I was certainly overdressed.

A dance competition smack dab in the Student Union at six in the afternoon.

All the deadweights from classes or clubs who wandered in. All now earnestly snared to watch. Only the contestants had thought to dust their cheeks red or wear their finest and match standing with the poise and taut fluidity of, well, dancers.

Among shorty shorts and springtime skirts, there was that one. The one taking a drag in the corner while events unfolded.

Me? Well I couldn't lie. A waltz wasn't as boring as it looked and neither was a macarena. I jotted down pages worth of notes. Sloppy drawings of the competition, opinions on the favorite; a coveted position held by both Hartley Macy and Sylvia Monterra.

The straight hair, porcelain Asian beauty versus a robust, serious Latina.

It made my heart pitter just a bit.

By-line-- by Devon Sooth. The ins and outs of academia star turned hot dance craze Hardin Simmons.

Quaint, sizzling, and sensationalizing.

___________________

Darn stitch.

To feel such a prickling itch, right at this moment, her heels click-click-clicking wildly and phone pressed to my ear.

"I can't believe this," I hissed crossly.

"Look I'm sorry, I really am," he tried.

"No. No apologizing."

"Syl don't do this, come on..."

"You let me down. Goodbye."

And without another wasted moment pressed the 'end call' dial.

My eyes turned toward Hartley, who not three minutes ago and still now, hid her snide little giggles as a cough. Hands all over her poor boyfriend. Awkward with bangs swept delicately over his eyes rockin' Goth to match a classy tight fit black sequin dress.

I was furious, I was unravelling.

"On in one minute, Hartley Macy and then newcomer, Sylvia Monterra."

Hartley's sleek, shiny hair crested in gentle falls on one shoulder.

"Oh well, you gave it a fight. But let's be honest, that fancy dance? It just doesn't-- oh it isn't your tone, don't change," she simpered, honeyed and poisonous.

And my eyes laid upon, possibly a miracle. Possibly the craziest plan ever conceived of and a sure-fire way to humiliate myself. Within this gargantuan, dreamy moment of my life.

"You!" I called, taking a snowy arm into my own. Made up in the perfect contrasting dark and daring dress. "You'll do. So just follow my lead once they call."

She blabbered on, clearly nervous. I didn't have the time to care.

________________

"Sylvia Monterra and--"

"A surprise. And a very special person," creating a whole stir.

I swallowed thickly, burning under the lights and stares of confounded and serious judge panel.

Sylvia's silent cue wasn't anymore forgiving. Except she held my hand much tighter.

"Devon. Devon Sooth," I announced. 'Of the Hardin Heart Press.'

Tumbled out in a rapid whisper just as the music boomed in sudden strength and vigor.

Sylvia, without care or reservation, nuzzled me close for all of a second.

"I'm-- I'm from Scotland."

Her brow rose. Intently surprised.

"Is that important?"

Her arm pulled out.

Parting our fingers and I parried my feet into what I was sure was a terribly awkward rotation.

Hers blistering and full of raw vigor.

Her forearm now perpendicular just below her breasts.

Other hand up and making a swishing queen's wave.

Copying the pose was easy enough.

And so was a furious, rushed scurry towards each other.

I'd made to reach for her hand. And for a moment I'd expected to touch her cold palms and feel the warm buzz of her chest.

Only for her to glide instead.

"Years ago when I was younger..."

Rotating. Rotating.

I continued a ballerina's pirouette. And she didn't seem to mind.

"...we were sweethearts..."

Before in sudden succession she clasped my fingers.

Once again at an insatiable, unacceptable distance.

Without her I was quite literally floundering.

But this time, as panic rose to it's peak on my face...

"I'M IN LOVE WITH A FAIRYTALE."

She didn't let me.

Securing me tight, spinning in a protective embrace.

I wondered how she wasn't green.

"I DON'T CARE..."

"I'm...

She let me whip apart to her side, before clasping my shoulder.

"ALREADY CURSED!"

We swept across the floor our feet making wide arcs and turns of it.

And then as one turned heads and our hands out for the judge's table. Making a march, her red dress swishing in time.

Such a beautiful mysterious red.

Her legs in scant moments, fluttering out of their skirts.

