Learning to Soar (White Dove Book 3) Page 2

  “How about we teach you a lesson on getting things right the first time?” a second guy proposes while the blond shoves the shorter one to the bookcase opposite to the one I stand behind.

  For a few seconds, the little guy leaves his face uncovered, before putting his arms up protectively, and I identify him as Potter O’Flannagan.

  The whole scene pulls up a memory: Brittany cornering me in the bathroom, lecturing me about how the homework I did for her wasn’t up to her usual standards, about how she would teach me a lesson, then walloping me in the stomach.

  Not on my watch! Somebody needs to do something.

  And that somebody should be me.

  On impulse, I sing Handel’s song from the Messiah’s “Hallelujah” at the top of my lungs. I don’t care if it’s completely out of tune. I just want to attract attention from someone who can end this argument before someone gets hurt.

  My terrible singing puts a stop to the commotion on the other side of the bookshelf, and the guys scatter.

  Oh, thank Big G—

  “Miss, could you please follow me?” At the end of the bookcase where I hide, the librarian’s glare and stiff posture choke the notes in my throat. “There’s a detention slip with your name on it.”

  A small price to pay and totally worth it.

  I grab my stuff and follow the librarian. On my way out of the library, the girl with the curly brown hair from Biology looks at me and gives me a small wave, which I return before the door closes behind me.

  When I reach the main office, the secretary gives me a slip and tells me where the detention room is located. Back at Saint Magdalene, they held detention in the chapel, and due to my practically biweekly visits, I could have sworn the nuns reserved one bench of the chapel specifically for me.

  I check my slip and realize the time overlaps my ballet class. Glancing back up, I ask, “Can I do detention on a different day? I have class.”

  “That’s not how it works, hun,” the secretary says through her laughter. She then points toward the exit out of the administration office.

  Big Guy, how will I ever be able to explain this to Zach and Abigail?

  With a troubled mind, I read the piece of paper again.

  Singing Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” in the library at the top of her lungs and out of tune.

  Ugh! Did they need to be so darn specific? What will the rest of the family think about this?

  Easy, this will confirm their suspicions of how big of a prude I am. Instead of going for a modern song, I went for a classical-religious one.

  Another shameful indiscretion to add to my growing file. Sister Josie, head cook and my all-time favorite nun at Saint Magdalene, will have a field day if she ever learns about it. Not that I plan on telling her.

  Unfortunately, I do need to tell my siblings.

  Ugh, I might as well face them and get done with it.

  Hoping to find my brother and explain this situation, my prayers follow me on my path toward the cafeteria. Unlike my sister; he’s usually less…uhm…explosive and more lenient.

  My stomach plunges as soon as I enter. To my great disappointment, not only do I spot Abigail and Zach, but all of our friends sit with them, except Oliver who probably spends his lunchtime in the teachers’ lounge.

  Silently, I drag my feet toward their table, seeking the best approach before facing my doom.

  The girls talk among themselves at one end of the table, while the guys sit at the opposite end. Sitting between both groups, I drop my backpack and pull my chair closer to the guys’ side.

  A little mercy, BG?

  “Where were you?” Zach frowns when he notices me. “We were about to send out a search party.”

  My eyes drop to my skirt, and I slowly arrange it. “I took a small detour to the library.”

  “Oh! Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks cheerfully.

  “Not exactly.” I take a deep breath, hoping to fill my lungs with courage as well as oxygen. “The library might not be the best place to find peace and solitude, since I managed to get detention while there,” I whisper, hoping my words only reach Zach.

  “What?” Abigail jumps from her seat.

  I could kick myself in the butt for not whispering this information directly in his ear or giving him the detention slip the principal’s office gave me and letting him read it.

  Abigail’s outburst draws the attention of the rest of the group, and they all crowd around me.

  What better way to get the boys and girls to work together than little Sammie getting in trouble? See, Big Guy? Oliver was right. I do encourage them to work as a team.

  Silent, I pass the slip to Zach.

