In Too Deep

Chapter 3

The cafeteria is much more civilized than at my old school. For one thing, it’s clean, and for another, the food actually looks edible. Most notably, though, it’s quiet. A group of less than twenty students doesn’t create the roar of several hundred.

The cafeteria itself is pretty impressive. Dual lines are each staffed by a chef in a white hat, one flipping omelets, the other blending custom smoothies. MJ and I are running late, due to oversleeping after last night’s interruption and cover up. We only have time to grab something quick—a bagel for me and a large coffee to go for her.

I pull my schedule from my pocket as we head back out of the cafeteria. Logan, the boy from last night, strolls up to meet us.

“All the first years have the same classes,” MJ says, not glancing up from her giant cup of coffee.

“But we all have our own independent study where we work on our specialty,” Logan says, wedging himself between us. “What’s yours, by the way?”

“Uh, computer programming.”

“Nice.” He nods. “A hacker.”

I’ve never considered myself a hacker. I don’t even see myself as a computer geek, just someone who likes to spend a lot of time online. “So everyone here has a specialty?”

He nods. “You’re the only hacker. MJ’s is languages. Mine is explosives.”

“Like making bombs?” I ask, dumbfounded.

He grins, flipping his hair out of his eyes. “Or dismantling them.”

“Don’t worry,” MJ says. “They make him work out in the barn away from the school ever since he blew out a window in the lab.”

Logan’s grin deflates into a scowls but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches over and snatches my schedule from my hands. “What do you have for gym?” He studies the paper.

“Something called Zumba.”

He chuckles. “Of course. They’ve been giving that to all the girls.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“It’s a Latin dance type of aerobics,” MJ says as she tosses her empty cup at a nearby trashcan and misses.

I remember late-night infomercials with middle-aged women in too-tight spandex jumping around erratically. “How is doing Zumba going to prepare me for life as a secret agent?”

“It’s not.” Logan shakes his head like the idea’s insane. “It’s just to keep you in shape.”

“What do the boys have?” I ask.

“Basketball. We had rock climbing last quarter with the girls.”

“I still think it’s strange. Why a dance class?”

“Bria leads it. She’s a second-year. She convinced McAllister the girls needed their own gym class, and because we don’t have two gym teachers, she told him she’d teach it.”

“And he just let her?” In my old school, I couldn’t convince a teacher to give me a hall pass to use the bathroom, let alone design my own class. I keep forgetting how different this place is.

“Have you met Bria?” He smirks.

“No, not yet. Why?” A wide grin spreads across his face. “What’s her specialty?”

“Seduction techniques. “I glare at him. “Well, officially its negotiations, but how exactly do you think she gets what she wants?” I shrug “You’ll understand when you meet her.”

I follow MJ into the locker room to change for gym. I use my open locker door to shield myself as I change into a pair of baggy mesh shorts and an oversized T-shirt that still smells like home.

MJ looks me over with a discerning gaze. “No,” she says and turns back to her locker, fishing out a pair of black skin-tight yoga pants and a fitted black tank top. “Put this on.”

“Why?” I glance around and find the answer to my question. The other girls are in similar outfits. My baggy shorts and T-shirt, which were perfectly suitable at my old school, are out of place. “Thanks.” I take the clothes from her, making a mental note to ask my mom for black yoga pants.

The six of us gather in the girl’s gym, which I learned from Logan had been recently remodeled at Bria’s insistence. The polished wood floors and wall to wall mirrors make it feel like a true dance studio.

A tall girl with jet black hair swishing at her waist glides through the glass doors and walks to the front of the room. This must be Bria.. With an olive complexion, striking green eyes, and a thin body that’s curvy in all the right places. She’s stunning. I silently vow to start a diet tomorrow.

Bria turns on the music—a quick Latin beat—and claps her hands, signaling that class is about to begin. I already feel inferior in her presence; let alone attempting to dance in front of her. All the girls fall silent and turn to face her, seemingly just as mesmerized as I am.

Bria’s eyes fall on me. “Have you ever done Zumba before?”

I shake my head, embarrassed a being called out. My voices breaks when I try to speak. “No,” I blurt out.

Bria turns back to the mirrors. “Just watch what I do and try to follow along. I’m sure you’ll catch on.” She bounces on the balls of her feet, working her hips from side to side in time with the music. All of the girls follow while I stand there transfixed by her swaying hips for a second longer than I care to admit, attempting a little too late to copy the movement.

I glance at myself in the mirror. My movements are jerky and awkward and so unlike Bria’s. She breaks into another dance step, more complicated this time, whipping her hips to move across the floor, sashaying her arms as she goes. While it seems to come easy to the other girls who follow Bria’s lead, it takes me a few minutes of stumbling over my feet before I catch on, but still, I just don’t look right.

