Okay. I know this isn't really Mediator specific. I incorporated a little bit into it to make it more in tune with the books, but this little plot idea came to me today, and I need to write it down, and I think Suze and Jesse would be good vessels. (To confess a deep, dark, secret, this is sort of one of my OWN fantasies. And for those of you who just thought you got something really juice and dirty about me, note the K+ rating). This is actually, I think, one of the most autobiographical things I've written… so a lot of the feelings about dance and stuff are mine. Fellow dancers may be able to appreciate them.
Also, let's pretend Suze dances. Like I do, coincidentally. I actually can sort of see her being a ballerina. Like, one of those ones who don't really talk about it because they're too tough for tutus, but still harbors this incredible talent or whatever. But, fyi, this is post-Twilight. But you would probably figure that out anyway.
So, anyway, on with the show.
"Okay, girls, let's do two plies in first, two in second, and two in third, okay? And don't forget your arms!" I hit play on the CD player, and the classical music filled the room, and the little girls in the beginning ballet class for girls between 6 and 8 years old that I help teach at my dance school began their plies with their parallel feet and stiff, boxy arms that I knew I had when I was their age. "Turn out," I chided gently as I observed the line of girls along the barre. "Watch your arms!"
As the girls giggled and wobbled, I allowed my mind to clear from all of my problems—troublesome ghosts, school, Brad… Jesse.
From past experience, I knew they probably didn't think of me as someone with problems. Not to be arrogant, but I notice the way the younger girls scurry out to sit in front of the mirror when I practice my dances with the other girls in my group, they get excited when I show up for class and Miss Eileen tells me how disappointed they were when I had too much homework, or something prevented me from being there for the Wednesday 5-5:45 class. When I was little, the student teachers and older girls in the dance troupe were my idols. They seemed so skilled, so perfect, so mature. I couldn't believe I was now at the stage that a younger me would have practically worshiped. Because I knew I was not skilled, not that mature, and so not perfect.
After I led them through the rest of the barre work, I checked the notes Miss Eileen had left me—her daughter, at college a few hours away, had had an asthma attack and was in the hospital. She'll be fine, but her mother had to come down to see that for herself. Thus, I was in charge of the class.
One thing I loved about the studio is that, for some reason, no ghosts ever seem to bother me here. I'm not sure why, though maybe the fact that our studio is on the second floor of granite shop (aka, a place where you can buy headstones. It is actually a little creepy, passing by all of the models and samples before running up the steps to class) somehow keeps them away. Ghosts rarely frequent their graves, maybe this is somehow similar?
I instructed the girls to settle down on the floor in the middle of the room to stretch. "Butterflies, girls. Megan, Sandra, spread out a bit. Caitlin, Tracy, stop talking! Okay, now lean forward, push your chin out…"
I went into autopilot, going through the different stretches, until the shrill ringing of the phone jarred me. "Keep stretching, I'll be back in a second," I said, and hurried into the office. "Carmel Dance Academy."
"Suze, dear, how is everything going?"
"Just fine, Miss Eileen. The girls are just stretching now…" I brought her up to speed, assured her no one had been toted out on a stretcher by the EMTs, and asked about her daughter (who was, as predicted, fine.)
I hung up and rejoined the kids in the large dance room, where they had all dissolved into fits of giggles.
"What?" I asked, with mock offense, as I sat back down in front of them.
"There's a man at the window, looking at you!" My heart stopped, as I instantly whipped around, looking for a murderer or a rapist or a drunk guy who got lost when he wandered across the street from the bar across the street.
But there, in the window, peering in nervously, was a face I knew intimately. My panicked look disappeared, into one of frozen, forced indifference.
"Don't worry about it, girls. I know him."
"Are you going to go out to talk to him?" one girl asked. "Or let him in? It's raining out!" I forced myself not to care.
"He'll be alright. He's a big boy."
"Is he your boyfriend?" One girl asked.
"Do you kiss him?" another giggled.
My heart throbbed painfully. "No," I said sadly. "He isn't. I don't. Not anymore."
"Susannah." The coldness of his voice startled me.
"Hey, Jesse." I was going to meet Cee Cee at the Coffee Clutch after school, but Jesse was leaning against his car in the school parking lot. Cee waved, giving me some privacy, and slid into her car and started the ignition. I walked over to him, and wrapped my arms around his waist. I was surprised at his lack of reaction, his stiffness to my touch. "What's the matter?"
"Why did you lie?" I gaped at him.
"What do you mean?" His handsome, godly features bore a cold indifference that made me nervous. Usually, he looked at me with love, warmth, affection.
