It Takes Two To Tango

Chapter Eight

When Sarah phones me that evening, I’m not expecting to hear that Jude’s been included on a three way phone call, so his voice is a bit of a surprise.

‘I wanted to discuss something with you,’ Sarah says. ‘But with both of you at the same time.

‘Sure,’ Jude says. ‘What is it?’

‘Well,’ Sarah starts, ‘I was sent through a leaflet about two months ago, which is all about a competition for people around your age.’

A competition? I feel kind of excited at the word.

‘I kept it because it’s so different from all the competitions leaflets I usually get sent. This one is one where any routine goes, anything from hip hop to ball room dancing. The only catch is, the routine must be choreographed by the dancers themselves.’

‘Well, that sounds great,’ Jude says eagerly, his enthusiasm very clear in his voice. ‘Are you thinking of it for Ky and I?’

‘Yes, I was. You have to apply by midday tomorrow, so I’ve left it quite late, but I didn’t realise the talent that you both had.’

‘How many rounds are there?’ I ask, wondering how long we have to work on this.

‘The first round is in about three weeks,’ Sarah tells me, and I gasp.

‘Three weeks? Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah says. ‘Don’t worry too much, you’ll be fine with it.’

Jude and I have to choreograph and perfect a routine in three weeks? Don’t worry? I‘m panicking right now!

‘What sort of piece do you think we should work on?’ Jude asks.

‘Well, I loved the tango inspired routine you were doing today. I really think that could work. But don’t be as confined as you usually would be with tango, perhaps work in some props, go with your feelings.’

‘And we have to choreograph?’ I mention. I don’t want Jude to go down his old improvising route again.

‘Well, yes,’ Sarah says. ‘But like I said, don’t let it confine you. The choreography isn’t there as a cage, it’s there to help you.’

When I get off the phone a few minutes later, my mum is straight onto my case. ‘Was that Sarah?’ she asks, immediately.

I nod. ‘She’s entering Jude and I for a competition.’

‘Thank goodness!’ My mum grins excitedly. ‘I thought she never would!’

I smile wanly. Now my mum will be expecting me to win it, and I’m not sure that she can afford to have such high expectations.

‘Right, so, you’ll need to practice more- you could do with practising every day, actually, and you might need-’

‘Give it a rest and stop nagging her,’ my dad interrupts my mum from the other room. ‘She’ll be fine with the practising she already does.’

‘You don’t know anything about dance, don’t pretend that you do,’ my mum replies, and I quickly make my excuses, murmuring something about English coursework as I scamper upstairs, leaving them to argue it out.

Sarah’s phone call has left me rather shocked. I’m really not sure if Jude and I can pull this off in three weeks. I’m definitely willing to try, but… I can’t deny that I’m more than a little frightened of making a fool of myself. Well, at least Jude will be making a fool of himself alongside me, I tell myself, but for some reason that doesn’t offer much reassurance.

*
I have History last thing on Wednesday, and I walk into the classroom unenthusiastically. I sit down in my seat, wondering if Jude will sit next to me, or rebel.

When he slouches in a bit late, he comes and sits down next to me. ‘Hola Foxy,’ he greets me.

‘Hello,’ I reply, unenthusiastically.

‘Well, someone’s excited to see me,’ he says, sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. I smile reluctantly.

He looks round to see if anyone’s listening in to our conversation, and then nudges me. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Sarah said,’ he tells me, and pulls out his iPod, flicking through the settings.

‘Have you?’ I reply, surprised he’s been thinking about anything apart from himself.

He thrusts a headphone into my ear, and I hear, to my surprise, El Tango de Roxanne playing.

‘Moulin Rouge fan?’ I ask him, in disbelief, holding the head phone to my ear. ‘You don’t seem the sort to like that.’

He shrugs. ‘Why not? It’s a good song.’ He pauses and looks at me slyly. ‘And there’re some great characterisations,’ he adds, devilishly, biting his lip as he waits for me to respond.

I cast my mind back over the story of Moulin Rouge- I haven’t watched it in years- and remember that this song involves the idea of a prostitute.

I sigh at him.  ‘You want me to pretend to be a prostitute?  Classy, Jude, real classy.’

‘It’s just a song,’ he protests. ‘And the music is perfect for this sort of dance, with the instruments and the passion. We could even watch the film together for research- I’ll bring popcorn!’

I roll my eyes at him. ‘Don’t get carried away with yourself.’

‘But it is the perfect song, isn’t it? It fits well, doesn’t it?’ He’s like a child, wanting me to praise him.

I nod, because I can’t deny it. ‘Fair enough. Though the voice at the beginning is scary, I’ve always thought that.’