I watch Bria’s rear thrusting, her hips rocking, and I try to copy the moves just as she’s doing them, but my hips just don’t move that way. In the mirror, I’m stiff and rigid, and in this skin-tight outfit, there’s no forgiveness. My arms and legs are stick straight, my chest is flatter than it should be, and I have zero muscle tone, but just to spite me, Mother Nature has blessed me with the round booty that runs in my family. My mom and grandma both have this ass, and I can assure you it doesn’t get better with age. From what I’ve seen, it will spread wider and begin to sag as middle age approaches. I look back at Bria. I’m pretty sure she’ll be a MILF.

The girls around me know every step and don’t wait for me to catch on. They’re flying through the moves, all synchronized. They march forward, hop back, step apart, and grind down to the floor. I’m always a step behind, and just when I’ve caught on, they add another move. They clap their hands in unison before beginning again. And just when I’ve caught onto the clap, the move changes and my clap rings out alone at the wrong moment. Damn it.

I resign myself to the fact that Zumba is not something I’m good at and spend the next hour trying to move in the right direction and not stick out too much. My moves have little resemblance to the others’.

When the class ends, I’m sweaty, out of breath, and thankful it’s over.

The girls file from the room, crowding around the drinking fountain. A group of guys stands outside the glass doors, and the fading smirks on their faces tell me they’ve been watching us. Fan-freaking-tastic. In a room with just six of us, there’s nowhere to hide. My only hope is they were as captivated by Bria’s hips as I was. Logan shakes his head at me, laughing. He intimates my jerky hip movements, thrusting his hips back and forth. Crap.

“It’s Taylor, right?” Bria asks from the front of the classroom. She motions me toward her while blotting a towel to her cleavage. I seriously need to stop checking this girl out. I step toward her and glance in the mirror again. My dull brown hair, pulled into a ponytail, is damp with sweat at my temples. My wide set blue eyes look childish, too innocent next to her exotic beauty.

“You seemed a little stiff,” she says, looking me over.

“Yeah, my body can’t move like that.”

“Nonsense. Of course it can” The doors open behind us. A guy who looks as much like a model as Bria does strolls in. “I need a guy’s perspective.” Bria waves him over. He obeys and walks toward us.

He’s ridiculously attractive. He has a tall, perfectly cut body from what I can tell under the dark jeans and T-shirt that strains across his defined chest. He also has a few days’ stubble on his jaw, and his brown hair is a bit too long to lie flat, but looks perfectly messed up.

“Hey, you coming by later?” he asks her, his voice low and unconcerned.

Of course it makes sense that he’s with someone like Bria.

“Do you want me to?” she asks, flirting with him.

He shrugs and glances toward the mirror, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” she says a little too quickly, like she’s afraid he’ll lose interest.

He nods once, almost imperceptibly.

“Colt, since you’re here, I need your opinion.” She waves him closer.

As he crosses the room to stand next to us, I notice other things about him. His eyes dance with mischief, and he moves with a sense of confidence reserved for guys who are too cocky for their own good.

Colt’s dark eyes hover on mine for a moment, then he gradually lowers his gaze. My skin burns as his eyes travel down my body. Having his full attention makes my stomach flutter.

“Oh,” Bria interrupts his inspection of me. “Taylor, this is Colt. Colt, Taylor is a new first year.”

His eyes flick up to mine once more and stay there. It’s like looking into the sun. I have to look away.

Bria hits the music, turning it on low. “Okay, we’ll start with a basic move. Try this.” She swivels her hips side to side, working them in a figure-eight pattern.

Colt’s eyes follow the sway of her hips. Is this really why she wanted him here? To watch her do this? She gives him a little show, then smiles. He blinks and looks away.

“Go ahead, Taylor,” Bria says.

This is ten times worse with Colt watching me. I close my eyes briefly, trying to catch on to the beat of the music and visualize my hips moving like Bria’s. I sway back and forth, hoping to God I’m not making as big of a fool out of myself as I feel like.

For some reason I look to Colt. His lips are tugged up on one side as he watches me, his eyes sparkling. I can tell I’m entertaining him. I can also tell it is nothing like how Bria just entertained him. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m not here to impress anyone. In fact, I hope I won’t be here for long at all. I’d much rather be back home, where we have regular gym class with uncoordinated gangly boys and where no one is a supermodel.

Bria puts her hands on my waist and spins me around so my backside is facing her and Colt. “It’s not horrible, right?” she asks Colt.

I brace for his response, but he stays quiet.

“She’s skinny, except for this little rump on her.” She pats my butt.

What the…? Did she just…? I spin around to face them. My face remains composed, but in my mind I’ve killed her like three times. This time Colt’s not even trying to hide his smile. Is this some sick game between them?

Bria takes his hand and weaves her fingers between his. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Oh, he’s all yours, honey.

“Is this lesson over? I need to figure out where my next class is.”

“Yeah, this is boring,” Colt says.

I wonder if he has the slightest clue he just insulted me. Nice.

She waves me away and turns off the music. “Just trying to help.”

Somehow, I don’t think for a second that’s what she was trying to do. And the satisfied little smile on her lips proves me right. Bitch.