The Player novel Chapter 1

Brielle

7:24 AM

Beethoven's symphony number five blared through the speakers as I leaped across the stage, landing gracefully. All spotlights were on me as I danced, the audience seeming to extend on forever. I spun, leapt, and glided across the platform before final finishing in my ending pose. My chin was held high as reassurance flooded through my body; I knew that I had done well. However, no one was clapping.

The audience's eyes were wide. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.

"Clap!" I yelled franticly from the stage. "Clap for me!"

I held my stomach in agony, tears running down my face. It wasn't until my hand touched my abdomen that I realized it was bare. Looking down at my body, I realized that I was completely naked.

Suddenly, the room went from dead silent to loud, filled with the laughs of the audience. Tomatoes were launched at me. They then began to throw dirt, then furniture, then cars, until a mid-sized home was being hurled at me.

"No!" I shouted, a lump in my throat. "This can't be happening to me!"

The room began to shake as the laughs grew in intensity.

"No!"

The room shook even more, until I could no longer stand up.

"No...no...no..."

"For the love of God wake up Brielle!"

I shot up, now laying on my bed in my room. I quickly touched my stomach and felt my pajamas, letting out a sigh of relief. My older brother, Scott, leaned over me, his face contorted in annoyance.

"Your alarm has been on for twenty minutes," he told me, a hint of attitude in his voice. "I had to shake you awake for five minutes while you kept screaming no."

"I don't know what you dream about, but you may need to see someone about it. Seems serious."

I ignored his commentary, still in my sleepy haze. Rubbing my eyes, I looked at the clock, and then let out a long string of curse words. It read 7:25, and I had to be at the dance studio for rehearsal at 7:30.

With a newfound sense of urgency, I pushed my brother out of the way before sprinting to my bathroom. I brushed my teeth before I threw on my leotard, tights, and ballet flats on before securing my tight coils in a bun and chucking my pointe shoes in my dance bag.

Nearly tripping down the stairs, I dashed to my car, hightailing it to school in an attempt to be somewhat on time.

School didn't start for another week, but I was taking dance lessons during the summer to prepare for my showcase in October, and it seemed that I was late to them nearly every day. For the last week, my instructor was getting more and more pissed, and I just hoped that today was not her breaking point.

She was an amazing dancer in her day, but she had an injury to her knee that cut her career short. Ever since, she's spent her time teaching dance, in hopes of giving dancers the career that she couldn't have. Because of this, she was always hard on us for not reaching our full potential.

Thanks to Los Angeles traffic, I arrived at my school, Vista Valley, thirty minutes late. As I ran to my school's dance wing I prepared myself for Ms. Riley's wrath.

I was not disappointed.