Chapter 6 #2
Greyson stands at the front of the room, his posture immaculate, his hands clasped behind his back. The murmurs among the dancers are quiet as he steps forward, his piercing blue gaze sweeping over the group.
“Good morning, everyone,” he begins, his voice commanding yet warm. “Today’s class will focus on refining your skills, but first, I want to share some exciting news.”
I glance around, catching Yvonne’s curious expression and Adam’s slight frown of concentration. Even Vaeda, standing near the mirrors with her usual guarded demeanor, seems more attentive than usual.
“In six months,” Greyson continues, “there is a prestigious ballroom competition in Paris. The International Dance Open invites competitors from around the world, and it is one of the most celebrated events for dancers at every level, including intermediate. This is an opportunity not only to compete on a global stage but to represent Fusion Core Dance Studio.”
A ripple of excitement moves through the room. Paris. The thought alone sends a jolt of adrenaline through me. To compete again, to stand on a stage with the world watching. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
Greyson holds up a hand to quiet the murmurs.
“Before you start packing your bags,” he says with a sly smile, “I want to make something clear. Not everyone will be going. Over the next four weeks, Vaeda and I will be watching closely to determine which couple has the potential to shine on that stage. Only one pair will represent us in Paris.”
Yvonne leans toward me, her voice low. “Looks like it’s time to bring our A game.”
I nod, my throat tight. The stakes are higher now. Every step, every turn, every glance will be scrutinized. There’s no room for error.
“We’ll begin today by focusing on the Viennese Waltz,” Greyson announces. “It’s a dance of love and elegance, and it will quickly show us who can handle the pressure.” He gestures to Vaeda, who steps forward with her usual poise.
“Find your partners,” Vaeda instructs, her tone brokering no nonsense. “Take your positions on the floor.”
I want to curse out loud for revealing to Vaeda that my ballroom is rusty. She’ll be scrutinizing me more now, and it adds a disadvantage to my and Yvonne’s partnership.
Adam and Kari move together like magnets, their stances fluid and attuned. Yvonne and I move to our spot, falling into frame with practiced ease. Her hand rests lightly on my shoulder, her touch steady. The music begins, the haunting melody filling the studio as we glide into motion.
Greyson and Vaeda circle the room, their eyes sharp and unforgiving. Every so often, one of them stops to offer corrections, their voices cutting through the music like percussion instruments.
“Extend your arms, Adam,” Vaeda calls. “Kari, match his energy. Your movements need to be cohesive.”
“Yvonne,” Greyson says as he passes us, “watch your turns. They’re too abrupt. Let them flow naturally.”
Yvonne adjusts immediately, her movements softening. I focus on maintaining our rhythm, letting the music guide me. The dance feels smoother now, more connected, but I can still feel Vaeda’s eyes on me, her gaze heavy with expectation.
As the song ends, Greyson claps his hands. “Good,” he praises. “Take a moment to catch your breath, then we’ll run it again.”
I step back, rolling my shoulders as Yvonne grabs a water bottle from her bag. “You’re doing great,” she gushes, flashing me a grin.
“Thanks,” I reply, though my thoughts are elsewhere. The idea of competing in Paris looms large in my mind. It’s more than just a competition; it’s a chance to prove myself, to reclaim a piece of the life I thought I’d lost.
Vaeda approaches as I’m adjusting my posture, her expression unreadable. “Your frame is improving,” she observes, her voice low enough that only I can hear. “But your footwork is still inconsistent. You’re letting the music lead you instead of taking control.”
I nod, her words cutting through the haze of my thoughts. “I’ll work on it.”
“See that you do,” she responds, her gaze lingering for a moment before she moves on.
The second run-through is tighter, the group’s collective energy heightened by the stakes. Every movement feels charged, every misstep amplified. By the time the class ends, my insides are trembling with exertion and desperation. I want this so bad.
As I gather my things, Yvonne nudges me. “Paris,” she rasps, her eyes shining. “Can you imagine?”
“I’m trying not to,” I admit with a grin. “It’s a long way off.”
“Not really,” she hums, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Time flies when you’re having fun, and I am having so much fun with you, Mateo.” She’s definitely flirting, and it only serves to lock up my throat, making speaking impossible. I nod and give her a small smile.
