Darling Psycho

Dance Class

The sound of the lunch bell rang through the hallway, but I was still in my seat, eyes flicking over to Jason every few minutes like a damn moth to a flame. The whole class was doing the same — sneaking glances at him, trying to piece together what he was all about. But Jason? He was hunched over his notebook, a pen spinning lazily between his fingers, and not paying attention to a single word the teacher said.

He wasn’t taking notes. He was sketching. Drawing sharp, jagged lines that curved into something unrecognizable. And he looked so focused, his jaw set, dark lashes fanning against his cheekbones as he stared down at the page.

When the bell finally rang, I shook myself out of it, shoving my books into my bag with more force than necessary. Claire met me at the door, her lips already curved in a wicked grin.

"So, your neighbor is basically a god," she whispered, bumping her shoulder against mine.

"Oh my God, Claire," I groaned, rolling my eyes. "You’re not going to start with that again."

"What? He’s hot, and he lives next door to you. That’s like, every romance trope ever."

"Well, I don’t want the whole school to know where I live just because of him," I snapped, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "It’s bad enough I have to hear them blasting music at all hours."

"You’re so dramatic," Claire said, flipping her curls over her shoulder. "Come on, let’s grab lunch."

"Yeah, okay."

We started down the hallway, and Claire was still talking about Jason — about how he didn’t even look at the teacher once, how he was just scribbling the whole time like he was too good for everyone else. I tried to ignore it, tried to let her words fade into the background noise, but Jason’s face kept flashing in my mind. His lazy, arrogant smirk. The way his dark hair fell over his eyes when he leaned over his notebook.

We were about to turn the corner when a bright poster caught Claire’s eye. "Oh my God, the dance auditions!" she shrieked, grabbing my arm. "Vanya, this is your chance."

"I don’t know," I muttered, staring at the bold letters. AUDITIONS THIS FRIDAY.

"Come on! You’re good. You know you’re good," Claire said, shoving me forward. "You can totally do it."

I swallowed, my stomach twisting. But Claire wasn’t going to let up until I said yes. "Fine. Fine, I’ll do it."

"Yes!" she said, clapping her hands like a child. "Let’s go check it out."

The gym was already packed when we stepped inside. A group of girls were lined up along the mirrored wall, and in the center of the room, Logan Grant was demonstrating a move — a sharp, fluid combination of steps that made every muscle in his body ripple beneath his sweaty shirt.

Logan was hot. Objectively hot. Blonde hair that curled against his forehead, dark circles that made his blue eyes pop, and a crooked grin that could make anyone’s knees weak. He was wearing a black tank top, sweat glistening along his biceps, his jeans slung low on his hips as he moved.

"Damn," Claire whispered, fanning herself with her hand. "Why are all the hot guys in this school also the most insufferable?"

"Tell me about it," I muttered, eyes glued to Logan as he moved through the routine, sharp and precise. He was so good. So fluid.

But I doubted I'd still be able to dance like this, not after everything that happened to me. For the past few years, I had been trying to get my head straight — but the more I tried, the more I seemed to fade deeper into my own nightmare. Sometimes I wished I could talk about, just to anyone who could understand me.

All that was in my head was the flash of a memory. It was of me, tumbling down the stairs, knees hitting wood. The sharp crack of pain as my ankle twisted, the world spinning, the taste of blood in my mouth as I bit down on my tongue.

"Vanya?" Claire’s voice was distant, muffled. "You okay?"

I blinked, the memory dissolving like smoke, and grabbed her arm. "Let’s go," I said, yanking her out of the room, out of the noise, out into the empty corridor where I could breathe.

"What aren't you going to try out?" Claire asked, disappointed.

"Not today." I said, forcing a smile on my face. "But maybe next time."

"You keep throwing the same excuse every single day.” Claire folded her arms, and I could tell she was pissed. But I really wished she could get under my skin and understand me the way I understood myself. Dancing wasn't just about rocking your hips, or anything of that sort. It was deeper and more intimate.

"Don't worry, I'll clearly join this week." I said, my tone a little lower than I intended. "This coming Friday, you have my word."

"I've been having your word for the past weeks, what makes you think I'm still interested?" Claire asked.

"Oh c'mon, Claire." I said. "I mean it this time."

"Wow," Claire said. "You're so easy to believe.”

Maybe she was right. There was still this liar that was buried deep inside of me. And she only came out when I needed protection. But it wasn't about Claire or my mom or my dad. It was just about me.