It Takes Two To Tango

Chapter Twenty

I wake up feeling butterflies pounding heavily in my stomach. For a while, I lie in bed wondering what the cause of this nervousness is, and so it takes me a few seconds to realise why. It’s the morning of the competition.

Getting up, I stretch out, catch sight of myself in the mirror, and smile uncertainly at my reflection. The red dress Jude picked out is hanging delicately on a hanger at the side of my room, and I reach out to gently brush the material with my fingers, realising just how much there is resting on the next few .

Jude and I have perfected out routine. If we can perform it like we performed it in out last rehearsal, Sarah thinks we’ll definitely get through. However, whether that’ll happen remains to be found.

The past two days have been so crammed with rehearsals that I haven’t had a chance to think about the whole scenario with my dad. We’ve had no contact with him since the day he left, and though my grandma rang yesterday to say that he’d been staying with her, she didn’t say how long he’d be there for.

For now, I’m focusing on the competition, but after it’s done, I want to be able to sort this out. I can’t stand seeing the sad face my mum seems to constantly be wearing any longer, nor the long empty evenings where she sits alone, curled up on the sofa watching rubbish TV.

I glance at the clock. Jude and I are allowed the day off school for the competition, as it’s a Wednesday (though Jude has told his friends that he‘s bunking. Sigh.)

Unfortunately Sarah can’t get the time off work, so Jude is going to drive us the forty minute distance to the competition. He said he’d be round at half eight to pick me up, so, seeing as I have about forty five minutes, I’d best be getting ready.

At half past eight almost exactly, Jude pulls into the drive, hopping out to knock on the door. I answer it eagerly, carrying my bag full of all the things I‘ll need for the competition.

‘Ready to go, Foxy?’ he asks, with a gorgeous smile.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ I tell him, unable to hide the nervousness from my own smile. Locking the door behind me, I follow him to his car, and get into the passenger seat next to him.

Putting the key in the ignition, he backs out of the drive, and I can’t help but notice and appreciate how very attractive he looks whilst driving- sat back on his seat, letting his fingers drum on the wheel.

We set off on the road, and I settle back for the drive, Jude leaning over to flick the radio on. It’s automatically set to Classic FM, sending classical music pouring out around us.

Jude flushes. ‘This car’s my mum’s,’ he tells me, glancing over. We stop at traffic lights, and he runs one hand through his hair as we wait.

‘What do you usually listen to, then?’ I ask.

‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘Let’s just talk.’

Feeling quite touched, I nod. ‘Okay.’

And so we talk. Talking to him is so natural and comfortable for me that I find myself being completely myself as we chat away. We laugh together, discuss what we’ll do if we fail epicly, talk about how we started dancing, and it’s now that I see the side of Jude I love- the side which doesn’t care about trying to impress people, who doesn’t treat his looks as if they’ll get him through life with no effort on his part.

It’s just how strongly I feel about this side of him which alarms me.

When we finally pull up to the studio where the dancing competition will take place, I glance at the clock, seeing that it’s half nine. Time has literally flown; I feel as if I could have stayed in that car another five hours, and still chatted away to him.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘ I thought it was only meant to take half an hour. Did we get stuck in traffic?’

Jude looks sheepish. ‘Uh, well, I was enjoying driving you so much that I took a slight detour.’

I raise my eyebrows at him, feeling rather flattered.

‘What are we waiting for then?!’ he asks me, changing the subject abruptly. ‘Let’s go kick some ass.’

*
As soon as Jude and I have gotten through the security and registered that we’re here, we’re ushered into a small dressing room we can use. I look at Jude, realising we’ll have to change in the same place.

He doesn’t look bothered, pulling off his t-shirt straight away. I have to tear my eyes away from the smooth contours of his body quickly, before I embarrass myself.

It’s alright for him- I have to change into a strapless bra, which is a fiddle enough as it is without a rather hot boy in the room.

Jude notices that I’m not changing into anything, just standing there looking at the dress blankly, wondering how I can pull this off.

‘What’re you waiting for?’ he asks, and I glance up, to see he’s pulled on the shirt casually, but hasn’t done it up yet, leaving his chest exposed. It’s an extremely nice view.

‘Uh-’ I begin, but he interrupts me.

‘Oh, I see- do you want me to go into a different room or something?’ he asks, with a smile.

My cheeks warm. ‘No, no, don’t worry. I’ll just turn my back.’

And so I do. Carefully slipping out of my clothes, not wanting to accidentally pull anything else off and flash him, I swap bras, pulling the strapless one up onto my chest, reaching round to try and do it up.

It’s quite a fiddle. I can’t seem to fit it together, and so I struggle on, desperately trying to do it up, not really having any alternative. I’m sure having Jude in the same room has just made me flustered- after all, I manage this every other day when I’m getting changed.

Suddenly, I feel two cool hands brush lightly across my skin, firmly doing up the fastening with ease, then trailing over my spine faintly before pulling away, sending goose bumps scampering across my body. Jude.

My cheeks grow warmer, as I look over my shoulder to see he’s returned to tying up his shoes, having managed to change completely before I could even get my underwear on properly.

‘Thanks,’ I murmur, realising that for him to have noticed my struggles, he must have been watching me changing. How embarrassing.

I pull on the dress, managing to do it up myself this time, and then move over to the mirror to do my hair and makeup. Jude’s very lucky he doesn’t have to bother with all this, all he needs is to brush those gorgeous curls of his. I, however, have to make up my eyes rather smokily to get a dark, Argentinean feel, and put on red lipstick I borrowed from Jessie.

