Anastascia did indeed redecorate her guest room, but she'd decided on a dusky rose color instead of taupe. She'd said I should help choose since I was going to be her roommate, but I'd insisted that the arrangements were just temporary and that she do it herself while I was tying things up in Vegas. She'd pressed the issue until I told her that if I was going to move back and try this whole dance thing, I wanted to make a completely fresh start, including living on my own. It was just something I had to do. After that, she'd moved on to other topics related to my arrival.

It had taken a couple weeks for me to get things in order since I hadn't wanted to leave Rosa in the lurch. I didn't care quite so much about a two-week notice at The Diamond Club, but since I'd been waiting for Rosa to find a new roommate, I picked up as many extra shifts as possible so I'd have at least some money while I looked for a job in Philly. The kind of jobs a high school graduate with experience stripping and waiting tables could get weren't exactly the kind you could find online and send in a resumé for. Anastascia loaned me the money for my ticket, but I hadn't wanted to borrow any more off of her while I was waiting to get a job.

I arrived in Philadelphia on a Friday evening in mid-August and spent the weekend walking the streets and putting in applications despite Anastascia telling me to take it easy for at least a couple days since I started classes on Monday. The only concession I made was to come back early so we could have dinner together.

Now it was Monday morning and I was standing outside a small studio only a few blocks away from Anastascia's place. That had been another reason I hadn't argued too much about staying in her guest room until I found a place of my own. If I could get a job nearby, it would be perfect. There were plenty of cheaper apartments in Fishtown that, eventually, I'd be able to afford.

That was for later though. Right now, I needed to focus on dance. Technically, I wasn't starting a class today. I was observing three different level classes and then would be tested to see where I fit. If they wanted to, they could say that I didn't qualify at all, but I had enough faith in myself that I'd, at the very least, get in on the bottom level.

Concentration was the key.

As I entered the studio, I found myself in a tastefully decorated space. It was clearly the work of an interior designer and the budget had been vast, but it wasn't ostentatious. I introduced myself to the woman at the desk, endured her disapproving glare as she looked at my obviously worn clothes. Moments later, I let myself enjoy the way she pursed her lips when she had to wave me back toward the changing room.

As I walked into the changing room, I once again found myself wondering how Reed had managed to pull this off. This wasn't the kind of studio that everyone in Philadelphia knew of, because Madam Emilana was extremely particular about the students she accepted and she didn't advertise. There always had to be some sort of personal connection, a referral. Had he donated funds to the school on top of establishing the grant that would pay my tuition? Or was she one of his business contacts, the kind of high society person whose favor-for-favor exchange was generally in the hundred thousands to millions?

I pushed the thoughts out of my mind as I headed into the main studio area. The biggest downside to coming back here, I'd discovered, had been my thoughts constantly going to Reed. I told myself the reason was that I hadn't thanked him for the gift because that meant having to address what had happened the last time we'd seen each other.

I'd been wrong that night, and I knew it. This whole thing with Reed and Britni was a mess, but no matter how I felt about that, I knew, deep down, that Reed would never let any woman be taken advantage of. If he'd known what Brock had done, he wouldn't have let it go. Accusing him of not only being culpable, but also wanting to participate had been out of line.

I just didn't know how to tell him all of that.

“You must be Miss Black.”

A woman's sharp voice brought me back to myself. She was tall and slender, but muscled. With a graceful neck and perfect posture, I knew instantly she'd been a ballerina.

“I’m Janine Weathers, Madam Emilana's assistant.” She smoothed down her already-perfect bun. “I teach the remedial and intermediate levels. Madam Emilana teaches the advanced class as well as private sessions for those students who she believes have the talent to go further.”

I nodded. That was my goal then. Private lessons.

“Today, you will sit in on both of my classes and then in Madam Emilana's. Once those are completed, you will perform in front of us. We alone will determine your placement.” She glowered down at me. “Any questions?”

“Is there anything you want me to do with the classes?”

A muscle in her jaw clenched. “That won't be necessary. The point of you sitting in the classes today is so that when you place lower than you believe you should be, you'll have a reference point to see what we expect.”

I stared at her as she started toward the front of the studio.

“Don't mind her.”

I looked over as a girl in her mid-teens grinned at me. “Miss Janine is like that with everyone. She says it's a way to weed out the weak; that if you can't handle her being harsh privately, then you'll never make it out there.”

I smiled at the girl and headed for the bench against the sidewall while she went to the rail to stretch out. While I still wasn't fond of the attitude, I understood it now and could appreciate the sentiment behind it. Miss Janine was right about how hard it was out there. The competition for this particular field was intense. I didn't know what the specific stats were, but I did know that the number of girls who made it was well below half.

