door opening.

To my great relief, it's our usual ballet teacher that walks in, not Loyer.

"Afternoon class, today we'll be working on our pax de deux. Please pair up according to height." She claps her hands twice, and bounces over to the speaker system to fiddle around a bit. There is a bit of a crowd as dancers scramble to pair up with their friends, or usual dancing partners. Usually we have an odd number in the class, and I'm often sharing a guy with Nat. Okay, that sounds wrong. However, with Evan in this class, I might actually have a partner all to myself for once! I pick him out amongst the pairs and wave him over, finding that he's just about an inch or two taller than me. "Great," I say happily, "you can be my partner!"

Wait.

I'm going to be dancing. With Evan.

The thought of his hands around my waist or my legs to support me unexpectedly sends a hopefully unnoticeable blush to my cheeks. Yes, other guys have held me as such, but Evan is Evan. He's different! I slide my eyes over to him and am wickedly pleased to see that a faint red tinges his face as well.

At least I won't be the only awkward one, I think as the music starts up.