  “What happened?” Archie stretches his neck to get a glimpse of my detention slip. Then, his eyes widen, and his lips twitch.

  I would rather not say, especially with such a big audience.

  “Singing in the library”—Zach’s mouth quirks up—“at the top of her lungs.” He finishes the sentence with a glint in his eyes.

  My sister steps closer to read over Zach’s shoulder, and her frown covers my skin with goose bumps.

  She might show a little mercy if she knows the real reason. “I did it because—”

  “Well, then, you won’t be attending ballet today,” she cuts in with a curt nod.

  My jaw drops to the floor.

  “What?” Samuel’s half-smile disappears as his brows snap together. “Pietro will be impossible if she misses practice.”

  “She shouldn’t have done the crime if she wasn’t willing to pay the price.” Abigail shrugs and returns to her seat.

  Let’s try once again. “Excuse me, I’m trying to tell you I did it because—”

  Samuel turns to Zach. “We need to talk to Oliver and get her out of detention. She still needs to catch up with all the choreography.”

  Abigail’s eyes zoom in on my brother, and she holds up a menacing finger. “We’re not doing it.” She faces Samuel. “What kind of example would we be setting if we get her out of trouble?”

  Third time’s a charm, right, Big Guy? “Honestly, I did it because a couple of—”

  “Not happening, Solis.” Abigail slices the air with her hand.

  “Abigail, calm down.” Zach holds his hands up and puts himself between her and Samuel.

  Ugh! Never mind! If they don’t want to know my version of the story, that’s their loss. It’s not like it’s important information about their bullying investigation here or anything.

  Annoyed that nobody will listen to me or give me a chance to explain myself, I stand, grab my backpack, and leave the cafeteria, not caring if they notice my absence.

  After Spanish class, I head to the detention room to serve my sentence.

  Eight students sit inside—six guys and two girls. Judging by their uncaring attitude and untidy state of their uniform, they’re obviously troublemakers. I recognize Frederik from Biology and try to avoid catching his attention.

  With my head held low and steps quiet, I hand my detention slip to the teacher. He motions for me to sit in the first available chair, placed right in front of Frederik.

  I pull out my math book and start on today’s homework.

  “Psst,” a voice whispers from behind me.

  Ignoring it, I continue with my work.

  “Psst.”

  “Mr. Sullivan, this is detention, not a social gathering,” the teacher calls from his desk.

  “Aww, Mr. Jones,” Frederick replies. “I wanted to introduce myself to Miss Melbourne and congratulate her on her great achievement in Biology class today. According to Mr. Smith, she did an outstanding job and got a lot of standing ovations.”

  Oh, no! Gossip moves at the speed of light and gains momentum with the more people it reaches.

  My face flushes bright red, which won’t help stop the rumor.

  “Mr. Sullivan, please work on your homework and stop bothering Miss Melbourne.”

  As I glance at him over my sh
oulder, he shares a smile with the rest of the guys and suggestively wiggles his eyebrows at them. When he notices me staring at him, he winks.

  Ugh!

  “Cell phones are banned,” Mr. Jones calls with a bored tone, catching one of the guys when the flash from his camera lights blinds me for a few seconds.

  The door opens, and the girl from Biology and the library enters. She walks to the teacher’s desk and hands over her slip. He takes it and points to the seat next to me. She gives me a small smile as she sits, brings her books out, and works on her homework as well.

  Wonder what she did to end up with detention?

  Taking advantage of the time I have to spend here, I finish my math assignment right before detention ends. With a grin, I pack my books inside my backpack.

  One less thing to worry about.

  The teacher hurries from the classroom as if it’s on fire, leaving the students alone with each other.

  “Samantha, a little bird told me you know some unique moves.” Frederik steps closer to my desk. “Mind if you show them to me?”

  I cringe at the wolfish smile on his lips as his eyes move from the top of my head all the way to my toes. My entire body goes on high alert. Something about this guy makes me want to run as fast as I can in the opposite direction. But fear freezes me in place.