I studied each of the moves as Miss Janine put the girls through their paces. I had a basic routine in my head that I was going to do, but I'd purposefully left gaps so I could see what the students did first. I figured if I put in and nailed at least two or three things that each class was working on, the better shot I had at being placed higher.

I was relieved to see that the remedial class wasn't working on anything I didn't know. It had been a long time since I'd done real dancing, and while I'd been practicing the last couple weeks, I hadn't been sure where I'd compare to the other students. When the intermediates arrived, I saw that the majority of them were around my age. Most of them smiled at me as they walked past, and the ones who didn't, had expressions on their faces that said when they were here, they never smiled at anyone. I understood that too. Focus was important.

I could see the difference between the classes immediately. These were young women who were looking toward a possible career in dance, whether as an instructor or on stage. From what I saw, I believed I could hold my own with them, maybe even be better.

As they exited, I noticed a couple linger behind, watching the door. When a striking older woman with silver streaks in her dark hair entered the room, the students' reactions told me that this was Madam Emilana. She glanced at me once, nodded and then turned her attention back to the new young women who were stretching. They ranged in age from about fifteen to at least several years older than me, and even watching them at the bar was evidence that they were the advanced class. These were the ones who had a shot of making it. Some maybe only in local troupes, but they'd be doing what they loved.

I was completely entranced as the class worked. I hadn't truly acknowledged how much I missed this. When I'd first started stripping, I'd tried to keep my style and had been told that if guys wanted to see that, they'd go to a show. If anything kept me from being in the advanced class right away, it would be the rough edge I'd unintentionally gained while in Vegas.

When the class ended, some students filed back to the changing room while others left directly. Madam Emilana didn't acknowledge my presence until the last woman left, and then she walked over to me. I stood and held out my hand. Her grip was firm and her eye contact steady. She didn't look down at me or frown like the other two women had and I wondered if that was because of her personality or if she didn't know where I came from. I assumed the other two did.

“Miss Black.” Her voice had a hint of an accent I couldn't quite place. “Once Miss Janine joins us, we'll begin your audition.”

I nodded. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Of course.” She gave me a smile that said once work ended, the tough teacher went away too. “Any friend of the Stirling family is welcome here.”

I managed a tight smile. Okay, so that answered one question.

“Reed mentioned that you didn't have any formal training,” she said.

“That's true. A few classes at the local youth center when I was a kid, but that was it.”

“And you think you'll be able to keep up with our classes after a few classes as a kid?” She sounded doubtful but not cruel.

It wasn't until that moment that I realized what I should have known before. They didn't know what I'd been doing in Vegas. No one here did. This really was my chance for a fresh start.

“Let's see what you have prepared,” Madam Emilana said as she and Miss Janine moved to stand at the front of the studio.

With the weight that had been lifted at the idea of a clean slate, the routine went even better than I'd hoped. I added in each of the elements I'd selected from the three classes, nailing the first ones with ease, the second set without a problem and almost completing the last ones perfectly. A little bobble on one and another that looked a bit rough, but still recognizable. The other parts had been brought in from various forms of dancing I'd done over the years, though the ones from the last two years were much more sanitized versions. All in all, when I finished, I was beyond pleased with what I'd done. I just hoped the judges slash teachers felt the same way.

When I first looked at them, my heart sank because they were turned toward each other, having what appeared to be a low, heated discussion, though their faces were basically blank.

“Miss Black,” Miss Janine turned toward me first. “You stated that you hadn't had any formal training.”

“That's right.” I sounded more winded than I wanted to, but there wasn't anything I could do about that now.

“Then may I ask how you included elements specifically taught in dance classes, one of which is exclusively taught here?”

I wasn't sure if she was angry or not, but I figured honesty was the best way to go. “I watched the classes and chose elements that would fit into the spaces I'd left in my routine.”

Miss Janine's eyebrows shot up. “You're telling us that you came here with a half-completed piece, intending to fit in unknown elements that you'd never practiced before?”

I tried not to shift my weight from one foot to the other, but the questions were making me nervous. I wasn't sure if I'd done something wrong or what the correct answer was, so I stuck with the truth. “Yes.”

“How did you know you'd be able to do anything we were teaching?”

Madam Emilana still hadn't spoken. She was simply watching the conversation volley back and forth, her face an impassive mask.

I shrugged and immediately regretted it. A shrug was about as far from elegant as a person could get. I straightened my posture. “If I couldn't do at least what the remedial class was doing, I didn't belong here. If the other levels would've been too hard to even try, I would've only added ones from the first class.”

Now Madam Emilana spoke and she sounded almost smug. “I told you that was what she was doing.”

Now I was just confused and let it show. Neither of the women explained though.

