Chapter 10
TEN
Mateo
The past few days have been a blur of routine and restraint.
My mother hasn’t left yet, her presence as steadfast and imposing as a metronome.
She rides with me to school, her eyes scanning the world outside the car window as if trying to find the cracks in my story.
Roger’s usually lighthearted commentary has shifted to an unspoken awkwardness, like he’s caught between us and doesn’t know which side to take.
She’s even started waiting in the car while I attend my meetings, her gaze drilling into me when I climb back in, as if looking for signs of weakness.
The city is coming alive with festive decorations, the stores preparing for the holiday season, and I’ve been taking her shopping, just to keep her busy.
Every day, her lingering worry feels like a noose tied around my neck.
Tonight is a dance meeting, and I can’t afford to miss it.
The Paris competition is too important, but how do I leave without her noticing?
I have yet to tell my mother that I’ve joined a class; we only spoke briefly about me wanting to. I don’t know how she would react if she knew I was actually doing it.
Dinner stretches on longer than usual, my mother’s conversation warm but laced with subtle probes.
She asks about school, about my meetings, about the books stacked neatly on my bedside table.
Every answer feels like a carefully balanced step, as if I’m performing a dance with words instead of movement.
Finally, after a meal that feels more like an interrogation, she leans back in her chair, a glass of lemonade in hand.
Wine is forbidden anywhere in this apartment, as if wine was my problem.
Her gaze softens as she lets out a tired sigh.
“It’s good to be here with you, Mateo,” she hums, her voice losing its usual edge. “I’ve missed this.”
“I’ve missed you too, Mami,” I reply, and I mean it. The guilt gnaws at me, knowing that I’m about to betray her trust.
By the time we clear the table and she settles onto the couch, which she’s folded out into a bed, with a book, I’m already formulating my plan. She’ll fall asleep soon as she always does after dinner. All I need is patience.
It’s an hour later, nearly seven, when I hear her breathing deepen with the telltale rhythm of sleep.
I’ve been sitting on a stool at my kitchen counter, staring at an open textbook but reading none of the words.
Quietly, I push my stool back and grab my dance bag from the closet.
My heart pounds as I slip on my sneakers and pull on a hoodie, the soft rustle of fabric sounding deafening in the silence.
As I grab my jacket from the hook, I check the living room.
She’s sprawled on the couch bed, her book resting on her chest, and her expression peaceful.
Guilt twists in my gut, but I remind myself of why I’m doing this.
The competition. My future. My recovery.
It all hinges on my ability to prove I can handle this.
I slip into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind me, and make my way up the stairs to the roof access door.
The rooftop is cold, the wind biting against my face as I step outside.
I’m careful to close the access door without letting it slam, fear of amplifying every small sound making my movements slower.
The fire escape is sturdy but narrow, the metal groaning faintly under my weight as I descend.
My heart races with every slippery step, a mixture of adrenaline and fear.
If my mother wakes up and finds me gone, there’s no telling what she’ll do, but I can’t think about that now.
My focus needs to be on my routine and the rhythm Vaeda is insisting I find.
The walk to the studio is brisk, the city alive with its festive lights and decorations.
I’ve always loved the way New York feels after dusk, but it’s even more electric during the holidays.
The energy shifts and the pace slows just enough to notice the details: the way the streetlights create curious shadows, the distant sound of music spilling from open windows, and the occasional laughter of strangers.
When I arrive at Fusion Core, the familiar sight of the building calms me. I open the door and step inside, the polished floors gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The studio is quiet, the air cool and still. I’m early, but I prefer it that way. It gives me time to warm up, to center myself.
As I stretch by the mirrors, I catch my reflection and pause.
My face is thinner than it used to be, and my eyes appear older, but there’s something else there now, a determination I haven’t seen in a long time.
I pull my shoulders back, exhaling slowly.
All of this is worth it just to see an echo of the man I used to be, the man who found joy on a dance floor and not at the sight of a prescription bottle.
The door opens behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see Greyson stride in, his ever-present clipboard in hand.
