The Player

Chapter 1

Brielle Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

7:24 AM

Beethoven's symphony number five blared through the speakers as I leaped across the stage, landing

gracefully. All spotlights were on me as I danced, the audience seeming to extend on forever. I spun,

leapt, and glided across the platform before final finishing in my ending pose. My chin was held high as

reassurance flooded through my body; I knew that I had done well. However, no one was clapping.

The audience's eyes were wide. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

"Clap!" I yelled franticly from the stage. "Clap for me!"

I held my stomach in agony, tears running down my face. It wasn't until my hand touched my abdomen

that I realized it was bare. Looking down at my body, I realized that I was completely naked.

Suddenly, the room went from dead silent to loud, filled with the laughs of the audience. Tomatoes were

launched at me. They then began to throw dirt, then furniture, then cars, until a mid-sized home was

being hurled at me.

"No!" I shouted, a lump in my throat. "This can't be happening to me!"

The room began to shake as the laughs grew in intensity.

"No!"

The room shook even more, until I could no longer stand up.

"No...no...no..."

"For the love of God wake up Brielle!"

I shot up, now laying on my bed in my room. I quickly touched my stomach and felt my pajamas, letting

out a sigh of relief. My older brother, Scott, leaned over me, his face contorted in annoyance.

"Your alarm has been on for twenty minutes," he told me, a hint of attitude in his voice. "I had to shake

you awake for five minutes while you kept screaming no."

"I don't know what you dream about, but you may need to see someone about it. Seems serious."

I ignored his commentary, still in my sleepy haze. Rubbing my eyes, I looked at the clock, and then let

out a long string of curse words. It read 7:25, and I had to be at the dance studio for rehearsal at 7:30.

With a newfound sense of urgency, I pushed my brother out of the way before sprinting to my

bathroom. I brushed my teeth before I threw on my leotard, tights, and ballet flats on before securing

my tight coils in a bun and chucking my pointe shoes in my dance bag.

Nearly tripping down the stairs, I dashed to my car, hightailing it to school in an attempt to be somewhat

on time.

School didn't start for another week, but I was taking dance lessons during the summer to prepare for

my showcase in October, and it seemed that I was late to them nearly every day. For the last week, my

instructor was getting more and more pissed, and I just hoped that today was not her breaking point.

She was an amazing dancer in her day, but she had an injury to her knee that cut her career short.

Ever since, she's spent her time teaching dance, in hopes of giving dancers the career that she couldn't

have. Because of this, she was always hard on us for not reaching our full potential.

Thanks to Los Angeles traffic, I arrived at my school, Vista Valley, thirty minutes late. As I ran to my

school's dance wing I prepared myself for Ms. Riley's wrath.

I was not disappointed.

"Where the hell were you! I have another kid to teach in five minutes! I get that a schedule might have

just been a suggestion at your old studio, but actually professionals stick by it!"

While she seemed pretty riled up, I heard this speech every day for the last week. I let out a sigh of

relief, knowing that her anger wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"And from our time together, you have shown time and time again that you are not a professional. So,

I'm taking your solo for the On-Pointe showcase and giving it to Crystal."

Wait what?

My jaw dropped, as tears welled up in my eyes. The showcase in October was the most important

event in my entire career. Julliard scouts were going to be in the audience, and if I impressed them with

my solo, I would have a chance to go to the school I've been dreaming of ever since I was five.

"You can't do this!" I pleaded. "Please, this means so much to me, I will do anything to get the solo

back. Please let me prove to you that I am a professional!"

"I gave you plenty of chances to prove yourself Brielle, and sadly you disappointed me every time. It's

just unfortunate, because all of your talent is wasted on someone who doesn't have the determination

to do something with it."

"Please!" I choked out. "I'll do anything."

Just at that moment, Christopher Russel walked into the studio. His 6'5" and football player build

contrasted against the modern and clean dance room. He held a wrinkled paper, looking lost, like a fish

out of water.

Christopher Russel was the king of or school. He was the star quarterback, three-time homecoming

king, and a colossal douche. He was just another rich kid who walked around the school like he owned

the place. And he might as well have, because everyone worshiped the ground he walked on,

especially the girls.

Knowing this, he made it his mission to date any girl that he could, before discarding them for

something better.

What an asshole.

"This is studio two, right? I'm here for my... "He inspected the paper more closely." ...introduction to

dance class? They said that I had to come here before school started."

I scoffed. The idea of him dancing was laughable in the least.

Both instructor Riley and Christopher looked up at me, making me realize that my scoff may not have

been as discreet as I thought it was. Embarrassment washed over me as I wished that my hair was

down so I that I could hide behind it.

At that moment Instructor Riley's eyes danced between me and Christopher, before a conniving smile

formed on her lips, and her eyes developed a dangerous sparkle.

"You said you'll do anything?" She asked me, the hint of a smile still on her lips.

"Yes!" I replied, "Anything."

"Then you can dance at the showcase."

"Thank you so much!" I gushed. "I promise I'll make you prou- "

"Not so fast," she cut me off. "You can dance a duet, with Christopher. If you are truly a professional,

then you can teach him enough ballet to do a routine that will get you into Julliard."

My eyes darted to Christopher. With his broad shoulders and bulky build, I felt the hope of attending my

dream school slipping from my grasp.

"Well, you're screwed." He said with a smirk on his lips, before walking right back out of the studio.

You can say that again.