  “Back off, Frederik.” The curly-haired girl steps closer. “We’re late for ballet.”

  “Ballet?” His eyebrows raise as if they want to disappear into his hairline. “Does that mean you’re flexible?” He steps forward and blocks my exit. “I like that in a girl. Wouldn’t you agree, guys?”

  With my attention focused on Sullivan, I didn’t notice the other guys gathering around my desk until now.

  “Go away. We need to run, or Monsieur Pietro will chop our heads off.” The girl pushes Frederik out of the way. “Come on, follow me.” She motions for me to join her.

  The tightness in my chest releases, and in a rush, I follow her out of there.

  Her stride increases, making me run to catch up with her. “We can take a shortcut through the pool. It’ll save us at least five minutes getting to the studio.”

  The pool? I don’t think so.

  The mere idea of a big hole with gallons of water inside sends a shiver down my spine.

  I stop dead in my tracks. “Uhm, you go that way. I’ll take the long route, but thanks for your help.”

  She frowns. “But it’s the quickest way, and Pietro will be a little bit more merciful if we go in together.”

  I sigh. Her reasoning sounds logical.

  We speed-walk through the halls, taking all the shortcuts available to save ourselves a couple more minutes. During our trip, my stomach churns as I realize I didn’t notice her before in Ballet, but then again, I spend most of the time there with Samuel. My attention remains focused on such a fine specimen rather than on the girls.

  Big Guy, can you really blame me?

  The smell of chlorine filling my nostrils alerts me of the closeness of the pool. A chill immediately runs through my body.

  “What’s your name?” I ask the girl, hoping to distract myself from the splashing coming from the other side of the double doors.

  “Portia. What’s yours?” she asks, opening the doors.

  “S-S-S-Samantha.” My knees weaken as my eyes fix on the big hole filled with water lying ahead of me.

  Nothing bad will happen.

  My eyes widen when Portia heads to the small ledge that extends from the window to the lip of the pool.

  Are we supposed to cross through there?

  My nerves probably make the ledge appear smaller than it truly is, but that doesn’t stop me from searching for other available options to get through the room. On the other side of the pool, the ledge appears wider, but walking over there means spending more time in here with the pool, the smell of chlorine, and the sound of splashing.

  Time to decide: walk the narrow but short ledge and get out of this torture chamber quicker, or use the longer but wider ledge and extend this terrible ordeal?

  How about neither!

  Portia stops, studies me, then raises an eyebrow and chuckles. “Are you afraid of the water?”

  Most likely my expression shows my terror.

  When the splashing sounds come louder and droplets land at our feet, I back away, avoiding every one of them as if they’re acid.

  “You go. I’ll catch up with you at the studio.” I turn on my heel and run back out the double doors, not checking if Portia follows me.

  When I reach the changing room ten minutes later, Portia greets me with her gear on. “I’ll wait for you. Hurry up.”

  In a rush, I change to my tights and leotard and pull my ballet slippers on.

  When we enter the studio, my legs again fail me when she heads toward Miss Hathaway. Head hanging low, I follow her.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Miss Hathaway says sarcastically. “I hope our training doesn’t mess with your schedule.”

  “Sorry, Miss Hathaway. It won’t happen again.” Portia hands her the detention slip. “I had a terrible night and couldn’t help falling asleep in class.”

  Miss Hathaway eyes the piece of paper and signals with her head for Portia to join the rest of the girls. She extends her hand for mine.

  I give it to her, not meeting her eyes.

  She reads it and raises an eyebrow.

  “Singing in the library?” she says a little louder than I wish. “Monsieur Pietro, it seems your little swan thinks she’s a nightingale!”

  Her shout gains the dance instructor’s attention, along with the rest of the class.

  Really? Couldn’t she let it go like she did with Portia?

  Monsieur Pietro’s lips form a tight line.

