The Hit List Read online

  My mouth drops open. No freaking way. No wonder he thinks he’s the best dancer here.

  Brielle nods and picks up her phone again. “Right? Which pretty much gives him free rein to do whatever the hell he wants. He might only be a sophomore, but he acts like a senior. And he’s been taking classes here for years, even if last year was his official first year.”

  “Even if he wasn’t, it’s not surprising he would find his way to you on the first day. Luke has hot blonde-dar like I have gaydar. You probably had his meter spiking the second he stepped foot on campus.” Adam thumbs through the magazine from its spot on Brielle’s bed. He flips too fast to actually read anything.

  “Gross.” Brielle throws a pillow at Adam. He catches it and throws it back at her head.

  “Well, at least you won’t be fawning over Luke this year so that’ll be one less distraction. The rest should be easy for you.” Adam traces lazy circles on her comforter with his finger.

  “I don’t even want to think about it anymore. I’m over it.” Brielle grabs a pillow from her bed and wraps both arms around it.

  Adam frowns and plays with her brown hair fanned across his legs. He twirls a bit around his finger and holds it tight for a few seconds before releasing it. The spiral curl loosens, but stays intact. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

  She glares at Adam and turns to look at me. “If you take one piece of advice at this school, it’s not to get involved with Luke. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  Adam waves her comment off. “She’s exaggerating.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  From the little experience I had with Luke, he didn’t seem as bad as Brielle makes him out to be. He actually seemed a little helpful by offering to show me around. He can’t be that bad.

  “How’d you spend your break?” Adam runs his finger against the back of Brielle’s neck. She scrunches her shoulders up to protect herself, but he continues.

  “What break? I can’t take time off. Not after my chat with Miss Catherine at the end of last semester. Not if I want to dance in Fall Showcase in three months.” Brielle moves to the other side of the bed, out of reach of Adam.

  Fall Showcase was one of the selling points for The Conservatory. A chance to get in front of some of the biggest talent agencies in the country and possibly walk away with a job and a contract with one of them. I’ll take it. If it means putting myself before everyone else I meet here, so be it. I’m done living my life for those around me. It’s time I put myself first.

  If I do well at Fall Showcase, I can secure my future again. I can prove that I’m not some washed up has-been who will never be as good as she once was. I didn’t leave the classical ballet world because I wanted things to be easier, and I won’t give up without a fight.

  Adam crosses his arms. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Miss Catherine made sure to tell me if my technique didn’t improve, I’d be looking for a new school at the end of the year. She said I wasn’t taking this seriously.” Brielle slides off the bed and starts digging through a drawer, throwing clothes around randomly.

  She sounds like she’s serious about school now even though she might not have been last year. If I had met Brielle a year ago, our similarities would have been enough for me to be friends with her.

  But it’s not a year ago and I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to dance.

  “I’m sure that had nothing to do with you showing up to class hungover all the time last year,” Adam says.

  I glance up at Brielle. She must have had a reason to act that way unless she likes throwing money down the drain along with her dancing career.

  The glare she throws him brings new meaning to the phrase “if looks could kill.”

  “You got in here, so obviously you have the talent,” I say. I meant it as encouragement, but she doesn’t take it that way.

  She looks at me like I’m dumb and I struggle to keep my face neutral. “They don’t just look at technique in auditions. If they see potential in you, you’re in. If you don’t live up to that potential, nothing can save you, especially not Miss Catherine.”

  Okay, then.

  Adam sighs. “Stop it. Seriously, you’re fine. Just focus on why you’re here. They can’t kick you out if you don’t give them a reason.”

  “I can’t leave. If I leave, they’ll be right and I swear to God, I will not let them be right about this.” She slides off the bed and paces in the tiny walking space down the middle of the room.

  A look of understanding passes between them. I chew on my lip. I want to ask her who they are and what she doesn’t want them to be right about, but there’s a reason she didn’t elaborate.

  Adam shrugs, playing off her statement, but his face remains serious. “Don’t let them be right.”

  Brielle’s face softens and she gives him a small smile. She grabs a nail file off her nightstand. “Here’s my advice to you. Don’t piss off the teachers. They’re your best bet at making it into Fall Showcase. Don’t be like me and have every single one of them on your bad side within the first month. Freshman year really counts. Don’t blow it like I did.”

  I can’t even imagine having teachers on my bad side. From the time I started dance, I’ve always been taught to be respectful. This means too much to blow it off. I’ve worked too hard and lost too much.

  My phone whistles in my pocket. It’s a nice distraction from the nerves that have started to twist in my stomach in anticipation for tomorrow. And maybe Mom texted me back after I called yesterday. But it’s not her. It’s never her. It’s just a stupid email.

  Whatever. Adam and Brielle discuss their plans for the night, and I glance at the screen.

  The email is the newest post from the unofficial blog of The Conservatory run anonymously by some of the students. I subscribed to it a couple months ago in anticipation of coming out here. Aside from the boring gossip about who’s dating who and who told off which casting director after a terrible audition, some of the posts have some useful information. Like new warm-up routines or which performances are playing at some of the lesser-known theaters in the area.

