Summary: Camille Gage and Moose meet under the most unusual circumstances. They butt heads, but, eventually, find a common ground. They go through trials, tribulations, betrayals and angst filled drama. Can their relationship conquer all? Based on the Taiwanese drama, 'Autmun's Concerto'.

A/N: This story is in a different universe than the 'Step Up' series. However, I will incorporate characters and elements from each movie in the series as I deem fit. Please comment, subscribe and follow this bumpy ride. =)

The Road Ahead

Xxxxx

"Hey Camille," a petite woman of Asian descent called. She patiently waited, and she held an envelope up for her newest employee. "Payday!"

"Thanks, Ms. Kido," Camille happily acknowledged, while staring at it. One step closer, she thought. She placed it against her chest.

"Call me Jenny," she insisted with her thick Japanese accent that she insisted wasn't an accent. She smiled too. Then, she looked at the time. "Hey, why don't you get out of here. It's Friday night, and I'm sure you have a hot date!" She shimmied against her employee in a playful manner.

Camille's smile faltered upon hearing that. That was far from the truth."Are you sure, Ms. Ki-," she already saw the stern look playing on Jenny's face. She revised that statement. "Jenny, I can stay and help still." She followed her boss. "I can wash the dishes, or I can organize the menus. Place silverware in napkins."

Jenny arrived at her office and sat on her chair. She instantly shook her head and looked at the young girl. "You work too hard. I'll see you Monday, now get out of here," she demanded. A suspicious feeling surfaced. "Is there something going on?"

Camille shook her head. "No," she answered, alluding that there was something bothering her but she wasn't ready to say anything. She knew she needed to leave now. "Alright, Jenny, I'll see you Monday. Have a nice weekend." She went to the employee lockers, gathered her stuff up and left.

Upon exiting her place of work, she placed on her headphones that were connected to her IPod and began the trek to the only bus stop that operated at this hour. It was three miles away. To make her walk faster, she began to groove to the hip hop song that was playing. Rhythmically, she began sliding her feet, snapping her fingers, performing moves, and then causing her body to ripple like the ocean. She always lost herself when she danced She kept moving around, popping and locking intricately, and incorporating moves her best friend taught her; all the while keeping up with the blaring bass of the music.

This activity gave her the most solace.

Camille Amelia Gage was 18 years old, and she lived in Baltimore, Maryland. At the young age of four, her family was involved in a tragic car accident. Sadly, her parents and older brother, Tyler, were killed. She survived luckily. Because she became an orphan she was placed in foster care and often bounced from house to house. An extended family member was found, and she was immediately sent to live with her.

Aunt Claire, her dad's sister that hadn't been heard from in years, was a bit reluctant to take her niece in. After all, she didn't have children of her own; she wasn't planning on having children either. She was content living her carefree life, hopping from relationship to relationship, though unstable, and living off what they gave her—monetarily and sexually. Having Camille didn't hamper her style though. Her current boyfriend was Eddy, a master Carpenter and repairman, and he allowed the two women to move in.

The three of them were living in a rundown two bedroom apartment.

Camille wasn't too fond of her living situation truthfully. She wished to be emancipated, but her aunt and Eddy wouldn't allow that. She was extra income that they didn't have to lift a finger for. She didn't ask them for much, as she was pretty self sufficient. Her first job, at the age of 14, was babysitting for the next door neighbor, then she worked at a fast food restaurant. Before her most recent job, she cleaned around the local YMCA, and that's where she learned about several genres of dance.

She was wowed by them. Contemporary, Latin, Dancehall, Swing, Ballet, and Interpretive were all interesting to her. However, the street and club styles struck her fancy the most. Secretly, she would watch the Hip Hop classes and attempt the moves. She found out she was a pretty quick learner; she thought about using the money they paid her for dance classes. Sadly, the YMCA closed due an immense amount of mold that lined the walls, and she had to look for another job.

Despite no longer able to watch hip hop classes, she continued to dance. It was now apart of her.

Finally, she stopped dancing and looked around. There was some unexpected applause from people on the street. She blushed, but humbly bowed. She laughed it off and continued walking. Suddenly, she was approached by a guy she had never met or seen before.

