Page 26 of The Way We Dance

We went over the songs I had chosen for the set and started with the basics of the routine. We were going to do several songs to tell the story of Christmas and not all of the kids would be in every dance. That would make it easier for them to learn fewer numbers, but harder on me to separate the teaching process.

With only 15 minutes left in class, I was facing the window of parents when I saw the front door open on the side of the reception area.

Instinctually, I started to scream, convinced someone was coming in with a gun and an inclination to hit me with it—again.

Or worse, shoot it.

At the kids.

I started to tell the kids to get down when Sam’s little face peaked around the open door, followed by his mother, Mrs. Watson, and a taller boy behind her—his brother, I assumed. The other parents had noticed my fear, heard my scream, and were already standing in front of their chairs trying to decide what to do.

I shook my head and silently apologized, laughing at myself and waving off the adrenaline I still had coursing through me.

My laugh was fake.

My wave was fake.

Everything was fake.

I was thankful it was Sam, but I was worried I would never stop living in fear. Atlanta wasn't supposed to be a place I feared. It was my freedom, my new path, my new life. I was angry that one scary night changed it all.

Sam opened the doors to the studio and walked in, taking his position on his X. He looked sad, mad, maybe even embarrassed. His mom was standing by the window with her arms folded, eyeing her son to make sure he was doing as he was supposed to. The other boy had found a chair in the back to slouch down in, uninterested.

I took a moment to welcome him to class and we continued with the steps I was teaching the rest of the class. The best part about Sam was that he was a natural and dancing came easily to him. I knew he would catch up in no time.

By the time class ended, he was already in step with everyone and seemed to be in a better mood. It was like dancing was the therapy he needed for whatever had him upset in the first place. It used to be the same for me. I recognized that look.

I just didn't know what had caused him to be down in the first place, and I wasn't sure if it was my place to ask or be concerned. Thankfully, I didn't have to war with myself too long because as everyone else left, Sam walked to the front of the studio as his mom looked on from the other room.

"Hi, Miss Metro," Sam said sheepishly.

"Hi Sam," I was patient and waited for whatever he was needing to say.

"Sorry, I was late," he mumbled with his head down, chin against his chest. "I, um…" he lifted his head and looked back toward the window. His mom had her arms crossed and lifted an eyebrow at him, urging him to keep talking. It became apparent in that moment that whatever the cause of his tardiness, his mom did not approve of. She was a tough cookie and I was pretty sure poor Sam was in trouble.

"Why were you late?" I brought his attention back to me and, knowing I needed to be stern, I strengthened my tone a little.

"I, um…." he looked back one more time at his mom and her hands went from crossed over her chest to on her hips. Poor Sam had better start talking. I was almost worried what he was going to say. Did he get in a fight? Bad grades?

"I didn't want to come," he said quietly.

"You didn't want to come?" I asked because I didn't believe him. Sam loved to dance, he always wanted to be here. "Why not?"

Sam shrugged and I looked up to his mom again, this time a worried look in my eye. She nodded at me to make Sam keep talking. Sam was tall for eleven years old and I barely had to crouch to look him in the eye. But I did so that I could force him to tell me what was really going on.

"Someone at school found out I did ballet and now I am the joke of the whole school. I want to quit but my mom won't let me."

Oh Sam, Oh Sam.

I wanted to cry for him. My heart was breaking into million pieces and instead of keeping myself poised, I let go and sank to my knees, taking Sam with me on the way down.

He sat in front of me and I hugged him, rocking side to side and hoping I could give him the strength to do what he loved no matter what anyone else said. Kids were so cruel and the ones that never learned not to be cruel ended up being cruel adults. It made me angry, scared, and I wanted to fight for Sam; and for every other kid that was bullied for being their true selves.

"Sam, I am so sorry you had to experience a bully for doing something you love. Middle school is hard enough but when you have kids that make it harder, I can actually understand why you want to quit."

"You do? You won't be mad at me?"

"Not at all. Not only will I not be mad at you, I will not let you quit." I smiled at his confusion. If he thought I would just nod and bid him farewell, he thought wrong. I was going to fight for him and encourage him to keep going. In the end, if I tried my hardest and he still wanted to walk away, I would let him, but I needed to try to help him first.

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