  But the most recent post isn’t like any of the other posts I’ve seen on the website. It’s the rules for a game.

  THE HIT LIST

  September 3

  Welcome to The Hit List: a game of sexual conquest.

  We’re back and bigger than ever in our third year. This isn’t like the games you may have been a part of in the last two years. It’s not just a couple of guys making a list of the hottest girls on campus. It’s people voting on which girl is worth the most points every week. And weekly rankings of our guys to see who is scoring the most with our ladies.

  Everything will be played out online. The Hit List is about to blow up the Internet and readers of this blog have a front row seat to all the action.

  For those of you who pretend to have no idea what I’m talking about and for those of you who actually don’t, let me explain. Over the next several months, a group of guys will be testing just how far each of them can go with the girls of their school. Points will be awarded based on the type of sex act. The hotter the act, the more points they’ll get. The hotter the girl, the greater the chance they’ll be worth bonus points. One guy will come out on top by scoring the most points. He’ll win the money from the pool and bragging rights.

  If you want to join the game, email me using the address in the sidebar. Sorry ladies, guys only. You’ll have plenty of chances for fun if you make it onto our list. Here are the rules:

  RULES

  1. Initial buy-in to the pool is $50 and will take place on September 7. Subsequent buy-ins will take place every Friday and can be in any amount of your choosing.

  2. Points accumulate from September 7-November 30. No points for past or future activities.

  3. The guy with the most points accumulated by November 30 wins the pool and bragging rights.

  4. All activity must be consensual between all parties
involved.

  5. Communication between The Hit Man and the Hitters will take place through emails only.

  6. Hitters are in charge of keeping track of their own points and proof items.

  7. Hitters are responsible for discreetly storing and destroying any proof or other trails leading back to The Hit List at the end of the point period.

  8. Anyone found to be in violation of these rules will be removed from the score board immediately and will forfeit any money they have contributed to the pool.

  9. You may not alter a girl’s state of consciousness using drugs/alcohol without her permission. But if the girl gets that way on her own, she’s fair game.

  10. You must obtain some sort of proof of your conquest. See list of acceptable proof below.

  11. Cock-blocking is a perfectly acceptable form of defense.

  12. No coercion or bribes of any kind to get more points.

  13. Use protection.

  14. Above all else, have fun and get laid!

  POINTS

  First Base + 1 point

  Second Base + 2 points

  Third Base + 3 points

  Home Run + 5 points

  ACCEPTABLE PROOF

  1. Underwear

  2. Bra

  3. Picture

  4. Video

  5. A well known item worn/used by your conquest

  More details will be provided later, along with The Bonus Girls of The Hit List.

  Until then, happy hitting!

  ~ THE HIT MAN

  “What’s this Hit List thing?” I ask, holding my phone out for them to see the email.

  I can’t believe I didn’t know about this before I decided to come to The Conservatory. Three thousand miles means a whole lot less if I have to put up with a sex game all year. It’s too late to transfer somewhere else. No one will have any openings at the beginning of the semester.

  Brielle grabs my phone and holds it closer to her face to read the screen. “What are you talking about?”

  Adam rolls his eyes. “Oh, that’s like some urban legend. It’s not actually real.”

  Someone’s done an awesome job at breathing life into this urban legend. “Looks real to me.” I cross my arms.

  Brielle hands my phone back to me. “Where did you find this?”

  I drop my phone on the bed and sit up to lean against the wall. “It’s on The Conservatory blog.”

  She glares at me and pushes the power button on her laptop. A few clicks later, and the blog post is on her screen.

  “What the hell? I seriously thought it was just a rumor last year.” Brielle scrolls through the post.

  Adam leans over Brielle’s shoulder. “I liked this blog, too. The gossip was fantastic.”

  Brielle swivels in her chair. Her brown curls fly through the air at the movement and smack her in the face. She pulls at a few strands stuck to her lip gloss. “Is that all you ever pay attention to? There was some good stuff on there. And now some psycho with a sex addiction has taken it over.”

  He narrows his eyes at her, like he’s deep in thought. “There are days I wonder what it would be like to have your brain, to know exactly how you reach these blown-out-of-proportion conclusions.”

  As if I didn’t have enough anxiety about starting class tomorrow as the girl in Jeté Magazine, now I have to worry about if my name is used in this sex game.

  That’s totally cool. I needed a little challenge in my life.

  I roll off the bed and grab my dance bag out of the closet.

  “I’m going to the studio. See you guys later,” I yell to them without looking back. I can hear their bickering even after I’ve shut the door.

  Dancing is what keeps me sane. When everything else falls apart around me, I’ll always have the studio. That’s where I go to escape. If anything can help with the stress, it’s dancing.

  The classroom side of the school is quiet. A couple students wander through the halls. Two guys walk past me and one of them whistles. I keep my eyes trained on the ground ahead of me. Before the blog post, I would have assumed they’d seen the article. Now I’m not so sure.

