CHAPTER 16
Ana
“Hi,” she greets with a smile, “nice to meet you both, I’m Colette, and I’ll be teaching you an ice dance choreography for the next four weeks.”
“Our coaches said we wouldn’t learn our actual routines for eight weeks?” Troy asks as he places his phone aside and lifts to his feet.
“I’m not sure, you’ll have to discuss it with them,” Colette replies. “But my schedule says two months. That should be plenty of time given your combined skating experience.”
He nods.
She sets down her powder pink duffle bag in the corner by the speakers before facing toward us again. “Okay, any questions before we begin?”
“I don’t mean this in a rude way,” Troy says.
“Oh, here we go again…” I scoff.
“Ice dance is a lot easier than figure skating,” he says. “Why do we even need one month to practice one routine?”
I pay a knowing glance Colette’s way, replying before her, “Don’t worry. He says insulting things like that all the time.”
“You know what, Petrov? I find this entire thing insulting. I’m supposed to be at the rink ice skating. Instead, I’m in a ballet studio trying to learn some stupid dance because of you.”
“You’re the one who took it too far with the ice bucket!”
“You’re forgetting my hair was green while I was holding the bucket, thanks to you!”
“I’m starting to see why your coaches told you two months,” Colette adds, her eyes widened. “You think ice dancing’s easy?” she directs to Troy.
He shrugs. “It can’t be harder than figure skating.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.” She gestures toward the ballet barres. “Take ten minutes for light warm-ups to not pull any muscles. We will be working on a lot of footwork.”
After stretching—and several mumbled profanities from the two of us—Troy and I push away from opposite sides of the barre and meet at the center of the studio. Our gazes, though, stay meticulously turned away from the other.
One of Troy’s hands skims around the small of my back, his other begrudgingly holding onto my waist.
“Hold her close.” Troy purposely flinches as the distance between our bodies lessens. “Closer,” Colette instructs firmly.
“This might be harder than figure skating,” he mutters, while I step on his foot. Hard. “Ow!”
“Oh, that was your foot?” I exaggerate. “I’m so sorry.”
“Wouldn’t be smart to injury me, Ana. I could accidentally drop you during a lift.”
My lips part in shock. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
“Ana, raise your shoulders a bit more, but relax your posture. Your back looks a little tense.”
Troy snickers toward the floor.
Don’t kick him again. Do not kick him. Again.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something funny?” Colette asks, unamused but also curious.
“No, it’s just that I’ve told her the same plenty of times. But sadly, I don’t think she knows how.”
“I’d rather look tense while I skate than constipated. Something you’re super familiar with, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” Colette’s voice raises, “let’s take a 15 minute break to relax and come back fresh.”
I think she needs the break more than we do given the rosiness that’s now flooded her pale cheeks.
Once she leaves the room, I immediately stride closer to Troy. “Is it possible for you to be tolerable for a full minute?”
“Weird. I was just going to ask you the same question.”
“Why haven’t you quit yet?”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I don’t quit.”
“And neither do I.” He tilts his face, parting his lips while taking long sips of his water.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
When Colette comes back, we’re both silent, facing opposite sides of the studio again.
“I hope the break helped smooth things off a bit.” I take a deep breath, locking eyes with Troy as he faces toward me, expressionless.
Our instructor glances at him first, then at me, as if a lightbulb just clicked.
“You will be learning a tango mixed with some classical elements. It’ll be the perfect dance for the two of you. Lots of passion and tension.”
We scowl in unison. The only passion between us two is how much we despise the other.
It’s as if Troy read my mind too, but Colette continues, “Use all that bickering to your advantage. Anger and frustration are both intense expressions and can make for a memorable and sexy tango.”
“So what you’re saying is, we can keep arguing?” Troy concludes.
I roll my eyes.
“What I’m saying is, put your emotions into the dance.”
“You hear that, Troy? You can put all of your two emotions into the dance.”
He presses his top lip to his bottom, his nostrils curling into a snarl.
“Let’s begin,” Colette intervenes, her voice losing some of its previous patience, “we’ve wasted enough time already.
” Troy and I take our spots in the center of the room, while she starts the music.
The studio fills with an acoustic rhythm, a melody of a Spanish guitar.
“You will start with your foreheads pressed together, but your faces tilted away from the other.”
I need a drink.