"Spin," she murmured.

I did, with a nod, her gentle hand letting me dance. A music box ballerine for her pleasure.

"Now you lead," she whispered again, the heat of her breath like a brush of fire on my cheeks.

And so I did.

Slowing our steps.

As the next verse matched my pitch.

By now I knew what story she was telling.

And eloquently, lips curling and round at each vowel richly savored, did she sing the song.

"Every day we started fighting

I slowed our steps. Turned them into the slow, wandering walk on a partition of moonlight upon the path.

"Every night we fell apart--

How her feet moved, why she twirled, why there was so much spinning and tracing and back-tracing.

And though she tried to retake control, for us to glide as we did, in bliss and enamored...

I didn't let her.

"No one else could make me sadder."

In my lead I pulled her, demanded her closer to me.

Nearly letting her tumble my body.

Which she turned into an artful dip.

Rising in a sweep of long, coiffed hair.

With a simple black clip with a glass jewel at it's center holding her whole sweep together.

"But no one raises me high above."

And in a suck of air I was just two inches of the ground but by God!

She'd looped her arms around my waist, she was holding my waist, holding me aloft.

My heart hammered.

The lights turned into the merciless brow-beating sun of these South summers.

Now when she held my body, the sheer electricity in my hands, buried in hers warned... just before that she would.

She'd let me go again.

Letting me wander down the other side of the floor.

"I DUNNO WHAT I WAS doin'"

"When SUDDENLY WE FELL APART."

And we continued apart.

"Nowadays I cannot find her."

"But when I do, we'll GET a BRAND NEW START."

This time we briefly gravitated towards each other, but otherwise kept to our own orbit.

Until, as it would look quite by accident, she'd caught me again.

In a brief one-armed embrace and dipping me with all the passion and force of a cougar.

Face ever closer to mine as the ballad screamed again: "I DON'T CARE. IF I LOSE MY MIND!"

"EVEN THOUGH IT HURTS!"

And raised me at her whim.

Ending the dance how we began, arms linked but apart by an intolerable two feet. Or something like that.

We were both heaving, our chests compounding, ready to burst.

Sylvia looked a mess with her hair slowly coming unfurled and softly caressing her face.

And her eyes.

Her eyes gleamed, growing almost blinding the way she turned to the spotlight head on. Smiling almost cheekily.

I must have looked terrible too.

The crying and hollering of the school was intoxicating as it was horrifying. They'd gone absolutely wild, mad even.

Bouncing and squealing, hands flapping. Some were definitely talking lewd. Groooss.

Sylvia was handed her trophy. Not spectacularly huge but still, a sizeable wide bowl painted gold that I'm sure would find a comfortable spot on her mantle or night table.

__________________

The song was called Fairytale.

By? I don't know.

Last week I'd spent an inadvisable, some may say stupid, amount of time at a small sorority gat-together. That had devolved into a night of Bloody Mary, neon Jello, and games of romance and suburban housewives with a sacred paper fortune teller.

Hence waking to my eyes pierced by cruel lamp light and worse yet... the sun. The complete jerk.

I'd thrown a pillow and tried to stretch back into a blissful sleep only for my leg to cramp and my phone to continue tormenting me with it's insufferable call tone.

Who had the absolute nerve? Whoever set it like that was getting a beating.

From my dorm it wasn't too much of a walk to the main commons building.

The SU was completely cleaned out, no sign at all of a serious competition having taken place. With all of twenty spectators.

Not a big deal at all.

Even still, I decided not to look too hard at the space now filled with card tables and ping-pong.

My hand was still oddly twitchy when I turned the knob for the Student News room.

"Morning," I greeted, trying my best to sound awake and present. But I caught the strain and the break. "So, any big story to break? Am I in trouble?"

"Right here Sooth."

The editor called from her perch. Apart from all the mere mortals at her own desk right at the center of the operation.

Felicia Wiles leaned back from the furniture, arms tilted out of sight and a slight smile perking her lip upon seeing me.

I noted she'd had the time to pick up a hearty breakfast and sweet cold brew with whip cream. And she wore quite the nice elbow-length white button up blouse.

The latest paper was slammed onto the desk for me to see.

Where on the front page was Sylvia.

