Chapter 4 #2
The phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I groggily reach for it, the screen’s brightness making me squint. Roger’s name flashes across the screen. With a groan, I swipe to answer, trying to sound convincing despite the guilt of my plan rushing through me.
“Hey, Roger,” I croak, adding a sniffle for effect. “I’m feeling under the weather today. I don’t think I’ll make it to class.”
“Understood,” Roger replies, his tone professional but laced with concern. “Do you need anything? I can bring over some soup or medicine.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine,” I insist. “I’ll just take the weekend to rest.”
Roger hesitates before responding. “Alright, Mateo. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. I’ll see you on Monday.”
I hang up and drop the phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Skipping another day of school isn’t ideal, but I need the day to prepare for tonight’s class.
My thoughts are interrupted by the shrill ringtone piercing the silence again.
I glance at the screen and feel my stomach drop.
My father. Honestly, I’m impressed with just how quick Roger was in telling him I’m taking the day off.
I answer, bracing myself. “Hi, Dad.”
“Mateo.” His voice is sharp, already full of distrust. “Roger tells me you’re not feeling well. What’s going on?”
“It’s just a cold,” I answer him, keeping my tone light. “Probably nothing, but I thought it’d be better to stay home and rest.”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear him calculating whether to believe me. “You’re not… slipping, are you?”
The accusation stings, but I swallow my frustration. “No, Dad. I’m clean. I’ve been going to my meetings. This is just a cold.”
“Good,” he says curtly, though the doubt lingers in his voice. “Because if I hear otherwise—”
“You won’t,” I interrupt, trying to keep the conversation from spiraling. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Alright,” he relents. “Rest, Mateo.”
Then the line goes dead, and I exhale deeply, the tension in my shoulders refusing to dissipate.
I can’t dwell on it. Tonight’s class is too important.
I drag myself out of bed, heading to the kitchen to make a light breakfast. The mundane act of cooking steadies me, grounding my thoughts as I prepare for the evening ahead.
Leaving my building is easy enough because it’s around the same time as my NA meetings.
Sure, if by chance my father calls the main desk to ask if they’ve seen me, I could be caught.
It’s a risk I’m willing to take though. If all else fails, I could tell him I decided to go for a last-minute meeting without bothering Roger for a ride.
By the time I arrive at the studio, the nerves are back, twisting in my gut like a coiled spring as the worry of my family finding out fades.
The familiar scent of polished wood and slight traces of rosin fill the air as I step inside.
The other dancers are already milling around, stretching and chatting in low voices.
“Mateo!” Yvonne’s cheerful voice cuts through the throng of conversation. She waves me over, her smile bright and inviting. “Glad you made it.”
“Hey,” I reply, trying to match her enthusiasm. She’s dressed in a sleek, black leotard and tights, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her confidence is infectious, and I feel a little less out of place.
I sit on the bench and pull my shoes from my backpack, the feel of them supple to my fingertips.
These are the shoes I wore during my final competition, the one I won and celebrated by swallowing enough pills to end my life.
I force the thoughts away, determined to create new memories with them, hoping they replace the old.
Greyson claps his hands, commanding attention as he steps into the center of the room.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get started. Congratulations to Yvonne, Kari, Adam, and Mateo for making the cut.
You are the first group in our advanced program.
Now comes the real work.” There’s a ripple of excitement and nervous laughter among us.
Greyson’s gaze sweeps over the group before settling on me for a brief moment.
“Tonight, we’ll focus on partnering technique,” he continues.
“Yvonne, you’ll be paired with Mateo. Adam, you’re with Kari. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Yvonne shoots me a playful grin as we move to an open section of the floor. “Looks like we’re partners.”
“Looks like it,” I hum, my nerves easing slightly as her energy pulls me in.
The music starts, a slow waltz with a rich melody. We fall into frame, her hand light on my shoulder as I guide us into the first steps. Her movements are fluid, matching my lead with ease.
“Not bad, Mateo,” she teases, her voice low but playful. “I was worried you’d be stepping on my toes.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I quip, focusing on keeping our steps smooth.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she continues, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You’re good. I just didn’t expect you to be this good.” I can’t decipher if her teasing is because she looked up who I am or her attempt at flirting.
