“Have fun out there!” I say as brightly as I can.
If she is the person that Ollie wants, I think angrily, then they deserve each other. But there is something very strange about what she said, a tone I can’t believe would exist if Ollie were dating her. Ironically, it is Eliana who has given me hope that Ollie still likes me. I’m not sure if I can forgive him, though. I remember what I said to Ben about Paige coming back: I told Ben that he should be ready if Paige came back, that he shouldknow what he wanted. I don’t feel sure that I am capable of the same.
Jody shoots me a quick glance and raises her eyebrows.
“What was that about?”
“I think Eliana is the devil,” I say.
“Well,” Jody says as we take our seats in the audience, “looks like the devil is up first.”
The ‘Routines’ event pits the top pairs against each other, taking turns with planned, choreographed dances. I am surprised to see that the atmosphere is still pretty relaxed: although there are costumes and pre-set music, West Coast Swing doesn’t have the polished atmosphere of ballroom dancing. No tuxedos, plenty of cheering, and lots of people getting out their cell phones recording the routines.
Ollie and Eliana are first up, wearing matching dark outfits that cling to their bodies. He looks more polished and handsome than in any of their old videos together, and they dance to a blues rock song that I don’t know very well, but it has a great rhythm and interesting tonal changes. Eliana looks charming and polished. Ollie looks sexy and focused. They work together as an elegant team.
I should feel intimidated, but I don’t, and it takes almost their whole routine to figure out why. They aren’tmagictogether. They are dancing well, but it doesn’t seem like they are in love, or full of desire, or even full of humor and camaraderie. Maria once said in class that great dance always has emotional content, and here, there doesn’t seem to be any. Ollie is doing everything perfectly, with his signature poise, but there is no underlying sense of joy.
Maybe that’s why the Jack & Jill dances—the improvs—are usually my favorites. It’s why they are more likely to go viral. You are watching two people delight each other with the surprisingchoices they come up with. I don’t feel surprised by anything Eliana and Ollie do. It is scripted. Careful. Polite.
Or else maybe I just want to think so, because as soon as they are done, Helen whispers, “That wasincredible.”
There is booming, worshipful applause. Next to me, someone says, “I am so excited that these two are back together. They were always my favorite pair.” Eliana wraps her arm around Ollie’s waist as they bow, then looks up at him with an affectionate smile.
Ben glances over at me. “Want to get a drink?”
“Yes, but I’m sober.”
“Oh, damn. I forgot. Sorry. Want me to make out with you?” He is wearing a mischievous smile. “Make him jealous? I’m willing to take one for the team.”
I laugh. “Very noble. I’ll let you know.”
Hugo Persson is up next with his new partner Sarah. Hugo is astonishingly skilled, a smooth, Fred-Astaire-like dancer who always appears to be gliding across the floor, and Sarah matches him step-for-step. Then comes Connor Yung and Jaana. I can feel the room buzzing. The dance gossips are right about one thing: Connor is hot. He is lean, polished, and incredibly skilled, with a smoldering connection with his partner.
“Look at Eliana’s face,” Jody whispers. Eliana sits to one side of the dance floor, glaring at Connor.
“The drama,” I hear Helen whisper back.
I am entranced by Connor. I can’t help it. In lots of dances, there is one half of the pair who is the more riveting one, and it is definitely Connor who shines. He has natural magnetism. I also wonder if he deliberately picks people he can outshine, subconsciously. There’s a chivalrous tradition in social dancing for the leader to showcase the follower, never stealing too much thunder. The leader gets to decide the moves, so they make sure the moves make the follower look good; it’s something that Ollieand Dion are instinctively good at. I don’t think Connor does that well. He seems particularly good at making himself look particularly good.
Last among the heavy hitters are Dion and his partner Paula. To me, they are clearly the best: smooth, elegant, relaxed, adding humor to their choreography to a Beyonce song. I applaud along with the crowd at the end, feeling lucky that I got to dance with him even once.
“Connor just realized he’s not winning this thing,” Helen mutters. “Wonder how he’s going to feel about that.”
“We won’t really know how anyone feels until we see them all forced to dance with each other in the Jack & Jill tomorrow,” Ben replies. Apparently, Ben is caught up in the drama, too.
The final rankings make sense to me: Paula and Dion win, which means they will enter the nationals as the top-ranked couple yet again. Connor and Jaana place second, which means that Connor’s machinations have sent him higher in the rankings, but not to the top. And Eliana and Ollie place third, right behind Connor. I expect Eliana to look disappointed, but she seems pleased with the results; and I remember that without Ollie, she would not have had a partner at all.
Eliana gets up and grabs Ollie’s hand as the top competitors are named, and then she turns, throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him lightly on the lips.
I feel my feet carrying me out of the ballroom, through the lobby, and out the door. I don’t so much as take another breath until I am outside the building, my back against a wall, my heart racing.
It is a steamy evening in July, hot and sticky, the air full of cooking smells from local restaurants and filthy trails of car exhaust. I stand alone in the evening light, wondering if I have the energy for any of this: for dating, for getting my heart broken, for trying to make new friends instead of hiding in myhouse watching Netflix. He kissed her, even if she initiated the kiss. That wasn’t a peck; it was a claim.
I didn’t want to fall in love with him. It would have been so much easier not to. And now I’m here, alone in the stultifying heat, my heart wrenching like someone’s pulled it out with their bare hands. I told myself I could get over him, that I could watch the competition for sheer entertainment value, but the only person I was fooling is the one leaning against a hundred-year-old theater with sweat pooling beneath her bra and cheap dancing shoes on her swelling, overheated feet.
After a moment, Jody comes out and leans against the wall next to me.
“It is sickeningly hot out here,” she observes.
