I looked down at my test paper, the bright red letter was circled with a scribbled ‘Well done!’ next to it.

Another A.

No doubt my father would be proud.

I screwed up my nose as I packed the paper into my backpack with my folder and stood from my seat. I tossed it over my shoulder as I made my way down the stairs. Most of the class had already left, a range of different expressions on their faces with regards to their test results.

I headed for the door, trying unsuccessfully to avoid eye contact with Professor Evan as he held the door allowing the students to exit.

“Very well done, Emerson. As always,” he complimented as I stepped through the doorway. I plastered on a fake smile, one that I’d perfected for times like these where I needed to portray that perfect girl image that my family expected me to be.

“Thank you,” I replied graciously before making my escape.

I allowed myself ten steps before my shoulders slumped. My family’s expectations of me were high. With my father being one of the wealthiest property developers known, and my mother a popular actress and model, there were certain things I needed to do in order to not bring shame or attention on them. I’d been taught since a young age that our public persona must be perfect and clean at all times. Completely untouched by scandal. So far, I’d managed to live up to what was expected, but frankly, it was exhausting.

Since I’d been away at college, the pressure had only loosened slightly. I had to work hard and make perfect grades, in order to make it into law school next year.

I’d already passed the LSATs.

Yale Law, here I come.

But it wasn’t what I wanted. It was a future that I despised.

“Why so glum?” a perky voice asked, as they skipped up beside me.

I smiled at Leah, one of my best friends. This time, the smile was real. She was one of the only people I trusted and who knew the real me, the girl that hid inside a perfectly crafted mask.

“Got another A in Humanities,” I answered, rolling my eyes as she fell into step with me.

She gasped dramatically. “Oh God, not an A. That’s terrible.”

I nudged her with my elbow, unable to keep from laughing at her sarcastic tone.

Leah had a full scholarship to Jacksonville University where we attend. She worked part time in a coffee shop in town and studied harder than anyone I knew in order to make the grades she needed to get her teaching degree. Leah was the first person in her family to go to college. She understood the pressure to succeed, but for entirely different reasons. Her family would always support her, no matter what she did. But deep down she craved to make them proud.

“You know, Emmy,” Leah said as we walked.

“You need to start putting yourself first.” We both say at the same time, with matching smirks. I’d heard this sentence from her more times than I wished to ever count.

“Don’t mock me, woman,” she scolded. “With that brain of yours, you could be anything…” she paused for a second, looking at me pointedly, “… even a dancer.”

I couldn’t help but release a heavy sigh. Dancing was all I’d ever wanted to do. Music called to me, it flowed through my body like blood through my veins, and I couldn’t help but move.

But a dancer was of no value to my father’s business.

“Yeah, maybe I could ask Daddy to buy Broadway for me,” I answered sarcastically.

Leah laughed and shook her head. “I’d start off small. Maybe a strip club. ‘Cause girl, you know you’ve got the moves and the body to work that pole.” She began to grind her hips suggestively, a sly smile broadened on her lips. Laughter burst from mine.

It gave me a sense of relief to know that no matter what, I had friends like Leah who could make me smile.

The smell of coffee wafted our way, and it only took one look between us before we were veering off the path and heading for the campus coffee shop. We ordered at the counter before taking a table against the wall.

Leah leaned back, propping her feet on the spare chair as I dropped my bag onto the ground. “I saw Sophie on the E! Channel last night.”

I nodded. “Yeah, she’s got a small part in that new sitcom, Greener Grass.”

Sophie was my older sister. She was also my hero and everything I wanted to be—bright, confident, free. I loved her to pieces.

Sophie didn’t do well in school, but when my mother involved her in an acting project she was doing when Soph was just fourteen, the producer apparently saw huge talent. Knowing that she would never excel academically, they threw her into acting lessons and voice coaching in typical ‘go big or go home’ Rossi family fashion.