  I round the corner toward the studios. My mom’s ringtone blasts through the silence, echoing off the walls. Two weeks isn’t even a record for her, but it feels like it’s been forever. She’d been on a business trip when I left and couldn’t be bothered to come home to see her only daughter off to college.

  I slide the answer button. “Hey.”

  “Did you make it to L. A.okay?” she says. My mom has never been one for formalities.

  “Yeah, four days ago.”

  “Good. I didn’t pay all this money so you could throw your career away again. Focus on your dancing and stay away from boys. You’ll get back up to where you were before you got hurt, and you should have a job by the end of the year.”

  “I know.” I don’t understand how someone can be so overbearing and absent all at once.

  We’ve had this conversation before and I hate it more every time. I don’t need this from her. She’s not even a mother the majority of the time. She’s never had a lot of time for me, only swooping in to parent when it’s convenient for her.

  “I’m serious, Sadie. We don’t need another situation like you had in New York. I told you not to get involved with that boy.” Her voice is harder than it was a few seconds ago, like she’s trying to drive her point home. As if I didn’t get it.

  My vision blurs, but I blink back the tears. I refuse to cry. Tears will only give her more ammo to use against me, and that’s the last thing I need. “I know.”

  “Good.”

  And that’s why my mom will never be the mother I need. She doesn’t understand how hearing “I told you so” from her hurts more than Patrick leaving.

  She hangs up without saying goodbye. Typical.

  I toss my bag against the wall and hook my iPod into the stereo system. I let it shuffle through my dance playlist. I don’t have a preference today. The only thing I want is to get lost in music and the movements.

  A violin breaks through the quiet of the empty studio. The beat behind it is perfect for what I need. I fall into improvised steps easily.

  My muscles relax as the air around my body heats up. I push off the ground with my right leg and bring my left leg up behind me. My arms move over my head. My hair brushes against the bottom of my foot and a tingle runs down my leg, but I hold the position in the air until my right foot connects with the ground again. My left leg falls slower, reaching the ground a few seconds behind.

  The music drifts off and a new song starts, softer than the first. A flash of green in the doorway catches my eye. I turn to catch whoever has decided to watch my private rehearsal, but no one’s there.

  Maybe no one ever was. Just another illusion of someone who cares before it turns to dust.

  3

  The studio is a flurry of activity the next morning. Half the class is already there when we walk through the doors. A couple of girls whisper to each other just inside the door. Brielle slows as we pass them.

  “I heard there’s this new game called The Hit List and people are, like, killing other people over it. Like a real hit list.” The girl’s eyes widen as she tries to show her friend just how serious she is.

  I open my mouth to correct her, but Brielle elbows me and takes a step toward them. The smile drops from her face and she looks completely serious as both girls stare at her.

  “I heard someone legit got killed last night because they were playing that game. You better watch your back so something like that doesn’t happen to you.”

  The girls hang on her words. The blond one leans closer as Brielle speaks, like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s heard all day.

  The brunette’s eyes widen like her friend’s and I can see the outline of her contacts. “Come on, Noelle. You can’t really believe that.” She frowns in disbelief, but the worry lines on her face give her away.

  Brielle crosses her arms over her chest and sticks
her hip out. “It’s true. I saw it.”

  “For serious?” Noelle’s voice is barely above a whisper, like it’s some big secret even though it was posted on a public blog.

  “For serious.” Brielle glances at me. She can’t hide the smile at the corner of her mouth. The girls look at each other and nod. Their faces are just as somber as Brielle’s was seconds ago.

  If it wasn’t so cruel, it might be comical.

  “Thanks,” one of them says, like Brielle actually did her a favor.

  Brielle walks away. I follow her to a section of unoccupied floor and sit down.

  “That was mean.” I glance over at the girls who whisper fiercely to each other again. It’s not their fault they didn’t hear what the game is actually about.

  She shrugs. “They’ll figure it out.”

  I guess. Hopefully it’s before someone tries to take advantage of them.

  I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean forward. My left hip tightens momentarily, a side effect from my injury last year, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s the familiar feeling of loosening muscles. I love it.

  Anxiety bubbles throughout the room. Or maybe it’s just me. I resist the urge to bounce my legs to let off some of my nervous energy. A pulled muscle on my first day will not help.

  A group of older women and men who I assume are the teachers stand at the front of the room. They watch as students enter the studio. I recognize one of the women from my entrance audition. She catches me looking at her and smiles.

  Adam sits down in front of us. “Hey, ladies.”

  I wave in response. Talking takes too much energy right now.

  “Morning.” Brielle stifles a yawn.

  “You better wake up fast. You know more than anyone that yawning equals boredom in here. And you better never let them think you’re bored.”

  Brielle waves him off with her hand. “I’ll be fine as soon as we start moving around.”

  I push myself farther into my stretch to rest my chest and stomach on the floor. From my position flat against the ground, I have a perfect view of Luke where he stands a little ways away from us. I want to move, but turning my head only gives me a view of Brielle’s crotch. I sigh, staring ahead again.