one night stand

~6~

My fingers tremble as I clutch the edge of my office desk, beads of sweat forming on my forehead. The familiar scent of polished wood floors and fruity perfume surround me, but today, the dance studio offers no comfort. Hunched over a trash can, I fight the rising tide of nausea. Sure, I knew pregnancy would be difficult but I'm sick and tired of feeling like I'm going to hurl every two hours.

The dance studio's serene atmosphere only intensifies the dissonance of my roiling stomach. As I attempt to catch my breath, the persistent vibration of my phone on the desk cuts through the uneasy feeling in my stomach.

With a reluctant sigh, I straighten up, wiping a clammy hand across my forehead. My phone's screen illuminates, revealing an incoming call from Billie. I hesitate for a moment, taking a deep breath before answering.

"Wrenley!" She answers sounding cheerful. "How are you feeling?"

Unable to mask the truth, I admit, "Not great, I'm here at the studio, but I can't shake this nausea."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Billie's voice holds genuine concern.

I shake my head, even though she can't see it. "No, I appreciate it, but I just need to ride this out." The discomfort lingers, but I don't want to burden her.

Billie, determined to lift my spirits, insists, "I have something that might cheer you up. Meet me in the front in thirty minutes, okay?"

I manage a weak smile, grateful for her attempt to brighten my day. "Alright, Billie. I'll be there."

With the call ended, I wearily straightened up, determined to shake off the lingering discomfort. Glancing at the clock, I realize I have a hip-hop class to teach in five minutes. Gathering my strength, I head towards the studio, hoping the rhythm of the music and the energy of the dancers will help me push through the unease.

As the lively beat of hip-hop music fills the studio, I stand at the front, ready to guide my class of ten energetic 15-year-old girls. Despite my earlier bout of nausea, the excitement from the dancers is contagious. Teaching dance will always be my happy place!

"Alright, everyone, let's get started!" I call out, pushing aside any lingering discomfort. The vibrant energy of the class helps to revive my spirits.

The girls line up, their enthusiasm was evident in the way they exchange excited glances. I lead them through a series of warm-up stretches, the studio echoing with laughter and chatter. The familiar routine brings a sense of normalcy, and I find solace in the rhythm of the music and the unity of our shared passion for dance.

As the hip-hop choreography begins, the girls follow my movements with precision and enthusiasm. The studio comes alive with a symphony of footwork and laughter, momentarily transporting us from the earlier unease. I draw inspiration from their dedication, allowing the pulse of the music to drown out any lingering discomfort.

"Shit, Fuck!" Ellie shouts as I see her fall down from the corner of my eye.

"Ellie, language." I throw her a glare but hold back my laughter. "You alright?" I question, walking over to her and helping her up.

I know I'm not supposed to pick favourites but I might have a favourite student from each one of my classes. In this one, it is definitely Ellie. She's funny, doesn't take her mistakes too seriously, she brightens up the entire room and is by far the best dancer. Without her, this group would be a lot quieter. Ellie has something about her where she makes every single girl in here feel welcome and comfortable.

"Yeah, yeah," she waves me off while dusting off her butt.

"How'd that happen?" I question.

"I just stepped wrong, I can't seem to get this one step," she explains while demonstrating and nearly falls once again.