She follows Kari and Adam out of the building, leaving me relieved when she doesn’t invite me out again. I would love to live that free, to step into a bar without the urge to buy an entire bottle of vodka and use it to chase down a handful of pills.
I linger in the room, taking my time to wipe the sweat from my forehead and neck while telling myself it’s preventing a flu as I walk home, but truly, it’s the enigma of a woman who has captured my curiosity.
Vaeda stands at the mirrors as she moves into her dance frame and begins to glide along the floor. She’s grace personified, and it’s hard to blink in case I miss something. Even Greyson steps out of his office to watch her, a smirk lifting his mouth as his gaze meets mine.
He comes to stand beside me as I haul on my hoodie and beanie.
“She’s too hard on herself, and it’ll only get worse as this competition comes closer.
She craves perfection, and since her injury, she can’t see it in her reflection any longer.
If she’s hard on you, it’s because she sees the potential for perfection.
” We watch her spin, her shoulders maintaining the posture as her neck elongates like an elegant swan.
“I want to see your redemption, Mateo. I’m hoping you’ll be joining us in Paris. ”
His words stick with me as I leave the studio.
The evening air is cool against my skin, the setting sun launching long shadows on the pavement.
Paris. The possibility feels both exhilarating and distant, like a dream just out of reach, but as I make my way home, a quiet determination settles over me.
Four weeks. That’s all the time I have to prove I belong on that stage, and I won’t waste it.
Hours later, I’m sprawled on my couch, my muscles aching from the evening’s class. The TV is on, but I’m barely paying attention to the muted images flickering across the screen. My mind keeps circling back to Greyson’s announcement, the weight of his expectations, and the allure of Paris.
The sound of my phone ringing cuts through my thoughts, and I glance at the screen to see my mother’s name. With a sigh, I sit up and answer.
“Hi, Mami,” I say, trying to sound cheerful despite my exhaustion.
“Mateo, mi amor.” Her warm voice fills the line. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, leaning back against the couch. “Just tired from school.”
“Are you keeping up with your classes?” she asks, her tone gentle but probing. “How are you finding economics?”
“It’s… fine,” I remark, hesitating. “I mean, it’s a little boring, to be honest.”
“Boring?” she repeats, concern creeping into her voice. “Mateo, you know how important this is for your future. Your father and I…” she trails off, but I know where she’s going.
“I know,” I interrupt gently. “I’m doing the work, Mami, but it’s not something I’m passionate about. You know that.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. “What would make you happy, Mateo?”
I pause, the words catching in my throat. Finally, I admit, “I’ve been thinking about… finding a dance class.”
“A dance class?” she echoes, surprised. “Mateo, your father…”
“I–I know,” I stammer quickly. “But I’ve been staying out of trouble. I’ve been doing everything you and Dad asked. I just… I need something to look forward to, something that makes me feel alive again.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can picture her biting her lip, weighing my words.
“You don’t know what we went through when you had your overdose. You will never understand what that did to me and to your father. Even your sister was devastated. We never want that to happen again.” Just the mention of my sister, Grace, has my throat sealing with emotion.
I miss her, and even though she’s still harboring some anger toward me, she’s still one of my most favorite people in the world.
“How is Grace?” I inquire, hoping for some new information.
“She’s enjoying school in Paris. I’m proud of her. Her instructors say she has the makings of a bright future as a prima ballerina.” Pride rushes from her mouth and saturates her words as they stab into my chest.
I’m proud of my sister too, and I also have selfish reasons for wanting to go to Paris. Grace is there, which means I could convince her to talk to me again if I have the chance to see her face-to-face.
“I wish I could turn back time, Mami,” I whisper as pain inches its way upward from my chest. “I just need a second chance.”
“I’ll think it over,” she relents, her voice filled with hesitation. “But, Mateo, you have to promise me you’ll stay focused. No distractions, no slipping back.”
“I promise,” I breathe out, the relief in my voice evident. “Thank you, Mami.”
“Take care of yourself, mi amor,” she urges, her voice warm again. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Good night, Mami,” I say before ending the call.
As I set my phone down, a mixture of hope and apprehension swirls inside my chest. It’s a small step, but with it comes a swell of excitement.