Dance with the Billionaire
By: Charlotte EveBut then why did he bring me all this way? Couldn’t he just have told me that over the phone?
As if he can read my mind, he says, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to keep you hanging on any longer, Julia. You want to know whether or not you got the scholarship place, right?”
I nod. I’m so nervous I can even feel my hands getting clammy. Gross.
“Well, I’ll just tell it to you straight,” he continues. “After much discussion amongst the panel, and while we all thought your performance was excellent, I’m sorry to tell you that you didn’t get the scholarship. You’ve really got something, Julia, you’re very talented, but at the same time, you’re not quite there yet.”
That’s it. Game over.
He leans forward in his chair. “It just felt like you were holding something back,” he continues, “like there was something missing from your performance.”
I feel my face fall, and the hot sting of tears in the corners of my eyes.
Don’t cry in front of him.
And I feel a stab of anger, too.
Why the fuck did you invite me all this way just to tell me that? Why the hell couldn’t you have just told me over the phone, or an email, or a text even? Did you want me to cry in front of you – is that it? What is it with guys lately?! Is it Fuck With Julia’s Head Week or something?
“But don’t worry,” he continues, his face softening. “It’s not all bad news ...”
“I don’t understand,” I say, desperately fighting back the tears. I mean, this is bad news. This is like the worst news possible.
“Like I said, your performance was good. And what’s missing? I hope we can work on that, together. Although we can’t offer you a scholarship, we would be very happy to offer you a place here at Eldridge ...”
At this, he takes out a manila envelope from a drawer in his desk and hands it to me.
“Now, this would be a paid place, meaning you would need to find the funding to cover your tuition fees and other expenses, but we would all like you to consider it, Julia. You’re a very talented dancer, and we’d love to have you here at the school if you could find the funding. I’m sure with savings, maybe an evening job and some help from your parents, a reduction in your clothes budget even, you could cover it? Most of our students find some way to manage ...”
“Thanks,” I say, kind of stunned and confused, clutching the envelope awkwardly.
Most people find some way to manage, do they? That easy, huh?
“That package contains all the information about our Contemporary Dance course, including how much you’d be expected to pay in course fees. Please, think it over. But I’m afraid you haven’t got long to decide, a day or two at most. So you’ll need to let me know your decision as soon as possible. As I’m sure you will understand, these places are like gold dust.”
And then I say it, the words just leaping from my mouth as if they have a life of their own:
“I’m in! Sign me up.”
“Julia, that’s fantastic!” he says. “It’s great to have you aboard ...”
He offers me his hand, and when I stand to shake it, my legs feel all wobbly and my head’s reeling.
What have I done?
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“I’ll let the admin department know. They’ll be in touch with you for payment soon. Classes start in two weeks.”
§
I walk out through the main doors to the school, stepping into dazzling sunlight, then stumble through the campus, still trying to take it all in.
What the hell did you just do?
I take a seat on the lawn and slip the course brochure from the envelope, flipping through it, looking at all the photos of happy students and reading the descriptions of the classes I could be taking. Of course, it all sounds amazing, just what I’ve always dreamed of. But then I turn to the back page, where the course fees are outlined, and my stomach lurches.
Each semester costs over fifteen thousand dollars in tuition fees alone. And it’s a three-year course. That’s over thirty grand per year, and that’s before I factor in my living costs.
How the hell am I going to afford that?! I think as I squint at the brochure. I can’t even afford a pair of sunglasses this year, let alone thirty thousand dollars in course fees.
I look around me, at all the students coming and going, laughing and smiling to each other like they don’t have a care in the world, and I wonder how they can afford to come here.
I think back to Maurice’s word: some help from your parents.
Of course. All these people have moms and dads who have been paying into college funds since before they were born.
