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Lowering her arm and leg, Arabella stared at the strange dark-haired boy.  “I’m Arabella, actually.  And you are…”

“But you’re playing Clara.”  The boy’s dark eyes flickered, the corners of his eyes twinkling.

“How did you know?”  Arabella absently stretched out her foot, gently tapping her toe shoe against the worn studio floorboards.  “Max just told me this afternoon.”

The boy rolled his eyes.  “Let’s just say a sugar plum fairy has done nothing but whine and rage about it all afternoon.”

Staring at his sculpted face, Arabella felt a flicker of recognition.  “You’re Jocelyn’s brother.”

“Unfortunately.”  With a mocking smile, he dipped into a exagerrated bow.  “At your service, my lady.”

“Do you really dance?”  Arabella cocked her head, staring at him.  She had never seen a male ballerina before, at least one that spoke English.

“Unfortunately,” the boy repeated, his grin fading.  “You can blame my mother for that.  She thought nothing would be more precious than dancing twins and no one dared to argue with her twelve years ago.”

“Why dance if you don’t like it?”  Arabella watched his eyes slide across the floor, hiding from her gaze.

He shrugged.  “I’d rather dance than listen to my mother and sister squawk and fuss.  Besides…”  He leaned forward, the teasing grin returned to his lips.  “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually like it.  Of course, being a male ballerina doesn’t exactly win me a lot of girls.”

“Really?” Arabella blushed at his raised eyebrow.  “I would have thought girls would have loved that.”

“Other dancers do. But I make a habit never to date anyone I might dance with.  I keep it professional, you know?”

“Of course.”  Arabella smiled, ignoring the stinging sensation in her chest.

The boy glanced at the clock.  “I better let you finish so you can go home.  It’s getting late.  I just wanted to introduce myself.”  He turned, his hand on the door handle.

“Wait!”  The volume of her outburst surprised Arabella as much as it did the boy.  “You never told me your name.  Are you dancing in the Nutcracker too?”

“I’m Justin.”  The mocking smile stretched across his cheeks, he flourished his hand, grabbing hers and giving her palm a loud smack.  “The Rat King at your service, mi lady.”

“The Rat King?” Arabella shook her head.  “My friend Leonette is the Rat King.”

“No, she’s the Rat Queen.”  Justin laughed at her bewildered expression.  “You must have been in this studio for hours.  You missed all the drama!”

“What happened?” Arabella glanced at the clock.  Maybe if she hurried, she could call Leonette on the way home and hear her side of the tale before it got too late.  Although Leonette’s parents were generally relaxed, they tended to frown on late phone calls and visits, unless they were the ones doing it, of course.

As if reading her mind, Justin grinned.  “I’ll let your friend tell you.  Let’s just say it involved Miss Winethrop and Max and ended with Leonette demanding a meatier role, saying that she wasn’t going to deal with being a Rat King because Max was too much of a sexist to create a Rat Queen.  So now we have a Rat Queen with her own solo and group of “rats in waiting,” while the lowly Rat King is ready to fight the Nutcracker and scare Clara.”

“But why wouldn’t you be the Nutcracker?” Arabella blurted out, then blushed.  “I mean, it seems a shame to waste a dancer.  Leonette’s my friend and everything…”

“Aww, I’m touched at your belief in my talent, sight unseen.”  Patting one of Arabella’s flaming cheeks, Justin shook his head.  “I don’t want to be the Nutcracker.  There’s too much responsibility.  I dance for fun, not for the praise.”  He laughed.  “Besides, once you see the Nutcracker, you won’t even remember me.”

Before Arabella’s lips could even form the question, Justin placed a finger against them.  “But seriously, I came to tell you something.”  His dark eyes bored into hers, his thick brows knotted in concern.  “Be careful of my sister.  She wants your part, and she’ll do anything to get it.  I do mean anything.”  Lowering his hand, he stood, his eyes locked with hers.  Arabella held her breath, the warmth of his chin inches from hers.  After what seemed like an eternity, Justin stepped back.  Winking at her, he slipped out the door without another word.

Alone in the studio, Arabella exhaled, feeling as though she had just stumbled through a whirlwind of snow flurries– a strange combination of being hot and cold and flummoxed all at once.  Unwrapping the ribbons on her toe shoes, she slid on her soft boots and dropped her dance shoes in her dance bag.

Suddenly, she was in the mood for hot chocolate and shortbread at a cafe with a certain French Rat Queen.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new recipe tomorrow and more whimsical fun and stories!

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