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elevator.
    When I entered the studio, I switched on the back lighting, keeping the harsh, overhead lights off. The large window in the back of the room caught my eye and I was curious to see the view. New York City all lit up was breathtaking. Even at 3 A.M., the traffic was still insane. It truly was 'the city that never sleeps.' For the next few minutes, I watched all of the cars drive through the streets and I found myself lost in the stillness of the room.
    I heard a door open and quickly hid behind a nearby curtain in the back of the room, afraid of getting caught by a teacher. I peeked out, curious to see who had come in.
    "Oh my god. Samson?" I whispered to myself, not wanting to give away my presence.
    He threw his bag down to the floor and walked to the stereo. A beautiful song began playing, chasing the silence from the room. Samson sat on the ground and began to stretch. His towering frame cast a shadow across the wooden floor. He was good-looking. That was undeniable. Well-defined muscles accented every part of his body. The sleeves of his grey T-shirt were tight around his biceps. I imagined him lifting me effortlessly from the ground, holding me in the air. I immediately pushed out the pleasant thoughts that were starting to brew in my mind. As good-looking as he was, his ego was hideous.
    When he began dancing, I noticed the same carefree attitude that showed during his solo return. It's like the ego he tried so hard to portray melted away, and what was left was his true self. Seeing him dance, without any inhibitions, had my body yearning to be close to his. The hauntingly beautiful song continued to play and his moves became more forceful. As he leapt into the air, his Triple Saut de Basque was dead on. Coming down on his left knee, he glanced to the back of the room. I quickly pulled back, trying to hide from view. As I waited, hoping Samson hadn't discovered me, I thought about the dancing I'd just seen. He made ballet look easy.
    Other than the music overhead, I didn't hear anything else. I peeked back out from behind the curtain, jumping back when I saw his eyes staring dead into mine.
    "Natalia? What are you doing here?" He walked toward me with a puzzled look on his face. Without giving me a chance to answer, he continued, "You weren't spying on me, were you?"
    As he reached me, I noticed that he didn't seem as drunk as he had thirty minutes ago. His blue eyes were bloodshot, but other than that, he seemed completely sober.
    "I wasn't spying on you, I–"
    He cut me off before I could finish. "Don't even worry about it, doll. I'm used to people trying to get a behind-the-scenes look at my routines." His index finger pointed to the curtain I stood next to. "You really have no reason to hide from me."
    A behind-the-scenes look at his routines? Was this guy serious?
    "I wasn't hiding! If you had let me finish, you would have heard that I was here before you!" I realized I was raising my voice, but his accusations were ludicrous.
    "Then why were you hiding behind a curtain?" he asked. "You know what? It doesn't even matter." He started to walk away, but stopped when he heard my voice.
    "What if I was spying on your routine? Can't take a little criticism?" I had a good feeling my question would get under his skin. A person who was shallower than a puddle with an ego the size of the Pacific Ocean was bound to become perturbed when their deepest fear was found out.
    Samson turned around with a scowl. I heard his heavy breathing over the soft music.
    "Critiqued? By you? Listen, sweetheart, you may be good, but you're not up to my level." Samson jerked his body around and began walking to the front of the room.
    "Oh yeah? Want to wager on that?" I yelled.
    "I don't make bets anymore. I always win," he countered. A smile formed on his lips, but his eyes turned villainous. "Just to make it fair, why don't you show me what you auditioned with to get here?"
    It just so happened that the piece I auditioned with had