“I’ll be back here at three and we’ll head to your meeting.” Shrugging my bag over my shoulder, I get out of the SUV andhead toward the main building, my bag lighter today than most days.
Once I’m inside the doors, I turn to watch as Roger pulls away from the parking lot, then turns back out into traffic. Open auditions for the advanced Latin and Ballroom classes at Fusion Core are at 10am, giving me two hours to get back over near my apartment in time to make it. I hate deceiving him, especially knowing he’ll get hell too if I’m caught, but it’s a risk I’m willing—no, needing to take.
Thankfully Roger didn’t notice my thin sweatpants and less-filled backpack. I only packed my dance shoes and a few water bottles, knowing I’d be walking back most of the way until the traffic clears up enough to hop on the transit.
The icy breeze stings my face as I walk back outside, dragging my scarf across my mouth and zipping up my jacket. Everything will be worth it if I get picked for this class. Then, when I cross that bridge, I’ll figure out how to attend them.
TWO
Mateo
The studio is located two blocks from my apartment, the building nearly identical to the one I live in. With thirty minutes to spare and ice blocks for feet, I rush inside and sit on the stairs to change my shoes. Anxiety has kept me from planning a routine, so I decided to rely on my muscle memory for today instead.
It’s a risk, but these are classes, not a competition.
Fusion Core is on the main floor, and I follow the signs until I find a corridor with three girls and one guy standing against the wall, a nervous energy stifling the narrow space. These classes aren’t like most. If you apply for the advanced classes, you have to audition and they only have a limited number of spots open.
Four spots are what they’re offering, and as I look around, I feel confident I’ll snag one. I’m an exceptional dancer, there’s no point in being modest, and I have an impressive résumé—as long as I leave out the part where I became addicted to Oxy and cocaine.
“Hi,” the girl standing closest to me says as she holds out her hand. “My name is Yvonne.”
My heart pounds as I slip my hand into hers, knowing she must feel how clammy it is. “Mateo,” I mumble, hoping she doesn’t recognize the name.
By no means do I think I’m famous, that’s not what’s worrying me. It’s not knowing if she was in my age-class and perhaps competed in the same circuit as I did at one time, having insider information about the destructive aftermath of my spiral. Not that I would remember her name, having been high out of my mind most of the time. I barely remembered my own.
“I love that name,” she husks out as relief coats over me.
“Thank you,” I say a little louder, my secret still hidden.
“What dance are you doing?” She leans against the wall beside me as the others turn to listen in on our conversation.
“Not sure.” I bite my lip as my eyes flick over the others before returning to her. “You?”
“Samba.” She nods, a small smile working around her mouth. “It’s my strongest dance.”
“Samba is beautiful,” I reply as the door opens and an older gentleman stands in front of us. Greyson Ford.
“Welcome to Fusion. We have four spots to fill today and that’s all. Choose your dance wisely and have your song choice ready. There will also be a short interview with me and the co-owner, and the dance will be performed after that. Are you guys ready?” His gray hair is coiffed back over his head and his blue eyes twinkle with excitement as he looks at each of us. “My name is Greyson.”
We all murmur our hellos, and I pray I’m only imagining things when his eyes land on me and stay there a fraction longer than the others. It’s nerves. It’s been a year since I’ve had these shoes on my feet, and even though I want this desperately, I’m hoping to remain under the radar for as long as I can. My familywould not take the news calmly, and convincing them I’m fine wouldn’t be enough.
We file inside the studio as I take a deep breath. The wooden floors shine to perfection, and three of the four walls are covered with mirrors, while the fourth has the door we came in through and another beside it. The anxiety coursing through me has me second-guessing this for about ten seconds. What if they know about my situation? My overdose and exit from the competitive circuit were never made public, but rumors did circulate.
Greyson asks us to line up against the wall as he motions for the only other guy to follow him through another door for his interview.
“I’m so nervous.” I turn toward the voice as two girls stand together, both with their arms crossed over their chests. They turn to look at me, giving me tentative smiles. “I’m Kari.” The first holds out her hand, her light blonde hair gathered into a bun on top of her head. “And this is Fran.” She motions to a tall, willowy girl, her black hair in a French braid and her face filled with anxiety.
“Vaeda Lewis is the best dancer in the circuit,” Yvonne cuts in as she leans over to speak to them from my other side. “She’ll be a hard one to impress.”
“She’s the reason why I’m here,” Kari says, her teeth chewing into her bottom lip. “I need this class.”
I try to zone them out as I begin a routine in my head. Coming here unprepared may be my downfall, but I won’t go out without a fight. When an idea hits me, my heart speeds up as a smile curves along my lips. It’ll be a risk, but everything about me being here is risky. Just as I’m thinking through the playlist on my phone and the perfect song to use, the door opens and the guy steps out. His skin is a few shades paler than when he went in and his brown eyes are filled with fear.
“Kari George. You’re next,” Greyson calls out.
Kari heads toward Greyson as my eyes follow the guy who takes her place beside me.
“Well?” Yvonne breaks the silence, blowing a tendril of light brown hair out of her face. “How was it?”