  “Mademoiselle Melbourne, you’ll practice with Monsieur Dawson today. The two of you will be dancing together next week, you better get used to one another. Mademoiselle Jones, you’ll dance with Monsieur Solis.” Monsieur Pietro motions with his hand for Anya to go to where Samuel waits, purposely ignoring Miss Hathaway’s taunting.

  Samuel and I share the same surprised expression.

  Samuel steps closer, back straight and head held up high. “Monsieur Pietro, I believe—”

  “Not a word, Monsieur Solis. You plan to leave for a month. Mademoiselle needs to practice with somebody else, and I need a replacement for you in case your commitment requires extending your absence,” he answers coldly.

  My stomach drops. A month or even more?

  When our gazes meet, I mouth, “Really?” hoping with all my heart that Monsieur Pietro exaggerated, but Samuel only looks away.

  “I won’t dance with him again.” Anya claps her hands on her hips. “Knightley and I should be principal dancers if Samuel plans to leave for that long.”

  “Mademoiselle Melbourne, warm up. Monsieur Dawson, you’re to dance with her from now on,” Monsieur Pietro orders, clearly motivated by Anya’s complaint.

  I nod and follow his instructions.

  Knightley smiles at me and welcomes me with reverence. His goofiness and warm greeting make me chuckle.

  He’s nice and handsome, but I remember the way he belittled Bennedick and his family and keep my guard up, warning myself not to be blinded by his attentions.

  A beautiful face and a confident smile will only get you so far in this world!

  After warming up, he brings me up to speed on the choreography, and we immediately work on it.

  Knightley isn’t a bad dancer, but a big gap exists between his technique and Samuel’s.

  When he touches me and lifts me, my muscles stiffen, and a nagging voice in the back of my mind pesters me. His unfamiliar hands don’t feel right on me. Hopefully, I’ll get used to them after more practice. Then again, he isn’t Samuel, who I don’t mind touching me since I like him…a lot.

  With a smile, I keep the stiffening at bay and try not to show my discomfort.

  Monsieur Pietro nods as he watches us.
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br />   Good acting can go a long way.

  Now and then, I peek at Samuel and Anya. Samuel, like a pro, acts as if nothing bothers him. Anya, however, makes it obvious how she loathes every single moment of training. More than once, she slaps Samuel’s hand and glares at him.

  When Samuel catches me watching them, he rolls his eyes.

  I give him a small thumbs-up, hoping this will at least make his torture manageable.

  When practice ends, Monsieur Pietro stops me before I leave the room and informs me of his disappointment over my tardiness, and that he hopes this situation doesn’t happen again.

  The last thing I want is to let my dance teacher down after all the trust he put in me when he assigned such an important role to the new girl.

  By the time we finish speaking, all the girls have gone to our changing room. When I reach my locker, my hand flies to my mouth. Somebody broke it open and stole my backpack.

  “Looking for this?” Anya’s ugly grin greets me when I turn around, and, in her hand, she dangles my precious bag.

  “Give it to me, please.”

  Hands grab my arms, stopping me from moving toward her.

  “Let’s see what’s inside.” She giggles and opens it. “Oh! Such a nice cell phone.”

  She takes it out and carefully slides her finger around the edge of the screen. With a Cheshire Cat smile, she turns toward me, and without a care in the world, accidentally drops it straight to the floor.

  I cringe at the loud sound, but part of me still hopes it survived such rough handling. Unfortunately, that hope dies when she lifts her foot and slams her heel against it several times.

  No!

  A cracking sound confirms the screen’s status.

  She then takes out my math notebook.

  “Senior-level?” Her eyes go wide as saucers. “I thought you were a junior?”

  As impressed as she might be, it doesn’t stop her from pulling out the pages and ripping them into tiny pieces, including the homework I finished in detention.

  “No, please!” I pull harder, trying to get loose from her friends’ hold.

  “Anya, stop it!” Portia steps up to my notebook’s attacker. “Pietro changed the partners, not her. Plus, you should thank her for giving you a second chance to train as principal dancer. With Solis leaving in a week, you’ll probably get back with Knightley in no time.”