"Yesterday. You said you were at Cee Cee's, but I called her house to ask you something, and she said you had gone to Paul's." I winced.
The shifter lessons. Paul had conceded defeat, but I still felt like Jesse would take it the wrong way if he knew I was going over to his house once a week, and always made up excuses.
"Jesse, that was nothing. Really. We just meet up, and he teaches me stuff about shifting. It's no big deal."
"Then why did you lie?"
"Because I knew you would take it the wrong way, like you are right now!" His eyes narrowed.
"Oh, of course, I'm the bad guy now. Being angry that your girlfriend is sneaking around, going to other guys' houses isn't fair, isn't justified," he said, his words dripping with disdain. I struggled to come back with a retort.
"Can't you trust me?" I sputtered. "I would never cheat on you!"
"Damn it, Susannah. Then why did you lie? Why did you give me a reason to doubt you?"
"It's no big deal!" I shouted, getting the glance from a few straggling students. "Why are you getting so worked up about this? You don't own me, you can't dictate my actions! I'm my own person! I don't need someone to tell me what I can and cannot do!" Jesse's eyes narrowed.
"You're right. You're independent, aren't you? If you don't need anyone, then fine, I'll get out of your way. You and Paul don't need to worry about me interfering with your secret rendezvous anymore." He quickly opened his car door, got in, and slammed it shut. I sighed, exasperated.
"Jesse, stop. I'm sorry. I--" But it was too late. He was already driving off.
"Just ignore him," I said, and instructed them to straddle their legs to continue stretching. I pushed legs apart (seriously, it sounds perverted, but that's another thing I love about dance. You can just sit there with your legs wide open and be perfectly comfortable, and no one will comment on it).
"But, Miss Suze, he's still there." I sighed. Clearly the young girls were progressing from amused to frightened, so I pulled my legs back in and stood up.
"Just a second. Stay where you are, and be good." I made sure my leotard was covering my body appropriately, and opened the door and walked out to the porch.
Jesse stood there, his shirt with a few wet drops on his shoulders and his hair glistening with rain drops. "Susannah," he said, with a twinge of anxiousness to his voice. "You look beautiful."
I snorted. Never is a leotard, short shorts, ripped tights, and messy hair beautiful. I rolled my eyes. "What are you doing here?" I asked, silencing my heart and speaking coldly. "You're frightening my class. They're young girls, you know. Strange men leering in on their class is a bit scary."
He looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Susannah. I just… I needed to talk to you. And I didn't know if it was appropriate to come in." He held up a single flower. "This is for you."
It was an orchid. Our flower. I reached for it and took it from him. My heart cried out. I didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, Susannah. Yesterday… I didn't mean it. I was upset. I was jealous. I was afraid I was losing you."
"Why did you think that?" I asked softly. He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, the moisture keeping it messy and sticking it up.
"I just… I don't know. I should have trusted you. I know, logically, that you wouldn't do that. It's just that I care about you so much, and even the faintest notion that I might lose you makes me feel like I can't breathe."
"You broke up with me, though," I said, the very words quenching the fire that was beginning to melt my heart.
"And it was the worst, the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life." He gave me a half smile. "Both of them." His hand reached up and cupped the side of my face. "I love you, Susannah. I would never want to leave you."
His lips approached mine, tentatively, giving me time to pull away.
I met his lips halfway, and wrapped my arms around his neck. His arms came around me and squeezed me to him, as our kiss deepened and I sighed against his mouth happily.
However, we were broken from our reverie when I heard giggles. I separated my lips from his, and looking through the big window, I saw the class pushed up against the glass, watching us. "We have an audience," I said, and he looked too, and blushed. "I need to get back to my class." I paused. I didn't want to send him away. I was hoping to continue the kissing part of making up in his car after the class. "Wait in the studio? I'll be done in about 15 minutes." He smiled, clearly sensing what I had in mind.
I took his hand and led him inside, and into the back room where the dancers put on their shoes and socialized before class started. I was about to close the door behind me when his voice interrupted me.
"You know, Susannah, I wasn't just trying to sweet talk you. You are beautiful."
I returned to my class, and instructed them to forget about the distraction, and I led them through some simple turns.
But all awhile, I couldn't keep a silly grin off my face.
Okay, guys, what did you think? This fic really was pretty autobiographical. Except I help teach an acro class, not ballet. And no hot guy has ever materialized at the studio and told me I was beautiful. But most of the rest, is true.
In all actuality, some of this sort of came from another girl in my class's experience. Only the guy who came to visit her was her stalker, not the boy she was in love with. I thought this scenario would be more romantic.
So, anyway, review, please!