Page 29 of The Way We Dance

Ty

Iwaited, like I always did, to make sure everyone left Brisé before I went in.

Unfortunately, when I opened the door on Thursday, there was an older, heavy set woman standing with her hands on her hips watching inside the studio window intently and a teenager slumped in the back of the reception area looking at his phone. I wanted to back away and wait it out, but she turned her head and smiled. I was busted and I figured I might as well wait inside the air conditioning for Giselle.

I nodded to the woman, and ignored the teenager, and made my way to the back wall where the storage cubbies were. Once I leaned back, I was able to see Giselle squatting and holding on to one of her students—a boy, maybe in middle school.

She was focused on him and didn’t even see me, but I could tell she was upset. It was the most emotion I had seen from her since I met her. That included the time she screamed at me to leave.

“My boy,” the lady said out loud without looking at me. “He is such a natural and Miss Metro knows it. I know it. He knows it.”

I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or to the other kid in the room so I stayed quiet. I made sure I paid attention to her in case she looked back at me for a response. She never did, but I could tell she was upset.

Giselle said a few more things to the boy before letting him go. As she stood, she looked up and saw me standing there, watching. I could tell the boy saw me and recognized me but I kept my focus on Giselle.

I wanted to bust her balls, knock her off her pedestal a bit, but I realized that I probably never could. Not if this was her look of defeat. I didn’t like it, I wanted to erase it. I hadn’t even spoken to her yet but I already missed her shoulders pulled back and her eyes focused and stern. She walked toward the door, but she wasn’t on her toes and gliding the way she normally was.

At this point, I was trying to refocus on the boy in front of me, who I now knew was Sam and a huge fan of mine. Despite the fact that Sam was a ballet dancer, I saw a lot of myself in Sam. Maybe that was a quick judgement but Sam was thin, too thin. He was wearing socks with holes and his shorts were two sizes too big.

The difference was, Sam seemed to have people who cared about him. He may not have had money or nice things, but his mom was there with him, caring about him. She had introduced herself while Sam rambled and Giselle watched on.

When Sam told me he was thinking of leaving ballet for football, I almost high-fived him and yelled, "Hell yeah." But that didn't feel right. I knew it was the reason Giselle was upset and his mom didn't seem happy about it either.

I didn't lie to him either, though.

Honestly, I didn't know what Sam really wanted to do, but if he really did want to play football, why not? If he wanted to dance, he should. So I told him to be true to himself before taking a few pictures and saying goodbye.

It was only five minutes, but I liked Sam—a lot. I wanted to know how his story ended and I made a note to come in a little earlier next week so I could see him in action for a few minutes.

By the time Sam left and Giselle walked back into the studio, her shoulders were still sagging and her feet were flat. I followed her in quietly and was trying to gauge how I should approach her.

Should I say something?

Fuck, I was so out of my element.

All of a sudden, I was praying she would snap at me and tell me how poor my form was, how much I sucked, and to call her Miss Metro.

I got closer to her, drawn by some unrecognizable need to see if she was ok. I was just about to say something when she turned around and tried showing me a stern look, one that said she was ready to be Miss Priss again.

But I wasn’t ready.

And her stern look fell flat.

On instinct, I circled my arms around her and to my surprise, she folded into my hold.

"I don't know what’s wrong, but how can I fix it?" I asked. It didn't even faze me how out of character I sounded.

She shook her head back and forth against my chest, shaking a little from the emotions. She was trying to hold back tears, tears that she had most likely had under control until I hugged her.

"What's wrong, Miss Priss?" I asked gently, running a hand soothingly over her back.

The use of my nickname for her made her laugh a little and I swelled with some strange gratification over that small sound. It was also just the reprieve she needed to straighten her shoulders and lift her chin.

She backed away and looked up into my eyes. Her eyes were still glassy from unshed tears and I tucked my hands behind my back to keep from catching them if they fell.

"Sam is special," she finally said, her voice strained but controlled. "He got picked on today for being a dancer and now he wants to quit."

"Oh shit," I breathed.

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