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 a workout 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.”
Laydee is a female rapper from Texas. She’s a legend and one of my favorite artists to choreograph to. I haven’t seen anything about her visit on social media, but I’m sure the class was uploaded to YouTube, so I’ll have to check that out.
“I love that for y’all!”
“Yep and, umm, life is good. Life is very good.” Her left hand—previously hidden under her desk—now rests on her face, the rock on her ring finger practically blinding me.
“Trixie, shut the fuck up!” I grab her hand to inspect the ring closer. It’s stunning and huge. I clearly have missed a few major things in her life. “Congratulations! It’s beautiful.”
She gushes as she tells me about her fiancé, Jakobi. I’ve never seen her with a smile as goofy as this and I’m excited to meet the man who put it there. She deserves it.
We catch up on some of the drama at the Lab before she checks the class schedule to see if there are any open studios.
When I left for New York, Trish’s mom, Paige, gave me a permanent invitation to come back and use one of the studios whenever classes weren’t in session. I used to take her up on that offer every time I visited home, but since moving back permanently, my time here has been few and far between.
“Bailey’s class will be over in like fifteen minutes, so you can use that studio after if you want.”
The name gives me pause. “Bailey. Is her last name Wright?”
“Yeah. You know her?”
What are the chances that the sister of the man who put me in this foul ass mood teaches at the very studio where I’ve danced at all my life? For a big city, Baltimore feels small as hell too often. I wonder if this place is how Bailey has a connection with Laydee.
“Yeah. I know her and her brother.”
Trish’s eyes light up. “That man is fine.”
Don’t I know it?
“And so sweet.”
Alright, enough already.
She gives me permission to watch the end of Bailey’s class if I want and I do. Micah always raved about Bailey’s talent, and I always wished I had had an opportunity to witness it.
When I walk back to the studio she’s using, all the students are gathered around her while she’s giving a speech.
She’s probably hyping them up before they do their final performances.
There’s a two-way glass so people can look in on the classes and decide if it’s the place for them, but I want to be among the action.
I want to hear Bailey’s speech and feel the music vibrate the floor beneath me as everyone gives it their all.
I slip through the door, standing at the back in the hopes of not being noticed.
“When you’re up there dancing, I don’t give a shit about perfection.
If you got the moves down, that’s great.
You’re hitting every beat, every ka ka ka, that’s great.
But if they don’t feel something when they watch you move, nobody gives a fuck.
You’ve gotta make your audience feel it, and that means you gotta feel it. Right?”
I’m still getting to know Bailey, but so far she seems like the quiet type with a very bubbly attitude.
Here in her element, however, she’s fierce.
Her passion for this craft is palpable in every word she says, and every student is enthralled with her.
They applaud and cheer in response to her question.
“Put your own stank on it.” She claps after each word.
“Don’t be afraid to let your personality show when you’re doing this.
Yes, there’s complex movements, but there’s also pockets when you can just vibe.
That whole third verse, he’s so calm and collected with it, but he’s talking his stuff knowing he’s shitting on a lot of rappers out there.
So you can play that how you want to. You can be cool with it, you can be cocky with it, you can be extra with it. Do it your way. You feel me?”
“Yes!” the class echoes in unison.
“Right, because nobody can do you … what?” She holds her hand up to cup her ear.
“The way you can,” the class echoes back.
They adore her. I feel like I just watched a halftime speech from a coach during the Super Bowl. I’m excited to see the raw talent that’s in this room.
“Exactly. Let’s fucking go!”
Everyone is hyped as they scatter around the room. The videographer for the class gets in position and Bailey moves to the center of the room. It looks like she’ll be going solo for the first performance.
As she gets ready for the music to play, she takes a quick scan around the room. Of course, her eyes lock on me. Confusion makes its way across her features before she nods in approval. She turns to face the cameraman, and I can see the moment she switches her persona on.
The music begins and it’s Tobe Nwigwe’s “Bravo.” There’s no lead-in; as soon as the music starts, so does the choreo.
She’s incredible. There’s so much musicality in her movements.
She seamlessly switches between sharp, hard-hitting moves one minute to soft, languid moves the next.
The moves are complex, requiring the dancer to use their entire body for the full minute and forty-five seconds of the song.
Bailey makes it look easy. Her movements and expressions are arrogant, sensual, and fun at the precise moments.
It’s a sight to behold.
When the song is over, she walks off center with the shy smile I’m used to seeing on her.
The class, who had been hyping her up the entire time, erupts with cheers, praise, and applause.
I notice no one touches her when she’s done, giving her love from a respectable distance.
Someone hands her a bottle of water that she drinks while the videographer gets set up for the next performance.
Every performance is spectacular. Some of the dancers lean on their group members to make the performance more uniform, while others tap into the creativity that feels right to them.
There’s no space for freestyling in the song, but based on how the dancers approach it, each choreo looks completely different.
I love seeing everyone’s take on the steps.
Bailey’s body language is much more reserved during the other performances, but her support is clear. She cheers loudly for everyone and gets close enough to hype them up, letting her energy feed them.