Two choreographers step out onto the floor, rallying everyone as Rosalie pushes to the back of the group.
The first instructor, a woman in her early thirties with platinum blonde curls and a short bodycon suit that clings to her figure, draws everyone’s attention. “Okay, ladies! Listen up! We’re going to start with “Close Enough to Break Me,” then we’ll transition into “Love Me, Hate Me.” Do we have any questions before we begin?”
A few of the women surround Rosalie, expertly placing themselves in the way to surprise the crowd with the singer’s presence. The nerves radiating off the group are almost tangible, and one woman takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing back at Rosalie as if she’s starstruck.
Same.
Seeing her perform in person has had me on the edge ofmy seat since we arrived. Hearing her voice in the flesh rather than over my record player is something I’ve always dreamed of. Since listening to her for the first night at Varsity Vat, I’ve been obsessed.
From owning every album, every playlist, and any special edition that Starlight Records released, I’ve been her biggest supporter behind the scenes. I’ve waited and watched her every move for years, and I finally get to see her in her most ethereal form.
A lively instrumental starts with a guitar riff, and the dancers slide apart, posing as Rosalie spreads her arms and saunters ahead. Her song begins, the vocals flowing perfectly and serenading like a melody.
“You treat the distance between us like it’s holy ground, but I see the way your pulse pounds. Trying to keep things quiet, but I’m everything you’ve ever desired.” The dancers move behind her, their hips swaying to the beat, but my eyes are stuck on the enchanting raven-haired woman who takes up center stage. I’m being beckoned in by her sultry lyrics and the low-lidded siren stare she gives as she runs her hands up her supple thighs and over her stomach. “You’ve been warned that I’m trouble made pretty, but, baby, I want you close enough to break me.” Her hands slide down her legs before she drops on bent knees and uses her hands to spread her thighs wide for the audience. Her head rolls back, the dancers following her lead. “Pressed to my throat, you know I love your hand necklaces. I’ll drop to my knees and let you use me. Let’s get x-rated.” She slides her hands onto the floor, arching her back in a torturous, suggestive position before crawling forward. “I’m the temptation you can’t resist, danger wrapped up in a cherry lip glossed kiss. I shouldn’t be who you dream of, but I’m the plot twist you can’t get rid of.” They roll onto their backs in rhythm, legs kicking up into the air before their knees jut out and their feet circle. It’s provocative and a move I’ve seen before in strip clubs. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hypnotized by this side of Rosalie—the stage presence that’s the opposite of her former self. She’s carefree and atemptress. It’s addictive.
The blonde choreographer steps in, snapping her fingers at one of the women in the back. “Joslyn! You’re two beats behind, sweetheart. Let’s try this again. From the top.”
Rosalie’s vocals die as she rests her head back against the hardwood floor and closes her eyes for a moment. She seems agitated, but my neck prickles with awareness as I watch her movements. She picks herself up off the floor, but she isn’t as fluid as she was before. She almost seems…off.
They restart, covering Rosalie as the song resets, but I’m no longer focused. I tap Kairo’s shoulder, catching his attention. “Does something seem weird with Rosalie?”
He stares at her beyond the dancers, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “Not that I can see. She looks fine to me.”
I shake my head. “Maybe it’s just me then…”
He shrugs as he goes back to watching. As Rosalie moves to the front, I know it isn’t just my eyes playing tricks on me. She isn’t as upbeat as she was before, and she’s lagging a little behind.
The choreographer snaps her fingers again, stopping the track. “Rose, dear, do you need a minute?”
Rosalie turns around and moves a little sluggishly back to her starting point. “I’m fine. Let’s try again.”
The choreographer cuts her eyes to Charlie, who’s now long abandoned her phone and is sitting on the edge of her chair with her elbows resting on her knees as her eyes narrow on her best friend.
The instructor clears her throat. “Alright. From the top.”
When the song starts again, Rosalie’s movements are nearly in slow motion. The droop in her eyes has all of us going on high alert as she sways and her words begin to slur.
Charlie shoots up, her heels clicking quickly across the floor as she waves a hand frantically. “Stop the track!”
We all rise from our seats, the world seeming to slow as Rosalie’s knees buckle, and there are a few screams as women scatter. Other instructors rush onto the studio floor to help asCharlie catches Rosalie’s head before it can hit the floor.
“Call a fucking ambulance!” Charlie shouts, jolting us into action. Kairo dials emergency services as Roman, and I push through the crowd.
“Back up!” Roman bellows over the buzz of the studio. When the sea of bodies parts, my eyes widen at the sight of Rosalie seizing on the floor. Her limbs are jerky and uncontrollable, and her eyes unseeing. Her sight is far away, and panic grips me as I drop to her side.
I place my hands on her, unsure of what I’m doing but needing a reminder that she’s going to be okay. Help just needs to get here.
“Make sure there’s nothing in her way,” Charlie says as she brushes Rosalie’s hair away from her face. “You’re okay, Rose. I’ve got you.”
Roman ushers everyone away from us as Kairo clears the chairs out of the way. I keep my hands on Songbird, afraid of letting her go. When her eyes flicker to mine, it’s like all of the fear melts away.
She’s okay.
“M-Maddox?” Her voice is clipped and tremulous. It’s a faint whisper, and so sweet to hear.
“I’m here,” I reassure her, closing my hand around hers. I’m gentle not to jostle her further.
“What…” She looks around, her limbs still spasming.