I should be angry, jealous, and a small part of my heart did resent the fact that she was off doing something she loved, while I was here taking all the pressure from my father. But Sophie was also the only one in my family who supported me and my love for dance, she was on my team, and she reminded me of that every time we spoke.

We talked every second day on the phone. Sophie loved to listen to me tell her about different movements and play her the songs I was currently dancing to. It was almost like she wanted to get lost in my story, just as much as I wanted to get lost in hers.

She was my best friend.

“Never really saw her as the comedy type,” Leah mused.

I smirked. “I think she plays the bitchy new girlfriend to one of the main characters.”

Leah giggled. “Oh, so she just has to be herself?”

Unlike me, my sister took the rich family lifestyle and ran with it. She was a great actress, was always surrounded by friends and attending the biggest events, and flourished in the spotlight. My parents had made sure she wasn’t shy to fame, my mother herself getting more than her fair share of attention when we were growing up. As children, I’d always been one to hide my face and walk away, but not Sophie. She would always turn, smile and wave, like she was in some kind of beauty pageant. Having that kind of personality where nothing fazed her, and nothing got under her skin.

I knew that despite us being complete opposites, we both had this strange understanding of what the other wanted. She knew I didn’t want to be here, spending so many years of my life studying to be something that I would forever despise. But just like me, neither of us would oppose our father.

Where I played the part of the perfect daughter, she lived it.

Maybe I should go into acting.

Leah and I drank our coffee, chatting about classes and upcoming events.

Suddenly, I checked the time on my phone. “Crap. I need to get to the theater for rehearsal,” I told her, rushing to finish the rest of my coffee, knowing that I’d need it.

Excitement bubbled in my stomach as Leah wished me luck and I raced out of the coffee shop.

Law school required applicants to complete a degree before applying. I had chosen to do a Bachelor of Arts, majoring in humanities. The humanities part had pleased my father, as it would contribute greatly to my future law degree. But what he didn’t know was that in pleasing him, I had gotten what I wanted. The Bachelor of Arts allowed me to take the classes that I actually loved. The one thing that had kept me sane over the past four years.

Dance.

Sweat dripped from my skin as I inhaled heavily and stared into the floor length mirror in front of me.

I heard quiet clapping and turned to see Sally standing in the doorway of the dance studio. “It’s perfect.”

I smiled, but it was forced and tense. “It’s not right yet.”

Sally shook her head. “Emerson, no matter what you dance, you embody it. There’s a passion inside you that some dancers would kill for.” Her posh English accent made the compliment sound even more powerful than she’d intended, but even though I appreciated it, I still felt as though there was something missing.

I walked to the side of the room and drank my entire bottle of water. “Passion isn’t everything…” I told her as my body pleaded for air, “… if the skill isn’t there.”

Passion isn’t going to convince my father that this is what I should be doing with my life.

At one point, I had even considered failing my classes on purpose so I could escape. But my family knew better than that.

I sighed, hanging my head. I loved them. They had always been there when I needed them, and I really did want them to be proud of me. But I wanted them to be proud because of the person I am, not because of the person they wanted me to be.

Unfortunately, family always came first.

Dreams a very distant second.

Sally walked over and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. “It’s nearly seven p.m. Go home.”

I took a deep breath, finally allowing myself to take note of my aching body. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“And don’t even think of showing up here at six in the morning. Take a day to rest, otherwise you’re going to burn out,” Sally said sternly, narrowing her eyes at me.

She knew me. That’s exactly what I’d been thinking of doing. She’d been my dance instructor since freshman year. We’d become really close, and I even began working with Sally as her teacher’s assistant from time to time.

I smiled and waved as I headed out of the room and down the hallway. Pushing through the main doors and out into the night air, a gentle shudder spread through me as the cool breeze skimmed across my skin. I tucked my backpack a little closer to my body. The sweat that lingered on my skin began to cool and sent a cold shiver down my spine.

It was dark, but the campus was lit up with bright lights, and there were still students milling around. The steps of the dance I was working on playing over and over in my head as I walked to my car. My arms and feet moved to a silent beat as I stepped down the concrete pathway that led to the parking lot.

