The Dance

2 - "Lonely Dancer"

I walk back into my Dance class barefoot. My buddy, Carlos gives me an up-down look, then addresses my lack of footwear.

"Yo Ethan, who stole your shoes?"

I look down at the name on my phone, "A girl by the name of Amara Conelly."

Carlos shrugs, "Don't know her. Why would this girl take your shoes?"

"I gave them to her," I state.

This gets a rise out of Carlos, and we are both fortunate that class has not formally started, because I doubt from the way Carlos looks at me like I grew another head from my neck, that he would be able to contain himself through class before asking me why I did what I did. So he asks.

"Now, why would you do that?" Carlos puts up a fake-serious voice to mock our Dance teacher. "Please remind me, Ethan, about what we here all have in less than a month?"

"The most important thing of the whole year."

Carlos nods, "Correct. Now, with this important thing inside your tiny head," He flicks my forehead lightly. "Why would you purposely give some random girl your dance shoes?!"

By the end, he completely loses his voice. Although Carlos was joking around, one could tell he was seriously asking me why I would hand off my shoes. Not that someone couldn't dance with dance shoes (or any shoes) on, but it helped, and was one of the many things our Dance teacher, Mrs. Chang, grilled into us. Which is why I had to give the girl my shoes.

I know it was not the best solution, and that I was a complete dick to the girl, but if she knew Mrs. Chang, Amara would know that a dancer would rather undergo being stomped on their bare feet than show up to Dance with a single scuff on their dance shoes.

In all honesty, I had some fault with it—I wore my shoes to school due to my lateness this morning. But I had also made damn sure not to scuff them until right before entering the classroom when she just had to ruin my shoes. I rest my case.

When the door opens, all the boys and girls in the classroom immediately stop talking and line up on opposite sides of the room, each person is met with a wall-side reflection of their back as we correctly greet our instructor with a bow.

"Morning class. I think you all know what will be happening at the end of the month. And you all should know what will be happening with your social life—for the time being, they will be put on hold. Understood."

The whole class is still bowing, looking down at their dance shoes; I stare at my naked toes. We give Mrs. Chang a collective "Understood!" before she continues with her yearly speech and allows us to lift our backs.

Mrs. Chang is a short Asian woman with light skin and dark black hair that she keeps short on her neck. I don't think she ever talked about her race, but Chinese comes to my mind. This woman first came to our school a decade ago and has been teaching us, upcoming dancers, for years. Some say she took any dance class she could when she was a child, ranging from classical: ballet, ballroom, and contemporary. Once she got older and was a young adult, it is rumored Chang traveled the world to learn how to dance in other forms like tap, folk, and even modern dance. Needless to say, this woman was a hell of a dance teacher, and she knew her capabilities.

"Mister Carnell!, where are your dance shoes?!"

Uh oh. For some reason, I thought I would be able to do this later with her, but I guess she decided in front of the whole class would be the best course of action. In no time at all the short woman who only comes up to just below my shoulders is all up in my face and my feet. She has this way of being in many places at once and still comes off as intimidating. I've been with this lady just as long as Carlos—four years—and she continues to scare me sometimes.

Somewhat pathetically, this is one of those times. What can I say, this woman intimidates me? "I-uh..."

Mrs. Chang does not do things softly, sugar-coated. She is blunt. "Are you trying to tell me you did not wear shoes this morning? God bless you, Mister Carnell, you are a mess!"

She gives me a sorrowful headshake that hits me with the same kind of energy as my mother saying "I'm not mad, just disappointed" as Mrs. Chang walks up to the center of the room and turns to everyone else with their dance shoe-clad feet.

"Anyway... I hope that everyone else is prepared for the state dance competition in the upcoming several weeks. Work hard, everyone."

And we are set free. Carlos gives me a sorry look, and goes to his partner, on the other side of the room. I follow behind me, trying my best to ignore the non-clatter of my feet as I search for my dance partner. After a couple of minutes, I still cannot find her, and this is when Mrs. Chang taps me on the shoulder.

"Mister Carnell, I regret to inform you that Miss Baker will not be joining you today."

Daniella Baker is my dancer partner. She, like most students in this class, has impeccable attendance, so someone is rarely absent.

"Did she injure herself or something?"

Mrs. Chang shakes her head, "No... Miss Baker has decided to leave us."

She looks down at the studio flooring, a sad look on her face. I take in the information.

"She's dead?!"

A couple of dance partners look at me in shock and confusion. Death is not an everyday occurrence. Chang slaps my face, sure to leave a mark later.

"No, foolish boy. She moved away. To Xavier's."

The people who would listen to us hiss and softly boo like the petty teenagers we are. We do not like Xavier's kids; they are our biggest competition. So losing Daniella to them is like a double loss for us Du Pont dancers.

"Couldn't you do anything with her parents? At least do not go to... that school."

Chang sighs, shaking her head again. "No, her parents were sticks in the mud."

"Well, what am I supposed to do without her? State championship is coming up in three weeks and I don't have a partner anymore."

I verbalize my thoughts. Without Daniella, I pretty much have no one else to dance with. For the past two weeks, we were practicing the same dance over and over again and were getting the steps down. By the time I would get to the same place Dani and I were, it would be time for the championships, and I don't even know if Mrs. Chang would allow whoever is with me up there anyway.

Chang seems at just as great a loss as I am. She was always my rock—always had a plan—but it seems I caught her at a bad time. "I am sorry Mr. Carnell. I got the call this morning, and I know you do not want to hear this... But you may not be able to participate in State this year."

I am furious, but I try my best to conceal my anger. This would be my last possible year of competition, and I supposedly cannot participate?! I can tell that Chang understands my frustration because she leads me through the rest of the class, who by now have begun practicing their dances throughout the studio, and flings their bodies every which way that Mrs. Chang has to maneuver me through the crowd of dancers.

She sits me down on a bench in the hallway just outside the door. For a second it seems like she is going to say something, but perhaps it was the way my body completely fell onto the bench like I had no more bones in my body, that she decided to silently leave me alone with my thoughts.