Chapter 14 #2
We stand up slowly, some with more enthusiasm than others.
Contemporary dance is mainly performed without shoes or slippers, and it feels strange to stand on the hard floor in thin socks.
The first hour passes quickly, and we hardly dance at all.
Melanie mainly shows us some warm-up exercises.
We’re supposed to familiarize ourselves with gravity, relax our backs and let our shoulders loose.
Most of us find it difficult to let go of the tension that’s been drummed into us as long as we’ve been dancing.
I concentrate on my breathing and feeling the floor beneath my feet. My body softens and my muscles work, but it’s different from this morning. The tension leaves me as I exhale and my movements become fluid and less cramped.
“Very good, Rayne.” Melanie praises me and gives me an appreciative smile, which I automatically return, although not quite as enthusiastically as she does.
It feels strange that this is so easy. I’ve been torturing myself for two and a half days, and now .
. . How can it be so easy all of a sudden?
It’s not supposed to be like this. I came here for ballet, not for . . . whatever this is.
“Zoe, relax. Try to let yourself go. Let gravity work for you.”
Melanie walks slowly around the room, correcting the others while soft piano music echoes from the speakers connected to her phone. “Pay attention to your breathing. Breathe deeply into your belly. As you exhale, let everything go.”
The hour passes quickly. Faster than all the others, and when Melanie finally ends the lesson and dismisses us for lunch, I actually feel strangely grounded.
“Rayne, do you have a minute?” Melanie stops me as I’m about to leave the studio with Zoe, Jase, and Skye. My stomach cramps, and the calmness that filled me just a moment ago disappears. I hesitate for a second and then nod. “Of course.”
“Should we wait?” Zoe asks, but I shake my head.
“Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you.”
“Okay, see you.” She waves, and then the three of them disappear. It’s only Melanie and me. I stop a few steps away from her. My fingers search for the rings on my other hand, but they’re in my room on top of the dresser.
Something in Melanie’s face changes, becoming darker, sadder. No, please don’t.
“I admired your father very much,” she begins. I feel my nails digging into my hands and realize I’ve clenched them tightly. Why? Why does she have to bring up my dad now?
“Me too,” I hear myself say. What the hell am I saying?
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” I blink, avoiding her gaze.
“Mr. Pearson told me you just started here.”
“Yes.” I shift uneasily from one foot to the other. Where is this conversation going?
“I just want you to know that I understand if you have a hard time at first.”
“Who says I’m having a hard time?” My voice sounds harsh and cold even to my own ears, and my heart is beating much too hard. Am I so bad that my teachers are already talking about me? Am I doing that poorly?
“No one. But I’ve been watching you for an hour now. You’re less controlled than the others.”
“Less perfect, you mean.”
“That’s in the eye of the beholder.” She smiles, and I realize she isn’t trying to be mean.
Maybe she just wants to help me. “As far as I’m concerned, less perfection is good.
You still seem a little inhibited, but you’re not as held back as the others.
If you give contemporary a chance, you could be very good. You have potential.”
“Really?” I stare at her, stunned, not sure what to make of her words.
I should be happy. Instead, all at once I feel queasy.
I’m new at this school, trying to fit into this world, trying to belong with all the other girls, but I’m not one of them.
I’m not here because I have a dream. Not like them.
I don’t dream of the big stage. I’m here because of Mom. I’m here to become like her, and even though Melanie is praising me, it feels a bit like a failure at the same time. Because apparently, I have the potential to be imperfect.
“Really. Now off you go. You’ve got a break now, right?”
I nod.
“See you on Friday, Rayne.”
It seems that I’m dismissed. I hesitate for a second and then nod again before leaving the studio.
I’m already on the stairs when I hear the soft sounds of a piano coming from the third floor.
My feet carry me upstairs of their own accord, even though I don’t know for sure it’s Easton playing.
After all, he’s not the only pianist who accompanies classes. Still, I have a feeling it’s him.
The music is coming from the middle studio on the right.
Sure enough, Easton is sitting at the shiny grand piano.
His eyes are closed, completely focused on the music as his fingers dance across the keys.
I put my bag on the floor as quietly as possible and stand in the doorway, watching him.
Yes, it’s rude of me, but I can’t just walk away or interrupt him. All I can do is listen and watch.
He has such beautiful hands. And a beautiful smile.
With dimples. Oh my God, he has dimples.
Why did I never notice that before? I guess I’ve never seen him smiling like this.
His hair is falling into his face. It’s longer than it was in the photos that he uploaded to Insta, the last of which is already a few months old.
I like this length on him, but I don’t know why.
I’m not sure if I made a noise or something, but somehow he senses I’m here and stops playing. He turns around to look at me. I catch my breath as his smile gets wider.
“Birdy,” he says, and the way he says my nickname makes my stupid heart skip a beat.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at lunch?”
“I heard you playing.” I feel for my rings again, only to once more find they’re not there. I’m not even wearing my bracelets.
“You heard me playing?” He slides over to make space for me on the piano bench.