Chapter 4

He looked strangely familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd seen him before.

"This is a duet. You won't get the right flow practicing alone," he said, his expression neutral.

I froze.

Muttering a quick "sorry," I grabbed my bag and bolted out of the room.

When I got home, I threw my bag down and locked myself in my bedroom.

My mom knocked and came in with a bowl of hot soup. When she saw the "Extreme Weight Loss Guide" on my desk, her face fell.

"You're 5'10" and 152 pounds, Chloe. Why on earth are you trying to lose weight?"

"I'm too heavy," I mumbled. "My partner can't lift me."

My mom opened her mouth to argue, but seeing my stubborn face, she just sighed helplessly.

From that day on, my extreme diet began.

For days, I survived on nothing but a tiny breakfast.

By the fifth afternoon, while practicing in the studio, the room suddenly spun, and everything went black.

I reached out blindly and grabbed Zach to steady myself.

"I... I don't feel well," I gasped.

Zach shoved me off instantly.

"Stop acting. You're built like a tank. How could you be sick?"

I crashed against the wall, my limbs feeling like jelly.

A sneering laugh sounded from above. "Oh, I get it. Are you trying to act fragile and weak like Chloe Brown? She's naturally delicate, Miller. You just look ridiculous trying to copy her."

The surrounding classmates snickered behind their hands.

Before I could even explain, my vision failed completely, and I collapsed.

When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse's office.

Zach was sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through his phone.

Did he carry me here?

A rush of complicated emotions flooded my chest.

Zach had a nasty mouth, but when things got bad, he was always the one who showed up.

Just like when we were kids, and he'd call me stupid while scraping me up off the pavement.

"Thank—"

I started, but as soon as Zach heard me move, he looked up with a look of pure disgust.

"You seriously need to lose weight, Miller. You're as heavy as a pig. Carrying you over here almost broke my back."

The words died in my throat.

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head. Every ounce of warmth vanished.

I looked down, the shame and hurt clogging my chest.

"This is a recovery room. Keep it down."

A cold voice sounded from the doorway.

I looked up to see the guy from the abandoned dance studio.

"If you're done talking, please leave. The patient needs rest."

Zach scowled, stood up, and stormed out.

The room fell quiet.

The guy walked over, his expression softening slightly. "Your blood sugar crashed. Have you been starving yourself?"

I hung my head. "I'm trying to lose weight."

I braced myself for him to mock my size too.

Instead, he looked at me with intense sincerity. "If a dancer can't appreciate her own body, she will never be able to dance from the heart."

I stared at him, stunned.

He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something.

"This is a healthy meal plan. You need to eat three times a day. Protein and carbs for breakfast, a normal lunch, and fewer carbs for dinner—but do not starve yourself."

"You don't get fit by starving. Dancing requires strength."

My eyes stung with unshed tears.

"Thank you."

"Also, I saw you practicing alone the other day." He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. "If you want, I can be your partner."