Without replying, I instead concentrate on the rhythm and our synchronization.
She’s right; this feels good. Better than I’d anticipated.
My body remembers the steps, the mechanics of the dance, but it’s more than that.
It’s the connection, the unspoken communication between partners, that makes it come alive.
Greyson circles the room, offering corrections and feedback. When he reaches us, he watches silently for a moment before nodding. “Good connection. Mateo, keep your frame strong on the turns. Yvonne, don’t rush ahead. Let him lead.”
“Yes, sir,” she responds with a mock salute, earning a chuckle from Greyson as he moves on.
From the corner of my eye, I notice Vaeda standing near the mirrors, her arms crossed, and her sharp gaze fixed on the pairs. She approaches us as the music transitions into a faster tempo, her presence commanding without a word.
“Yvonne, your energy is great, but your transitions are too sharp. Smooth them out. Mateo,” she says, her tone calm but clipped. “Your frame is improving, but your footwork is lagging slightly on the turns. You need to trust your lead more.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod, adjusting my stance as the music starts again.
Vaeda steps back, watching us closely. Her instructions are clear, cutting through the noise of the room. I can feel her presence as we dance, her critique pushing me to focus harder.
“Good,” she praises after a few minutes, her expression softening just slightly. “There’s potential here. Keep refining.”
Yvonne flashes me a grin as we continue, the faster Foxtrot tempo forcing us to concentrate. By the end of the session, my muscles ache, but it’s a satisfying burn. Dancing is giving me back my purpose, and I have only Greyson and Vaeda to thank for giving me a chance.
“You’ve got potential, Mateo,” Yvonne mocks Vaeda’s earlier sentiment with a roll of her eyes as we gather our things. “I think we’ll make a great team despite everything.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing myself to hold back an answering eye roll.
If Yvonne knows who I am, then her comment is her way of rubbing salt in my open wound of the past. It’s hard not to give in to the urge to question her, to tear open her words and force her to her knees in apology.
That was the old Mateo though, the one who expected everyone to bow down.
This Mateo is grateful for another chance at life, for another chance at greatness.
I won’t let anything come between me and my success.
Not even the remnants of my tattered ego.
As the others trickle out, I notice Vaeda lingering by the edge of the studio, scribbling into a small notebook. Summoning a bit of courage, I approach her, wiping sweat from my brow with a towel.
“Ms. Lewis?” I begin, my voice a little uncertain.
She glances up, her sharp brown eyes catching mine. “Mateo.” She lifts her chin, her tone hiding the undercurrent of curiosity. “Good work tonight.”
“Thank you,” I reply, shifting on my feet. “Your feedback really helped. I haven’t danced in a studio setting for a while, so it means a lot.”
Vaeda closes her notebook, crossing her arms as she studies me. “It’s obvious you have talent, Mateo, but talent isn’t enough. Consistency, discipline, and trust in your partner will make or break you in this program. I don’t need to remind you to remain sober, do I?”
I shake my head, her words striking a chord. “No. My sobriety won’t be an issue. I’ll work harder to prove myself.”
Her gaze narrows slightly, and for a moment, I think I see something like understanding flicker across her face. “See that you do. Greyson believes in you, and I’m willing to give you the chance to prove yourself. Don’t waste it.”
“I won’t,” I vow firmly.
Vaeda nods, her expression unreadable. “Good. Have a good night, Mateo.”
“Good night, Ms. Lewis.” I absorb her dismissal, watching as she turns and heads toward the office. There’s something about her presence, commanding and chilled, that lingers even after she’s gone.
My body shivers with the cold air as I grab my coat from the hook and step out of my shoes. After tucking them into my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and head out of the studio. The hallway is quiet as I make my way to the exit, the burn of Vaeda’s words still moving through me.
Vaeda Lewis may already have her opinion formed of me, but I’ll work hard to prove her wrong. There will come a day when she looks at me with pride, and just the thought of her eyes lit up with delight when she gazes at me makes my heart rate pick up.