“Yes?” she says, turning to me with another fake smile.
“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t.”
“Right. But you’re clearly bothered.”
She looks me up and down, her dismissal rattling my bones. “Trust me, Micah. I’m not bothered.”
Chapter Nine
Dani
I’M BOTHERED.
I mean he really had the audacity to give me pointers like I don’t do this for a damn living.
I think I would know better.
My third time rewatching the clip puts an end to any hope of believing that lie.
I do look stiff. I don’t even sound like myself. If anything, I sound more like Bryant Gumbel.
Frustrated, I let my head flop down on my desk. I don’t know what happened. I felt fine at first, maybe a little anxious, but overall fine. And then Micah pushed record and it was like I floated out of my body. I had a heightened awareness of every word I was saying, every movement I was making, and yet I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t pivot into something coherent and real.
Micah calling it out only managed to drive me deeper into the pit of despair, so I snapped.
Ugh, and now I’m going to have to apologize to his ass.
I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this funk, but this was quite literally my idea, so I have to figure it out.
Meanwhile, Micah’s segment is perfect. Annoyingly so. He was so dynamic on camera. His story about Tanya was so simple, but he was so charming that I was tuned in to every word.
Why couldn’t I do that?
I freeze my screen right on his magnetic smile.
That’s enough of that. If I’m being honest with myself, any hope I had of getting some editing done today has flown out the window apparently right alongside my originality.
Without a second thought, I throw on a workout set and head to the Lab.
I need the adrenaline that dance gives me now more than ever.
Walking into Movement Lab, I can feel my mood elevating and my breath coming easier. This place has always been a sanctuary for me. When I was eight years old, I took a jazz class here and loved every minute, even when I fell on my face during progressions because I didn’t spot properly. I started taking every class I could, from jazz to hip-hop to ballet and contemporary. It became a lifeline that saved me more than once.
The owner, Trish, is at the front desk talking to two students. She smiles and motions for me to give her a moment before turning her attention back to the two girls.
While she’s speaking with them, I take in the studio. It feels like every time I come here, Trish has transformed the place into something that feels more authentically her. When I was a kid, her mom owned the place. She sought to diversify the dance community for marginalized groups by offering them the versatility of different genres. I had my favorites, but I was a better dancer overall by learning the skills of all of them.
Trish seeks to do the same, but she invests a lot of time in helping students figure out what they want to do with those skills. Not only does she offer classes for different age ranges, she also offers different classes per interest. A person who wants to take dance classes as a hobby or aworkout might be intimidated by someone who’s taking the class in the hopes of going on tour with artists or getting scholarships into places like Juilliard. She’s created environments where everyone can feel comfortable while also getting what they need out of the classes. I can tell by looking at the students she’s talking to now that they admire her immensely.
Once she’s done with the students, I sidle my way over to the front desk.
“Hey, kid!” she says.
I chuckle at the moniker she’s refused to stop calling me since I was ten and she was eighteen. “Hey, Trix! How’s life? How’s this place?”
“Oh, this place is good. It’s doing well. You missed it, we had Laydee show up for one of our classes a few weeks ago.”