‘Aha, but I’ve thought of that, Foxy,’ he says, proudly. He flicks the track, and the same song plays again. I raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Patience,’ he tells me, poking out his tongue. I wait for the growly voice, but nothing. ‘Instrumental version,’ he tells me, triumphantly.

‘Ohhh,’ I say, softly. ‘Well, we can give it a try, I guess.’ I’m reluctant to say this aloud for fear of pumping up his ridiculously large ego, but it is the perfect piece- a nice passionate mix of violins and guitar, with the perfect tango tempo. I can imagine us both getting rather passionate to this…

My thoughts are making my cheeks flush, which Jude doesn’t fail to pick up on. ‘Ah, don’t worry, Foxy,’ he tells me. ‘I have this effect on pretty much every girl in the world.’

I kick him under the table, earning a yelp from him. ‘Okay, most girls don’t do that. What are you wearing, steel toed boots?’

‘Converses,’ I tell him, shaking my head at what a wimp he is.

‘Sounds like you have powerful legs then,’ he replies, with a cheeky look. ‘Could come in handy in the bedroom.’

The teacher starts talking, so I’m forced to whisper the next bit.

‘Get those ideas about bedrooms out of your head, you lusty boy,’ I tell him, in a very fierce whisper.

‘Sorry Foxy, but it’s hard when you’re around,’ he replies, with a wink.

I roll my eyes at him, and go back to my work.

*
‘How about we use some chairs or something as a prop?’ Jude suggests. ‘Then we could kick them out of the way at some point, in a explosion of passion?’

‘It’s a possibility, I guess,’ I say to him. ‘But it’s quite over done. We could do it with no props, just the two of us on the stage.’

Jude raises his eyebrows. ‘Just the two of us, hey? Sounds like you’re warming to me.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Callahan,’ I warn him.

‘Oh, I’m not flattering myself. I can see it in your eyes, Foxy, you want me.’

‘Yes, I want you dead,’ I retort. ‘Just stop with the seductiveness, and get on with this.’

‘Seductiveness?’ Jude grins. ‘You’re admitting that you find me seductive? A break through!’

‘I’ll break you if you don’t get on with this, Jude! We haven’t got time to waste!’ He’s being so frustrating, I’m not sure how I’m meant to work with someone like this.

‘Okay, okay, darling, we’ll get on with this. Why don’t we just have a go at dancing to it, just to see?’ he asks.

‘Fine,’ I say, going over to him. He’s plugged his iPod into the music player, and has been blasting out El Tango de Roxanne for the past fifteen minutes on loop.

He pulls me into his arms, closer than before, and our bodies press closely together. It feels rather nice.

‘I just wanted you in my arms,’ he whispers, into my ear, as the music begins. This annoys me. He’s treating this as if it’s some sort of fun activity for him to hit on me. I frown at him, and as the music begins to get into the swing of things, find myself for the first time, dancing the tango and meaning every bit of it.

It’s meant to be a dance of love mingled with hate, and that seems to almost fit. Though Jude is almost attractive at times, other times I just want to de-gut him.

He takes complete control again, moving me roughly from one side to the next, then suddenly just picking me up, so I’m cradled in his arms. Spinning round the music, he sets me down gently on the floor, so I’m just lying there.

I frown up at him, unimpressed, but then he kneels over me, one knee on one side of my stomach, the other on the other side. He pulls his arms around my waist, making me arch my back, and drops his head to my chest as the song ends.

We stay there for longer than we should. When I feel that he seems to be having a problem in his jeans, however, I realise this really isn’t very appropriate, and scamper from beneath him.

‘You perv!’ I accuse, brushing myself down. ‘What on earth were you doing? That wasn’t dancing, that was practically clothed sex!’

Jude laughs. ‘Ohhh Foxy! That was tango-ing, true and proper. Those moves are fine in this sort of tango, I’m sure.’

‘But that doesn’t mean we have to do them!’ I protest.

‘You didn’t seem to be complaining when it happened,’ he counters.

‘Well I didn’t have much choice in the matter, did I?’

‘Well, would you like to try it again so you can see if you like it?’ He’s getting closer as he says this, and I feel myself getting all goose bumpy.

‘No,’ I whisper, unable to tear my gaze from his eyes. ‘I know I won’t like it.’

‘You know you won’t like it?’ He runs a hand through his mussed up hair, looking away from me, and then back again. He looks frustrated. All I can think about is how nice it would be to muss his hair up myself, to kiss those lips, to hold him. ‘Then tell me, oh Kyra who knows everything, why do you so want to kiss me right now?’

How does he know these things?

‘I don’t want to kiss you! Get it out of your mind!’ With that, I grab my bag, and get out of there as fast as I can. If he found out how much I actually do want to kiss him, I don’t think I could cope with the humiliation. How did I get into this mess?