Page 66 of Surviving the Merge
Damon sent a text that he and Ash were stuck in traffic, but the kids were expected to show up soon, so we continued to the studio without him.
“Would you like to do the honors?” Max asked with a sideways grin as we stood outside the room.
I accepted the scissors he held, and after cutting the red ribbon, I removed my shoes and instructed him and Sam to do the same before stepping into the room.
Simple but efficient summed up the transformation of the room. Freshly painted white walls, the floors an eggshell hue, sheer floor to ceiling curtains in maroon decorated the windows, and the crystal chandelier provided a nice touch of opulence. I stepped over to the solid oak barre, and, unable to help myself, I positioned my body into First Arabesque: one hand anchored while raising my opposing leg and arm away from my body. My restricting denim jeans protested the movement.
Smiling at myself in the mirror, I buzzed with happiness. Sam and Max were silent, waiting for me to say something. “I won’t let you down,” I said, lowering my foot to First Position.
“I know you won’t,” he said.
I squinted at the picture frames hanging on the wall across the room. “What’s that? I asked, walking over. “Where did you get this from?” My voice was all breath.
“It wasn’t hard. You’re a pretty famous guy, you know.”
Rows of published articles on my professional achievements, an interview that I did forLe Danseurmagazine, and photos of me performing on stage. The last two framed photographs were candid shots. One of me wearing an intense expression as I ran the dancers at the theater through a routine. Really focused on making sure they perfected every step.
The last one caused a flare of gooseflesh to ride my arms. “Damon,” I whispered, reverently touching the black-and-white photo of me. Taken—unbeknownst to me—during my first week back in Chadwick. I could picture that night clearly. Particularly heartbroken and lonely, I’d gone outside to my studio Blake built and danced under the stars for hours. My skin dewy with sweat and my cheeks wet with tears. My hair hung loose over one shoulder, and I gazed up into the night sky, lost, searching for answers. I looked so young and vulnerable. Breathtaking, even while being heartbreaking.
Having this part of me on display for all to see left me defenseless. But I supposed if I wanted these kids to bleed for me, I’d have to bleed in return.
Damon must have tracked me down sooner than I’d thought. Blake would never observe my pain from afar. But Damon wouldn’t come within touching distance of it. It had to be him.
Voices came from the hall. A group of at least two dozen kids were waiting outside the door. Max gestured for them to take off their shoes and come in.
“Justin, these are the kids that want to join your class,” Max said smiling proudly.
“Yeah, we wanna audition!” came from a little firecracker in the back. The crowd moved aside to let her through. Little-Debbie from the greenhouse. Pigtails firmly in place.
Coming down to one knee, I said, “Debbie, right?”
“You remember me?” she asked, clasping her hands together, too excited to keep still.
Chuckling, I informed her that I did. “You’re pretty unforgettable.”
She blushed.
“You don’t have to audition, any and everyone can join if they’d like,” I said.
“But... but you don’t even know if we can dance,” Debbie said, palms up.
“Well, I’m here to teach you. And I bet you can do anything you put your mind to, right?”
They all said, “Right!” in unison.
“When do we start?” said the tall slim kid in the back, the one that Max had informed me was in the process of transitioning and who hardly ever spoke. Pete.
“Can we also dance hip-hop?” asked an adorably sullen girl with her cherubic arms crossed over her chest.
“I tell you what. If you can teach us some moves, we can mix it into the routine. Would that be okay?” I asked.
She perked up and shook her head emphatically, “Yes.”
“As for a start date, as soon as we get you guys some shoes and proper attire.” I looked questioningly at a smiling Max. He went over to one of the mirrored walls and slid one side open, revealing a large walk-in closet lined with leotards, tutus, ballet slippers, and pointe shoes. The kids rushed in to get their pick.
“We got some donations in,” Max said.
After helping the kids pick the appropriate items, I stood off to the side and watched as some interacted with Sam as she told them about the art class she’d be teaching. Many of them hooted and hollered, “Can I come?” And by the way Pete eyed Sam, I’d say he had a crush.
