Page 11 of Tension
Vaeda Lewis may already have her opinion formed of me, but I’ll work hard to prove her wrong. There will come a day when she looks at me with pride, and just the thought of her eyes lit up with delight when she gazes at me makes my heart rate pick up.
FIVE
Mateo
The ride home is uneventful as Roger quietly maneuvers through the Monday midafternoon traffic while I stare out the window. My mind is preoccupied with the upcoming night, and my stomach churns with both anticipation and nerves. When we pull up to my building, Roger glances at me through the rearview mirror.
“Feeling better, Mateo?” he asks, his concern evident.
“Yeah,” I reply, offering a faint smile. “Thanks, Roger.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” he says as I step out of the SUV.
Upstairs, I drop my schoolbag by the door and head up to my room to change. The crisp shirt and tailored pants I’ve been wearing all day are swapped out for comfortable sweatpants and a loose hoodie. As I lace up my sneakers, my thoughts drift to the elaborate plan I’ve pieced together over the past weekend.
It started with a late-night search. I found the original building plans for my apartment complex buried in a city archive online. That’s when I discovered it: a fire escape leading from the roofto the street, bypassing the front desk entirely. The idea sparked something rebellious inside me, a flicker of ingenuity from my more questionable days.
The lock on the rooftop access door was easy to pick. I’d surprised myself with how quickly the old skills came back. It isn’t something I’m proud of, but it is useful now. I stuck some heavy-duty tape over the mechanism to keep the lock open, ensuring I could come and go without attracting suspicion.
I pull my hood up and sling my dance bag over my shoulder. Heading to the living room, I grab my phone and check the time. The building is quiet as I step into the hallway, the muffled drone of someone’s TV the only sound.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I climb to the roof. The door creaks faintly as I push it open, the cool evening air brushing against my face. The city sprawls below me, a mosaic of lights and shadows. I make my way to the fire escape, the metal groaning softly under my weight as I descend. The thrill of slipping out unnoticed sends a rush of adrenaline through me, but I quickly push it aside, focusing on the task ahead. I’m not wanting to get caught up in this feeling, this euphoric high.
Once on the street, I blend into the flow of pedestrians, heading toward the studio. The walk is brisk and invigorating, the rhythm of my steps syncing with the beat of my thoughts. By the time I reach the studio, the nerves have settled into a simmering excitement.
The place is already buzzing with energy when I arrive. Music drifts through the air, and the sound of footsteps echoes from the practice room. I slip inside, greeted by the familiar scent of polished wood and the weak tang of sweat.
Greyson is in the main room, adjusting the sound system, and he nods at me as I enter. “Right on time, Mateo. Get warmed up. We’ll be starting in fifteen minutes.”
I head to the side, dropping my bag and slipping on my dance shoes. The snug fit feels comforting, reminding me of when I first became a dancer. Around me, the other dancers are doing the same, their movements a mix of eagerness and casual familiarity.
Yvonne waves at me from across the room, her ponytail swaying as she chats animatedly with Kari. Adam is off to one side, practicing a series of turns with a focused expression. The camaraderie in the room is palpable, but there’s an undercurrent of competition, a subtle tension that keeps everyone on their toes.
As the session begins, Vaeda enters the room. Her presence shifts the energy immediately. She’s dressed in sleek black leggings and a fitted top, her hair pulled back into a sharp bun. Her gaze sweeps over the group, assessing with a practiced eye.
“Alright, everyone,” Greyson says, clapping his hands. “Tonight, we’ll be focusing on rhythm and musicality. Vaeda will be leading the instruction, so listen carefully.”
Vaeda steps forward, her posture commanding but fluid. “We’ll start with a basic Cha-Cha sequence,” she announces. “Partners, find your spots on the floor. Show me what you got.”
I pair up with Yvonne, and we move to our section. The music starts, a lively Latin beat filling the room. I count under my breath as we step into a basic routine, my focus split between leading Yvonne and staying on tempo.
“Good frame,” Vaeda states as she passes us, her keen eyes flicking over our form. “Mateo, let your shoulders relax. Yvonne, watch your timing on the chaîné turns.”
We adjust immediately, the corrections snapping into place like puzzle pieces. Vaeda’s feedback is to the point and accurate, even if the delivery isn’t laced with kindness. It’s clear she expects perfection, and that pushes me harder. I crave her approval like the rush of a chemical high.
As we move through the sequence, she circles back to us, her expression still guarded. “Better,” she murmurs, though her tone carries an edge. “But don’t let this be a fluke. One good session doesn’t erase a reputation. Consistency matters, Mateo.”
Her words hit like a cold splash of water, and I nod, biting back any retort. She’s not wrong, even if the words sting. “Understood,” I manage, keeping my voice steady.
“Good,” she replies curtly, her attention already shifting to Adam and Kari as Yvonne’s expression is filled with confusion. I’ll be lucky if she doesn’t question me at the end of the night. She may be my partner, and eventually should become a close friend, but I’m not ready to tell her everything yet. I don’t trust her, but maybe that will change as we continue to work together, then I can judge how trustworthy she is.
The music continues, and I force myself to focus. The connection with Yvonne strengthens, our movements becoming more cohesive as we navigate the sequence. We finish off with a dramatic pose, Yvonne’s smile shining brilliantly. The end of the session brings the feeling of accomplishment. I’m learning my partner, my body is being challenged, and my past recedes a little farther from my future.
The hour-and-a-half class rushes by, and the others begin to pack up as I linger near the mirrors, stretching out my calves. Vaeda approaches again, her mood serious but less severe this time. “You handled yourself well tonight,” she admits, though her tone is still cool.
“Thank you,” I reply, meeting her gaze. “Your feedback really helped.”
She studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “We’ll see if it sticks. Talent isn’t enough, Mateo. It never is. Show me discipline, and maybe I’ll start to believe you’re serious about this.”