A photo taken from the administration for the school's Activities and Org. page of her accepting the trophy.

Even so, a part of me felt, hackled.

Was it okay for us to have this picture.

"This was..." Felicity said, darkening and serious for all but a moment, "AMAZING! Top material!"

She clapped her hands.

Confusion simply grew. And more than a bit of suspicious unease.

"Oh," she popped, "yeah we got her permission to print the picture, don't worry. You aren't in trouble."

"In fact," hand to her chin.

Grin widening and a gleam in her eyes making for a slightly unhinged appearance.

"I LOVE YOU RIGHT NOW, Devon Sooth" she exclaimed, hands resting to my shoulders.

"Hah, whaa, I mean Miss I--"

"Now that whole pitch I had given you: get some deets on the top scholarship student in First Year, dig up a why for the sudden entry figure her game, that was good."

Felicity's peering toward the article proper only grew more scrutinizing.

"But what you did right there, RIGHT. There. That entire performance was gold!"

"I, I was supposed to report," I reminded her, but all the same quite weak and quite abashed at myself. "Not... become the report."

God. I didn't care what Felicity was on about. I'd screwed up end of story.

And try as I might have to fix it, blegh, my opinion just got all over the page!

And... Ugh, I'd had no excuse not to tear it up and... DO Something!

"Oh who cares," she replied, snapping a dismissive hand wave at my face, "it was completely unexpected, sizzling, and sensational. You rocked the performance that night I may add, not to mention you looked just..." in her dreamy, faraway fantasy she blew a magnifico kiss, "perfect. Absolutely made for each other if even for a moment."

"Hold-- hold on," I finally said, if only to say I'd put in some effort.

before this entire situation inevitably flew out of control. "We are not dating. N-O," I spelled firmly, X-ing my hands to show how serious. "And we aren't even sure if she likes women and even if she did I am not going to sell myself to make a story!"

"Well of course not," Felicity cried, voice brimming with mirth and dare if I was crazy, just the most condescending little bit of pity. "Looks don't lie."

I took the proffered newspaper, trained on where she pointed.

"That was not just a one and done. Something happened in that dance last night, Sylvia was giving you eyes too," with such an assured smile it just must be the truth. Right?

"No, I-- I don't know," and I didn't know if I cared. Or if I wanted to care. "I'm sorry, I'm missing the point here."

"The teachers and the Arts department think she has a real chance of representing," Felicity outlined.

"Repre-sent?" I said, somewhat carefully, not sure I understood it even if the word was in my mouth.

Felicity sighed, but looked no more bothered or annoyed. Simply graceful and authoritative.

"For the district dance contests, and if she takes that, the national Winter Waltz in three months. One," she held up a finger, "that is a big story. This school's never had a presence in the arts to be honest. At least, not beyond state level so her as a breakout would be a headline. Two, there would be big investment from the entire university for her to make it to the top, not just for clout and media, but also for the individual and distributed allocation cash prizes which would completely rehaul our old Arts and Performance departments."

I nodded along.

Right. The bottom line, the story.

And of course, the wellness of the school.

So with that, I could guess what three was.

"Three."

'You...'

Devon Sooth, I may be the only person Sylvia could consider humoring for an exclusive. If Felicity had the right idea and we'd somehow become "intertwined," like in the ballad piece, that meant I could very well have swaying power to make a whole lot happen. And a whole lot to report on as a journalist.

Even so...

"I won't tell you how to use that awesome power," Felicity reassured, "I do have morals. That said, I want you on the pulse of this thing. Poor girl, I respect that she wants to study and set her career in motion, we all do, but she's made an uproar. She's not going to get away from it."

Yeah. Poor girl.

"I'll do my best," I decided. "And I'll protect Sylvia Monterra in whatever capacity she'll let me with or without the fixing."

Felicity shrugged. "Okay, good luck on both."

"By fix I mean," I began, just to make sure.

"Yeah, yeah I got it."

"Okay."

And with a somewhat awkward first stride I was ready to stride out of there like a Queen badass.

Only I remembered one little detail.

"Can I, have my notes back? On... Sylvia and the dance story?"

"Don't remember the complex?"

"I don't remember the complex."