Eight Count ✔️

FIVE

I could kiss you!

My words echo.

His face had contorted, eyebrows shooting skyward, jaw scrunching permanently, and nose curling in for an odd period of uncomfortable silence. His features only resembled something normal after I clarified my obnoxious statement.

"I'm not being serious," I had said.

I had been met with a long sigh, loosened shoulders and an all too-tense jaw.

For a moment, I had wondered if Dax had really let the action cross his mind. If Dax had imagined kissing me.

Of course, he had.

All evidence points there.

I kissed him before... on the cheek. I had said exclaimed those words one too many times in close company with another more violent phrase. Maybe he was thinking about the violent words I used to utter too, a good punch to his shoulder. Those words sometimes came wavering in with a promised kiss upon his cheek. That conjoined variation, in the form of a disheveled statement, had been rare words for me, but completely mine nonetheless. It spoke unsureity.

I gulp again, pushing the stray auburn hair behind my ears, tight bun atop my head. My reflection is anything but flattering. I see nothing to flatter. There is only a ginger with green eyes like lazars, sporting a permanent glare. My resting expression, something of a death stare.

Rolling my shoulders, my backpack shifts around my sports bra. The right, the shoulder bearing the weight, whines in agony. Weight. I'm weighted down. My heart, heavy. My mind, spiraling. My chest, sinking.

Dax, somewhere on a bike, pedaling like he might have when we were younger. Maybe he's traveling like we would have race or maybe he's reverted into a stream of cautiousness I used to adore. He had been the intelligent kind of reckless I could start. He had been the talkative kind of quiet I grew to love.

Dax, my only hope. Dax, my new number locked into his phone. Dax, Samantha's number in his mobile.

I nod to Ariel, the lead choreographer as her print tee exclaims, pacing out of The Broad Stage and into daylight. Now, I run, past zipping yellow vehicle, a car garage, a small restaurant, and tourist attractions. A fourth of a mile one way. A fourth of a mile back.

The dodge of humans, both the stares and warm bodies becomes a sort of challange, a challange that distracts.

Breezy air conditioning greets me, tingling my skin in a blanket of ice. A wake-up call. The plan rotates again, shaking up my guts.

We split up; I had to conquer the stage. Dax had to retrieve the costume. Still, I can't believe he's helping me. I was to take my remaining unruined garments with me, practice, wait for Dax to arrive with a new costume. All Dax needed to do, travel to the shop, call ten minutes before his arrival, call me when he collected the merchandise, travel to The Broad Stage.

With the plan in mind, I find his venture for me absurd.

But I would have done it too a lifetime ago.

"Get stretching!" Ariel calls. Her command is directed at me. No one else is here, no one that I will be performing with, that is. I'm alone here at Ariel's direction.

Dynamic first. Static after. All else is left to Ariel, her direction, and the routine I don't know as well as my former.

The piece has been put to one of the latest hits by a younger pop artist, a rising star in that industry. It's an original song combining genres, mainly pop, with dynamic changes perfect for the acrobatics Ariel has outlined. It's as if the song and choreography have been created for each other.