He gives me a nod of acknowledgment before heading to the sound system.
I know Vaeda will be here soon, and the thought sends a ripple of nerves through me.
Not just because of her critiques, but because of the way her presence shifts the air in the room.
Intense. Unpredictable. Magnetic. I’m teetering on the edge of my next hit.
I shake off the thought and focus on my routine, the sound of my movements filling the quiet studio.
For now, it’s just me and the rhythm, the steps etched into my body like muscle memory, and although the weight of my choices hangs over my head precariously, the music offers a fleeting sense of freedom.
Each step, each turn, a chance to prove that I’m still standing.
The door opens once again, and I watch as Yvonne, Adam, and Kari walk in together. Their laughter and easy conversation fill the room, and for a moment, I feel a pang of envy. They’ve become a tight-knit group, their friendship evident in the way they move and talk as though they’re a unit.
I keep my distance, focusing on my stretches as they head toward the center of the studio. Yvonne waves at me, her smile bright, but I only nod in return. Sobriety has made me cautious, careful about letting people in. The line between connection and temptation is too thin, too dangerous to tread.
Vaeda arrives shortly after, her presence shifting the energy in the room. Her piercing gaze sweeps over all of us, her clipboard in hand as always. Greyson claps his hands, drawing our attention.
“Alright, everyone, let’s sit down for a moment,” he says, his tone brisk and punctuating. “We have some news to share.”
We gather around, sitting in a loose circle on the polished floor. Vaeda remains standing, her posture as perfect as ever, while Greyson steps forward, his clipboard tucked under his arm.
“As you all know,” Greyson begins, “we’ve been watching your progress closely over the past several weeks. Each of you has shown incredible dedication and growth, and we’re proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
Vaeda nods, her expression unreadable. “But as we’ve mentioned before, the Paris competition only allows one couple to represent us. We’ve had to make a difficult decision.”
The room feels charged, the air thick with anticipation. My heart pounds as I glance at Yvonne beside me. She’s sitting cross-legged, her hands resting lightly on her knees, but there’s a stiffness in her shoulders that betrays her nerves.
Greyson takes a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over all of us. “The couple representing Fusion Core in Paris will be Mateo and Yvonne.”
The words hit me like a jolt, and for a moment, I can’t move. Yvonne gasps softly beside me, her hand flying to her mouth. Adam and Kari exchange a quick glance, their disappointment flashing briefly before they compose themselves.
“Congratulations,” Vaeda says, her voice cool and professional. “This is a significant opportunity, and we expect you both to take it seriously. The next few months will be crucial for your preparation.”
Yvonne turns to me, her eyes wide with excitement.
“We did it,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I manage a small smile, the enormity of the announcement settling over me.
Paris. The chance to prove myself again on an international stage.
It’s everything I’ve been working toward, but the pressure is already starting to build.
Greyson continues, outlining the next steps and emphasizing the importance of discipline and routine, but my mind is racing, already jumping ahead to the countless hours of practice, the scrutiny, the expectations.
When the meeting ends and the others begin to leave, I stay behind, my thoughts spinning like a whirlwind.
VAEDA
The room begins to empty, the echoes of footsteps and laughter fading as Yvonne, Adam, and Kari gather their things and head for the door.
I watch from the far end of the studio as Yvonne hesitates, turning back toward Mateo.
She shifts her bag on her shoulder, her expression unsure, as though searching for the right words.
“See you later,” she says softly, lingering.
Mateo doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes are distant, unfocused, as if he’s somewhere else entirely.
After a beat, he nods, but it’s absent and perfunctory.
Yvonne’s brows knit together, but she doesn’t press him.
With a small wave, she follows the others out, the studio door closing behind them with a click.
I glance at Greyson, who’s finishing notes on his clipboard. He catches my eyes, his lips quirking into a knowing smirk. “Be gentle with him,” he mumbles under his breath as he passes me on his way out of the studio.
“Always,” I mutter, my tone flat but my heart unexpectedly tight. Greyson’s gaze hovers for a moment longer before he disappears through the door, leaving me alone with Mateo.