"Hey, hey," the guy attempted to get her attention and stopped right in front of her.

"Huh, what," Camille asked, confused by him. She took her headphones off, so she could hear him better.

"Take this," he held up a one liter bottle of Skyy Vodka with one hand, while his other hand was in one of his jean pockets.

Even more baffled, she shook her head at him like he was crazy. "No, I don't drink, and I'm not even old enough. Thanks though," she denied in the nicest way possible, while putting her headphones back on and walking away. He trailed her. She sensed her male shadow, and she turned to him. "I don't even know you, so stop following me," she yelled exasperatedly. Once more she attempted to get away from him, even going the opposite way of where she was originally going. She was hoping her work was still open, so she could get away from this lunatic.

He wasn't deterred and was hot on her tail. "Just take it," he asserted for the second time, while his head bounced in all different directions like he was paranoid. "Please," he begged.

With nothing else exiting her mouth, Camille took off like fire was on her ass. She was beginning to get scared, even looking over her shoulder once in awhile to see if he was still coming after her. This was the first time she actually missed putting minutes on her prepaid cell phone, as she hardly used the damn thing to begin with. When she turned a corner, thankfully, she saw two officers there. She ran up to them. "Officer, officers, please," she begged with desperation tinged in her voice. She looked around, realizing she finally lost the creep. Still, she had to notify them, just in case.

"Yes, young lady," one officer gave her his undivided attention, while the other one was talking on his phone that appeared to have minutes.

"Oh, thank goodness. Okay," she breathed heavily in relief, "there was this boy. He was following me, practically insisting that I take whatever he was holding form him. He's crazy," she explained fully with a flurry of hand movements, still scared and frazzled by the guy's antics.

Unexpectedly, another officer arrived with the person, the one that Camille was just talking about, and he was in handcuffs. The arresting officer faced Camille with a curious eye. "Ma'am, open your bag."

"Huh," she asked. With three pairs of eyes boring into her, almost acting like they were going to set her ablaze, she did as she was told. She opened her bag to find three mini bottles of Smirinoff Vodka in there. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "What, huh, how did those get in there," she asked in a panicked state. "Officers, they're not mine. I really, really don't think. Honest to God. I don't! They must be his," she furiously pointed at the guy that was in handcuffs. "Tell them it's not mine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he countered, while looking down.

Camille wanted to slap him. "Are you serious," she couldn't believe his audacity. "Officer, those are not mine, they're his. I don't even know him!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell that to judge," the officer she was just speaking to replied. "You're under arrest too. Put your hands behind your back."

Complying because she didn't want to go against authority, she placed her hands behind her back. As metal cuffs were locked onto her wrists, Camille wanted to cry. She had never been in trouble before, and she couldn't believe she was getting in trouble for something she didn't do. She looked at the guy that was arrested with her. She had an inkling he had something to do with this.

She hated him already.

Xxxxx

While sitting in the dingy waiting cell, she softly hummed to herself to pass time. The police officers were reviewing the tape from the liquor store that was coincidentally robbed of one liter of Skyy Vodka and three mini bottles of Smironoff Vodka. She would be proved innocent. She was positive of that, but she just had to wait.

In the cell next to her, she saw her supposed co-conspirator. She rolled her eyes, the sudden need to vomit entering her mind.

Slightly amused, the guy sat on the bench comfortably, his legs stretched outward, foot over foot, and his hands resting behind his neck. He silently smiled, imagining what she was doing and thinking. Yes, he knew what he had done, but it was all in fun. He swore.

"Hey, can you hum a little louder, it sounds pretty nice," he requested quite calmly. "That'll definitely put me to sleep."

"What," she sputtered in shock. "In case you don't realize it, we are in jail!"

"Jail, shmail," he dismissively waved her words away. "We'll be out of here in no time."

"How do you know that," she questioned, while angrily placing her arms over her chest. She found him to be cocky, rude and repulsive.

