Aris

September 5th.
Yesterday, I took my documents to the dance school, signed the papers, and today, I officially start working as a teacher. I’m excited, I’m happy, and I’m trying not to panic over the number of messages my parents have been sending me, worried about my decision. But honestly, what could go wrong?
"I hope nothing goes wrong," Odília said, in a warning tone. "This is the most prestigious school in the city. Our students are children of influential people who pay high tuition fees to ensure their kids have the best dance experience possible."
I nodded in agreement, trying to show naturalness. But the truth was that those comments only increased the pressure on my shoulders.
I would be teaching two classes. One, with younger children, ages five to eight, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. And another, with the older kids, ages nine to twelve, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Both classes were at full capacity, with ten students each. Apparently, there was a waiting list for new openings, but Odília did not accept more than ten children per class, despite her space accommodating many more.
Leon, her grandson, who worked as a receptionist, had told me all this the day before. He was sixteen, still in high school, but worked there part-time. "I promise to do my best, Mrs. Magalos," I said.
She just looked at me in silence for a few more moments before turning and leaving. When I was alone in the room, I finally let out the breath I had been holding, feeling relieved.
But soon the pressure returned when the door opened again and the day’s students began to arrive. There were three boys and seven girls, and they all looked at me with considerable curiosity as they greeted me and went to a back cupboard to store their things.
They were just kids, aged between nine and twelve, but they still managed to be intimidating.
Since it was their first class with me, I introduced myself, asking them to also tell me their names, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to memorize them right away. After that, I tried to recall each step of the lessons I had when I was their age. Then, I started with a series of stretches and chose, for that first day, to have a more freestyle class, letting them pick their own music. This way, I got an initial assessment of each of their levels.
Moreover, I felt that, in this way, they had fun, which broke some of the tension of having a new teacher.
When the class time ended, I said goodbye to them and, as they left, I went to a corner of the room, grabbing the water bottle I had left on a chair. I took a long gulp when I heard a child’s voice behind me:

“You did really well.”
I turned around to find a little girl, probably between nine and ten years old, with her brown, wavy hair tied up in a high ponytail.
“Thank you so much,” I replied, smiling.
“I noticed you were nervous,” she said.
“Really? Was it that obvious?”
“A little. It’s because I was like that two years ago on the day of my first dance class. I know it’s different for you since you’re the teacher and not a student. But I thought maybe you felt the same way. You know, afraid of making mistakes and everyone laughing at you.”
It hadn’t been exactly that fear, but I thought it was sweet that she noticed there was some tension in me and came to compliment me at the end.
“I’m very glad no one laughed at me,” I said, whispering as if sharing a secret, even though we were alone.
“You dance very well and you’re very pretty. You look like a fairy.”
I laughed because that was actually my nickname within my family. Not because of dancing or my physical appearance. My parents said they were enchanted by me the first moment they saw me when I was just a baby among a group of refugees. They started calling me ‘little fairy’ because I supposedly had cast a spell on them.
“You dance very well too, and you’re very pretty,” I returned the compliments. And they were sincere. The little girl was beautiful, and her talent for dancing was evident.
“Thank you. When I grow up, I want to be a very famous ballerina. Just like Mrs. Odília Magalos.”
“I wanted to be like her too when I was your age. My life took different turns, but I’m sure you’ll make it. You have a lot of talent.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
“As I said, my life took different turns.”
“You shouldn’t give up.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but my voice was drowned out by Leon’s from the reception:
“Iris! They’re waiting for you here.”
Iris... That was her name. She had said it, along with the others, at the beginning of the class, but I was so tense that I hadn’t remembered any of them.
“I drank too much water before class, I need to go to the bathroom,” she announced. “Miss Aris, can you let them know I’m coming?”
Without waiting for a response, she ran to the bathroom.
Laughing, I picked up my bag from the chair and put my water bottle away. As I left the room, I scanned the spacious reception area, looking for Iris’s parents.
Then, I was greatly surprised to find Dimitris Makris.
What was he doing at a children’s dance school?

That was definitely the last place on earth where I’d expect to find the campus bad boy.
He was staring distractedly at the bulletin board but turned his gaze toward me, equally surprised to see me.
“Where is Iris?” Leon asked, bringing me back to the present.
“Oh... she went to the bathroom,” I replied. “Where’s her guardian?”
Leon pointed to Dimitris, as if it were obvious, since he was the only other person there besides us.
But to me, that was the complete opposite of obvious. Dimitris was older than me, but he couldn’t be more than twenty-two or, at most, twenty-three years old. It seemed highly unlikely that he had a ten-year-old daughter. He resembled Iris a lot, so I deduced that he was probably her brother.
So... the most feared bad boy in town was taking his little sister to ballet classes? That was charmingly ironic.
Leon moved away, returning to the reception. I approached Dimitris, stopping in front of him and couldn’t resist a bit of provocation based on how he had referred to himself a few days ago when he warned me to stay away from him.
“Delinquent, huh?”
His lips twitched almost imperceptibly into a sideways smile.
Wow... That was extremely sexy.
“Did you think that criminals hatch from an incubator? We also have family.”
“Criminals? The words are getting heavier. Especially for a guy who picks up his little sister from ballet class.”
“And you? Who did you come to pick up?”
“No one. I’m here for the class.”
“I thought it was a class for kids.”
“Usually, the person teaching the class is an adult, right?”
He raised his eyebrows, showing surprise.
“You’re a ballet teacher?”
“What’s the surprise?”
“Actually, none. It suits you perfectly. The whole good girl vibe.”
I admit that the label he had put on me bothered me a bit. I had spent most of my life being treated by my family as a fragile creature that could break at any moment. That was precisely why I avoided telling people about my health condition. I hadn’t even told Lizzie yet, although I knew that sharing a room meant it was only a matter of time before she’d see me changing and spot the large scar on my chest.
“I don’t think girls should be labeled as ‘good’ or ‘bad,’” I retorted.
“Not you. Even your life story is heroic. The sad kind, but victorious in the end.”
“Everyone has their heroic moments in life.”