The following Thursday, after nearly a week of lazy days doing nothing much more than hanging out in a deck chair in Luna’s garden overlooking the lake, while reading a book and, depending on the time of day, either drinking coffee or wine, Wren couldn’t believe she’d fallen for her godmother’s old tricks. Of course she wasn’t taking her out for coffee. Instead, Wren was standing in one of the rooms of the newly constructed (out of funds raised from the festivals) community hall and slapped her hands on her hips.
“Luna, do you have any concept of the word no? It means that the other person isn’t interested.”
Her godmother looked at her, her bright blue eyes wide. “Darling, why wouldn’t you want to do your godmother a favor and teach dance to the town’s teenagers this summer? Didn’t I bankroll your dance lessons when you were the same age?”
Man, Luna was a master at emotional blackmail. “You’re trying to manipulate me into doing something I don’t want to do,” Wren retorted.
“Is it working?”
Luna waved a pamphlet in front of Wren’s nose, and she scowled. Those were new. It was a bright and fun invitation for any interested teenagers between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, to be taught dance by one of the world’s premier choreographers—an exaggeration—and to show off their skills at the concert to be held on the last night of the Summerween festival.
“We’ve got fourteen kids signed up now, with more showing interest,” Luna cheerfully said, pressing the pamphlet against Wren’s chest.
She scowled at her godmother. “You’ve pushed me into a corner, Luna. If I say no, I’ll look like a bitch.”
“So, don’t say no,” Luna shrugged, unconcerned.
Wren scowled at her. “Icanstill say no, you know.” Right, she sounded like she was a teenager, back when she never won an argument with her godmother. Had she ever? She thought back and couldn’t remember one occasion when she got her own way. It did not give her much hope for wriggling out of teaching this dance class.
“Can we stop arguing, already?” Luna asked, tapping her foot. Today, she was in mayor-mode and wore a pantsuit in dark navy with a yellow T-shirt underneath. But Wren knew, from experience, that the more businesslike Luna appeared, the more outrageous she intended to be.
She glanced at her smartwatch. “Can you simply say yes? I’ve got a meeting shortly.”
“A meeting of the coven or a séance?” Wren asked, super sarcastically.
“A meeting with a festival sponsor, smarty-pants.”
Wren tapped her foot. “If I were to, theoretically, agree to teaching this dance class, how often and when?” she asked, knowing she was heading down a slippery slope.
“Two days a week, in the afternoon, from four to six,” Luna promptly responded. “It’s not ahugecommitment, Wren.”
But she’d still have to spend a lot of time in the studio alone, preparing her lessons and working out a routine or two. It was a bigger commitment than just a few hours a week. Wren took in the space. The wall in front of her was covered with a huge mirror, and a ballet barre ran down the opposite wall. She bounced on her toes; the floor had a decent spring. There was a sound system in the corner, a good one at that. “Did you design this room to be a dance studio, Luna?”
Luna lifted one shoulder. “This building was designed to serve many purposes at different times,” she blithely replied.
But few people would think to put in a mirror and a barre, to lay a decent floor. Only the godmother of a dancer would think of such a thing. As if someone had pulled the plug, irritation drained out of Wren. Lunahadpaid for her dance lessons since she was a six-year-old dreaming of pointe shoes. She’d encouraged Wren to apply to the Philadelphia High School of Performing Arts, had given her money to support herself while she auditioned for job after job in the competitive New York dance-and-performing-arts scenes. She’d flown out to watch the filming of her first video for a well-known star,religiously followed her career, and commented enthusiastically on all her social media posts. Luna was, and had always been, her biggest fan.
Wren was where she was now because of Luna. She owed her. But she still couldn’t commit to teaching dance class, even if it was on an informal basis. She needed to be able to walk away when it became overwhelming.
“What if I agree to teach one class where I teach them some basic moves?”
“And how will that help?” Luna asked.
“Kids today are smart, and there are thousands of routines on the internet. They can pick one and practice it themselves. I can offer them guidance, take questions, but not be responsible.”
“I don’t know if that’s going to work. After all, I’ve printed all these brochures.”
Did she ask her to? Wren walked over to the closest wall and banged her head against it. Luna, because she was Luna, laughed. The witch. Figuratively. And literally. If you could call someone who regularly missed coven meetings, didn’t go skyclad, and slid in and out of the lifestyle, a witch.
“Theoretically, when would I start?” she asked, her head still against the wall.
“Tomorrow at four,” Luna replied.
“I’ll agree to do one class tomorrow at four.” That meant she was going to spend tomorrow prepping. She’d last attended a beginner’s class when she was a beginner, over twenty years ago. What did she know about teaching newbies?
“YouTube, darling?” Luna suggested.
Argh! She hated it when Luna read her mind. Wren resumed beating her forehead.