I could still remember the day when I first discovered my love for dance.

My parents were very strict on extracurricular activities, always telling me that they took time away from study. So I never really experienced the art of movement until later on. Some might say I was a late bloomer. A lot of dancers that I’d talked to had been doing it since they were four or five. Sometimes even younger.

They knew that early that this was what they were made for.

Maybe I did know too but had never been given the opportunity to explore it.

Until I was eight and my school invited a dance school in to do a performance.

They were from the Boston Conservatory, one of the most prestigious dance academies in the United States and my ultimate dream. I remember how they appeared to not just be moving with the music, but seemed to be a part of the music themselves. The flow of their bodies, the way they practically breathed the airy tune, hauntingly depicting the scene. The music had no words, but their bodies told a story that I would never forget.

I went home that night and begged my father for dance lessons. At first, he denied my request, but I didn’t give up. For weeks I asked, I pleaded. The memory of the dancers from Boston played over and over in my mind with the way their bodies curved and twisted into unimaginable positions. The turns, the leaps, the way they pushed themselves to the limits of their bodies and then even further.

Eventually, I decided to play to my father’s business sense. My sister Sophia and I received an allowance every week. While my sister spent hers on shopping and designer clothes, I told my father I would like to use my allowance to pay for the lessons.

I researched dance, explaining to him how it taught discipline and persistence. I showed him examples of dancers who went on to become CEO’s, lawyers and wealthy business owners. All because they were taught determination and the ability to handle pressure through the art of movement.

I could tell both him and my mother were impressed with my logic, and the way I presented it. So he gave in, but only under strict conditions—I could dance as long as it didn’t interfere with my school work or my future. In other words, if I let my grades slip and I became at risk of losing the future he had so carefully mapped out for me, it was over.

Between dance and study, there was no room for a job, so I had to rely on my father to pay for my education and the house I lived in.

So I followed his rules.

Even if they did smother me.

I allowed dance to be the one thing that pulled me away. It allowed me to be someone else, to live a different life, to express my feelings. It was everything that I felt I couldn’t be in reality.

It was my saving grace from what I viewed as a life sentence.

So I held onto it tightly. With both hands.

“Emerson!” I startled out of my daydream as I looked around for the familiar voice.

I saw my friend Max running toward me, waving his hand so I stopped. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he pushed them back up as he jogged over to me. Max and I had become friends last year when he transferred here from another college. He was sweet and shy and supportive. He had confided in me about the pressure that he was under from his family to go to law school, and we’d forged a connection. We’d studied for the LSATs together and had both passed. Max was smart, but only because of the amount of effort he put into his education. He really did want to be a lawyer, telling me that he needed to make a difference in the world. But where I found tests simple, Max had huge anxiety.

“Hey.” I smiled as I stood and waited for him to catch up to me.

He offered me a shy smile, and I giggled to myself. I wasn’t entirely sure how he intended on being a lawyer when he couldn’t even stop himself from blushing every time he talked to a pretty girl. He was one of those guys that you wanted to take home to your parents—a little strange, but sweet as hell, and with his head screwed on right.

“How’s the dance number coming?” he asked, as we continued to walk to the parking lot.

I nodded. “I think it’s close.”

He laughed. “You doubt yourself too much. We both know it’s going to be amazing.”

I smiled and looked away at the compliment. “Thanks, Max.”

We reached my car, and I leaned back against it. “I’m having the girls over this weekend. You’re going to come, right? Auditions are tomorrow, and I’m either going to be drowning my sorrows or celebrating.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he beamed. “I’ll bring the congratulations balloons.”

I laughed loudly. “You better bring some ‘better luck next time’ ones too. You know… just in case.”

Max slowly backed away heading to his car that was parked a few spaces from mine. “You’ve got this, Emmy.”

I swallowed tightly as he climbed into his car and started the engine. “Glad someone else thinks so. I’m not so sure.”