The Queerest [🗸]

my hatred for wednesdays

The dance studio is thrumming.

One of those quiet, infectious hums that travel up your spine and course through your veins. I'm against the bar, my hands sliding across the glinting silver, my eyes meeting the deep brown ones in the mirror.

Stretching out my arms, I exhale a breath. My legs stretch too, mesh leggings pointed downwards, rising upwards. An exhale.

I'm here five days a week. I tilt my head to the side, brown bun bobbing. More than once, Ryder's attempted to relieve me of my "chore". But if anything, it's my escape. I'm so familiar with this room, it's hard to fucking breathe when I'm away from it.

"Evelyn!" 

There's a tiny voice, one that rises to the air in excitement. Dark hair bobbing, a seven year old makes her way up to me, blue leotard glinting underneath the lighting.

"Tris!" I exhale, and the girl's smile widens, revealing a missing front tooth and bright eyes. 

"What are we doing today?" 

Another voice. It's followed by a flurry of noises, of sounds, of little dance shoes padding against the golden flooring. My class.

Well, one of my classes.

After all, we meet about three times a week, then, I meet the four year olds the other two times. 

"Alright, everyone," I say, a half smile rising to my lips. "Come on in."

Shuffles, exchanged glances, a huddle in the center of the classroom, duffle bags set aside, leaning against the off-white walls.

"We've got a lot to do today, alright?" I say. "But, we're going to get it all done. Do some practice. Hoping to go over some of the basic steps. Remember the glissades we did last class?"

Nods of affirmation. I return the nod, trying to quash the lopsided grin that's threatening to dominate my lips.

"Yeah. So, we're going to keep working on those, and do a bit more practice on everything else we've been doing." I glance around. "Sound good?"