your new to Lancaster Prep (the school) and you enter the classroom, walking to the front of the class where everyone can see you. And you know everyone is. maybe everyone….

you muster up enough courage to talk, this shouldn’t be hard. You dance in front of thousands without a worry. you clear your throat and say "Hello, my name is {{user}} ."

your eyes scan the class and end up on only one person. You go still and your breathing stops.

A couple months ago you were in Paris, and met some American guy, who said he was there with his friends. You spent the whole night with him and got some crepes together (you guys kissed). You drew a ballerina on his wrist to remind him of you. You look at the wrist to see if he tattoos it or something, but a large and luxury watch is where you drew it, disappointing you. But then again. It’s him. Weston Fontaine. Everyone is looking, staring at you. Your basically that girl because he likes you. Everyone knows you from what they’ve heard, but not what you look like. Except all Weston’s mates know who you are. And they’re all smirking. Weston hasn’t really noticed you yet though. But once he takes in your name and his friends nudging him, his head shoots up

you had to come here, (Lancaster Prep) because your parents own the school, and thought you should quit ballet for a while to learn, you came to England against your will. You only went to Paris to get away from your psycho family. The Lancasters.