He opened one eye. He finally took a good, long look at her. She was cute. Clothes were a bit plain Jane, unlike the countless females he's been with, but he was sure she had something to work with under that. He liked she gave him attitude. Not to mention, her nose was so cute while scrunched. He noticed the sadness that was deep in her eyes. Kind of made him curious, but this wasn't the time or place. Maybe, one day, if he was willing to give her the time day.

He was positive he would.

"Just wait and see," he promised. "So, what's your name?"

"I'm not telling you anything," she replied heatedly, doing her best to ignore him.

"I'll tell you mine. Call me Moose."

She quirked a brow. "Moose," she questioned, while taking a very good look at him. He was a slender kid with brunette, curly hair that was unusually tamed for a guy. His style of dress was a mix of skater boy, think Dickies, Vans sneakers, and casual. Over his clothing he had a red jacket adored with the Adidas logo. His facial structure foretold he was mixed. He wasn't her type, but she really didn't have a type, since she's never had a boyfriend. Yet, his face would be ingrained in her brain; she would never disclose that though.

He nodded, his eyes closed again, and he began to listen to the killer beat that sprung in his head. "Yeah, Moose. Don't ask me how I got it. I'm not too sure, other than the fact I've been called that since I was a young'n. It stuck. I like it, and I wouldn't change it," he responded truthfully with some contriteness laced in, as he began to sway his hips side to side. "Can I know your name or not?"

She irritably shook her head and her eyes roved over. "No; all you need to know is I blame you for me being here." She found this guy, Moose, to be so impossible. It was really getting on her nerves.

"Suit yourself. The time would go by faster if we kept talking," he pointed out.

"No thank you," she denied him, ultimately ending their somewhat conversation right there.

Exactly thirty minutes later, as promised, a police officer came and unlocked both their doors. He escorted the two to the front of the jail, and they were met by Aunt Claire and another woman, who was dressed in a perfectly tailored, Chanel pantsuit with a red tee underneath and Christian Louboutin heels.

"Moose," the other woman began, as she held his car keys up for him, "why on Earth would you steal all of that vodka?" She looked at him incredulously. She wouldn't dare disclose the fact there was plenty of vodka at his home, in front of all the police officers that were littering the place. She didn't want to further enable him.

"Because they didn't have any Fireball Whiskey," he smartly answered, while grabbing his car keys from her. "You better not have messed up anything in or around my car."

"You know I wouldn't," she replied softly. She faced Aunt Claire and Camille. "On behalf of Moose, he is sincerely sorry for the mix up. It will never happen again. She's not getting charged at all, since she," she pointed to Camille, "was never really involved."

Moose had that 'I told you so' kind of look on his face and went back to talking to the person that bailed them out of jail. "So, where's Pops?" He waited for her to sign off on some papers, so he could leave.

"He's busy with work," she simply answered.

"When is he not busy with work, Andie," he acrimoniously shot back. "I'm surprised he's not fucking you right now," he said under his breath bitterly.

Camille, meanwhile, faced her aunt. "Aunt Claire, I'm so sorry," she sincerely apologized.

"Save it," Aunt Claire frustratingly halted her niece from speaking further. "You really picked a winner."

"You don't think..." Camille was surprised by her aunt's accusation. If anything, her aunt didn't have the best of luck when it came to men. Case in point, her current boyfriend, but that was a conversation for another time. "Aunt Claire, you don't really think..."

"You better hope Eddy doesn't kick you out of the house for this. The last thing we need is a problem child," she hissed.

"I'm not a problem child," she weakly countered, while hanging her head down.

"I don't want to hear it anymore," Claire ended the conversation right there. "Now, grab your things and let's get out of here." She headed for the door.

Camille surrendered, since she didn't want to argue with her aunt. She placed her purse's handle over her shoulders and took one last look at Moose; she hoped they would never cross paths again. After that, she followed her aunt out of the jail.

Andie made her exit too, so she could get on the phone and update Moose's dad.

Moose haughtily chuckled; this was one for the books. Before walking out, something caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the envelope. He opened it, and he realized that it was his partner in crime's paycheck. "So, her name is Camille," he read who the check was addressed to. He also noticed her work's location was printed on it too. He began to stroke his chin; a wicked plan entered his mind. It looked like they were going to meet once again.

He smiled at the thought and left to go home.