Then I move onto my hair. I put it back in a tight bun, securing it tightly with hair spray so it won’t fall out, and clip in the red flower I got especially, matching the shade of my dress perfectly. 

When I’m finished, I look to Jude nervously, wanting his opinion.

He gives me a cheeky grin. ‘You look smokingly sexy, Foxy; you don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘Same to you,’ I tell him.

We make our way out to the studio where the judging will take place. There are plenty of seats placed out around the central area where we’ll be dancing, with five at the very front where the judges will sit.

This dance competition is very different to the ones that I’ve entered before: it seems far less formal, and there are a wide variety of people here. I can already see a pair of dancers dressed in hoodies, making me wonder if they’ll be doing break dance or something, and a pair of dancers with one of them wearing a tutu and the other in an extremely tight leotard.

I check the timetable to see when Jude and I will be performing and frown. We’re last, which isn’t a good time for me- my nerves will be building up for the entire time, through all the other acts.

I point this out to Jude, and he raises an eyebrow, a smug smirk on his face. ‘Means we have time for some cheeky behaviour in that little dressing room,’ he tells me, looking devilish.

My jaw drops as I stare at him in disbelief. Gone is the Jude I like so much, and back is the irritating, innuendo riddled boy who can’t go five minutes without annoying the hell out of me.

And I thought perhaps he’d changed.

‘No?’ Jude says, seeing my disgusted expression. ‘Maybe I should ask that tutu girl, then?’

He makes his way over to the tutu girl, which doesn’t seem to impress her leotard clad partner who gives Jude a look which clearly says ‘stay away.’ The girl couldn’t look more interested if she tried, obviously delighted that the most attractive guy in the room is talking to her.

I sink down into a chair, rubbing my forehead with the tips of my fingers. I really thought that Jude and I could be friends after how lovely he’d been all morning. Now I’m wondering if it was all just a lie.

I’m more disappointed than anything. Have I been fooled again? Was he just being nice to me to try and get me to engage in some ‘cheeky behaviour?’ Now I’m questioning everything, and I don’t even know what to do.

The competition starts, and I try to distract the tumult of my crazy thoughts about Jude to watching the competitors.

Each couple dances their piece, and is then given a score out of 500- each judge gives a mark out of 100 which they add together. The top ten on the leader board will go through to the next round, and seeing as there are twenty five couples in total, looks like I’m in with a long wait.

The first couple make their way onto the dance floor. They’re dressed in typical ballroom clothes, and dance a slow, languorous waltz to perfection. The bar’s been set very high, I realise, and wish Jude was here to reassure me. At the moment, he seems more interested in chatting up as many girls as he can.

The couples continue to come, all doing a very good job, which only adds to my worries. Jude comes over only a few times, making innuendo-ish comments when he does, only increasing my frustration with him. Why does he have to play up like this?

There’s a stop for lunch, and a break to let it all go down, and then I start counting down to when Jude and I will be performing. Ten performances before us, nine performances, eight performances, seven performances- Jude comes and sits down next to me, teasing me about how nervous I am, which really doesn’t help- six performances, five performances- the tutu girl and leotard boy do their routine, and are amazing, doing a Swan Lake-esque routine- four performances, three performances- the break dancers don’t do as well, accidentally tripping over each other in their finale piece- two performances, one performance….

It’s our turn.

My heart pounds in my chest as we make our way into the central ring, and the music starts.

The delicate music of the beginning section begins to play, as Jude and I start to move in perfect time with one another. So far so good. The simultaneous way in which we’re moving works well with the music, and, thanks to a lot of practice, we both know exactly what we’re doing.

There’s a burst of violins in the music and Jude reaches out, pulling me roughly into his arms. The look in his eyes almost takes my breath away.

We move together, perfectly, our lips almost touching, we’re that close. We glare at each other, his posture showing his dominance, yet mine displaying my feisty determination not to be ensnared by him. The dramatic music swirls around the room, and I almost feel as if I’m part of the music, rising at the crescendos, sinking into Jude’s arms as the music fades away slightly.

He tries to go for my lips, as we practised, the roguish look in his eyes making mine own widen. I remember how annoying he was before all this happened and break away from him violently, simultaneously annoyed at him, and hating myself for being so freaking attracted to him.

We move into the set of complicated lifts; I throw myself at him, and he catches me safely, moving me smoothly to the ground, letting his hand stroke up the side of my leg. The intimate moves like this still send shivers down my spine, but I remember that I’m still annoyed with him, and move sharply away.

It’s the climax of the song, already, and so he  picks me up, roughly, yet cradling me in his arms, spinning me round. I hear the crowd applaud, and suddenly remember that they’re there- I’d forgotten anyone was in the room but Jude and I.

He lays me down on the floor, kneeling either side of my body, pulling my back up to arch against his chest and lets his head drop down onto my own chest. My heart is beating unbelievably fast.

The music stops: it’s all over. Adrenaline pumping through my veins, I gaze at Jude as the audience cheer loudly, bursting into applause.

Jude stands up, extending his hand to help me up, and we do a small bow, before going to sit back down to wait for our score. For a moment, all the hatred between us is forgotten, as I look at him delightedly, over the moon that we actually pulled it off. Or, I hope we did. 

I glance at the leader board- tutu girl and leotard boy are winning at the moment with 456 points.

The judges all write down their scores, and I’m left on tenterhooks as we wait to see if all of our hard work has paid off…