“Excellent work,” Miss Janine said, and it didn't sound grudging at all. Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

“Yes,” Madam Emilana said. “You will begin in the advanced class starting tomorrow and should you prove to be as hard a worker as I believe you to be, your private lessons with me will start at the beginning of the upcoming year.”

I was still beaming when I walked outside fifteen minutes later. I was also pretty sure that, if I hadn't been a grown woman standing on a city sidewalk, I might have skipped a bit. I was still debating going for it when I heard a familiar voice call my name.

“Piper! I was hoping I hadn't missed you.”

I turned as Julien jogged across the street. He was grinning at me and, for a moment, I thought he would hug me, but he didn't. He stopped within arm's reach and stuck his hands into his pockets. It was a hot day and he was wearing shorts, showing off athletic legs that were a bit paler than the rest of his visible skin.

“I called the studio to ask what times they normally held their auditions so I could get here in time to see how you did.”

I was so touched at his thoughtfulness, of his remembering my big day. I was smiling so big I thought my face would crack. “Great!” I nearly yelled, “I'm in the advanced class with a chance to have private lessons.”

Moving back to Philadelphia now seemed worth it.

“That's wonderful!” He gave me a slightly awkward one-armed hug and then backed away. “Hungry?”

“Starving.” I hadn't been able to eat much today. Too many nerves.

“Then let's celebrate,” Julien said. “My treat.”

I smiled. “Where do you want to go?”

“Your choice. It's your celebration.”

“Trolley car?” I suggested.

“Breakfast for dinner.” He chuckled. “Bacon and eggs?”

I laughed too. The fact that he'd made me breakfast without expecting anything in return had made that one of my few positive memories of that week.

I was surprised at how smoothly the conversation flowed as we walked back to his car and then drove out to Germantown Avenue. He was still really easy to talk to. I suppose I'd thought our conversations before had been a fluke brought about by the need to be less awkward with Brock being a jerk, or by alcohol. That last conversation we'd had wasn't like this at all, so I didn't count it. Now, I could see it wasn't any of that. Julien was one of those rare people with whom it was comfortable to talk. One subject flowed into another and never ventured into anything uncomfortable or too personal. Over pancakes with maple syrup and cinnamon buns with creamy frosting, he told me what he'd been doing since we'd last seen each other, and then he asked how the job search was going.

I frowned at my pancakes. “I think I covered half the diners and restaurants in Fishtown, but none of them are actually looking for help. They were all really polite and let me fill out an application, but I doubt I'll hear anything from them.” I tried to lighten the mood by leaning across the table and taking some of Julien's frosting. “Too bad Brock never made good on his promise. That ten thousand dollars would come in handy right about now.” I flushed as I realized how that sounded.

Fortunately, Julien was polite enough to ignore it and kept going with the original conversation. “Are you definitely wanting a job around Fishtown then?” he asked as he stabbed a piece of my pancake, giving me a dazzling smile as he ate the food he'd stolen.

I nodded. “That would be my preference. I'm staying with Anastascia right now and I don't have a car. I could borrow hers, but she's already doing so much for me.” I stopped suddenly, pressing my lips together. We were venturing into overshare territory. “It'd just be nice to be able to walk from her place to work and then to the studio, and not have to worry about trying to get a ride.” I glanced up at the sun. It was already starting to get darker earlier. “At least until winter comes.”

“Yeah, I'll bet that'll be one thing you'll miss about Vegas,” Julien said. “No one wants to walk in Philly during January.”

I nodded even though I knew I'd be one of the ones doing just that. First priority was to find a place of my own. It may have seemed like I should've worried about a car first, but unless I was forced to get a job somewhere that having one was absolutely necessary, being in my own apartment came first. Walking would help keep me in shape. I'd dealt with walking in Philadelphia winters before. I could do it again.

“I know a few people in the area,” Julien said. “I could make some calls.” He held up a finger before I had the chance to say anything. “I won't do it if you don't want me to. I know some people don't like taking help.” The twitch at the corner of his mouth said he remembered our conversation a few weeks ago regarding that exact thing.

He was right. I didn't like asking for help, but I was getting better at it, especially since I knew once I got hired somewhere, they wouldn't regret it. I was a hard worker, and after two years of stripping, dealing with obnoxious restaurant customers was going to seem like a vacation. Besides, it was either this or borrow money from Anastascia in a week or so when what I had left from the club finally ran out. I'd refused to let her pay for my food and I'd had to get clothes for dance class. That had taken most of what I'd brought with me.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I'd appreciate that.”

He nodded. “All right then. I'll get back to you as soon as I hear anything.” He held my gaze for a moment, and then smoothly transitioned to another subject. “So, tell me what you're going to be looking to do with your dancing. Theater? I’m not even sure what all the options are.”

I liked this, I thought. Good food. Good conversation. And a nice guy who wasn't trying to get into my pants. It was refreshing.