CHAPTER 15
That letter is still in my English textbook. I haven’t looked at the book since class, and now I’m acting like it’s been possessed by a poltergeist. I hid the textbook in my closet under all my clothes, trying to forget about it. I don’t want the letter to touch anything else, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. My brother is a total ass, but he found me. It means something’s wrong. I don’t want anything bad to happen to them. It still stings that they didn’t take my side, that they didn’t defend me, but I don’t wish them harm.
But the thing is, if I open that letter and find out what’s going on then I’ll be starting over again. I don’t think I can manage the pain that goes with it. I don’t want to rehash things. I don’t want to tell them why I ran. I just want that part of my life to be over, but it’s not. It seems as though it’ll never end because it keeps popping up unbidden and unwelcome. Plus, my asshole ex-boyfriend was my brother’s best friend. I don’t know if he still is, but I don’t want to reestablish any connection with him at all. All of them are dead to me. That entire life was burned to ash when I walked away.
My phone chirps, pulling me away from my thoughts. I look down at the screen. It’s Peter.
Meet me at the gym at 6:15. I found a new move we can try.
I write back, We r talking about dancing, right?
Lol. There is absolutely no coffee involved.
That makes me laugh. I punch in, Fine. I’ll be there. C u later.
So much for some down time. It’s already getting late. I told Millie that I’d show her and Tia some basics before club. They’re waiting for me downstairs. I’m wearing yoga pants and my hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. I’m not wearing make-up. In other words, I look as if I just rolled out of bed. I pad downstairs in my socks, with my dress shoes in hand.
Millie got the dorm director to give us the big living room so we won’t kick each other quite so much. Based on last week’s dancing, most of the club still needs shin guards.
I walk into the living room, not really paying attention. When I glance up, I stop in my tracks, and my eyes go wide. There are more than two girls standing waiting. There are more than twenty. “Millie!” I whip my head from side to side, looking for her.
Millie appears in front of me. She’s grinning like she won the Miss America pageant. “It’s awesome, right?”
“You said it was just me, you, and Tia,” I hiss at her.
She realizes I’m upset. “What? Bigger isn’t better? I thought more girls meant the club would attract more guys. And that’s not a bad thing, right? Maybe we can find some closet swing dancers so you don’t have to dance with Dr. Granz all the time.” She winks at me. I stare at her with my mouth hanging open. I wonder what she meant by that, but I don’t ask.
“You still suck.” Millie smiles. Somehow telling Millie that she sucks has become tantamount to telling her that I’ll do something.
She hugs me. I stiffen in her arms. “Sorry! I forgot about the no hugging thing.” She holds up her hand and fist bumps me. I roll my eyes as she skips across to the front of the room and introduces me.
When I met Millie, she was a hugger. She hugged over everything. I didn’t. We came to an agreement that hugs are reserved for prolonged partings and death. That’s it. At least, I thought that was our agreement. It seems like she’s figured out how to steal hugs more frequently. Millie’s turned into a hit and run hugger. I don’t know why she doesn’t just give up on me.
Millie has gotten everyone’s attention and is explaining the Swing Dance club, and how hard it is to get something new going. She tells them the basics and about the meeting later tonight, and then introduces me. “Sidney is so awesome at this. You’ll have to come to club later and see her dance. I swear to God, you’ll think she’s amazing. So come on out! And I’ll make sure we get enough guys there to make it worth dressing up.”
“We dress up?” someone asks. It’s Jen. She’s an Asian girl with tan skin and silky black hair.
Millie explains swing clothes, and tells them that they probably already have a lot of that stuff in their closet, while I put my shoes on. I look so stupid. I’m wearing T-straps with yoga pants. I look really weird. At least there aren’t any guys here. It’s the only benefit of an all-girls dorm.
After Millie’s done, she says, “All yours.”
Nerves tickle up and down my arms. Hysterical laughter wants to burst from my mouth. I hate public speaking. Millie really sucks. My gaze shifts her way. Apparently Millie can read my mind, because she sticks out her tongue and then grins like a sadistic monkey.
“Okay, if you’ve been brought here against your will, blink twice.” I’m joking, but a few girls blink. “Damn, I was kidding.” A few people laugh and I realize that they’re nervous, too. “I know how you feel, because I was under the impression that there’d be less people here, but let’s make the best of it.”
Millie cuts in, “Yeah, I kinda said we’d only have a few people, but when they found out it would just be a few girls, I ended up with more people than I thought. But I have to tell you—swing dancing is really fun. It’s a great way to exercise - thrilling and sexy all rolled into one. Dancing is a way to get to know a guy, and I mean really get to know a guy. Everything from the way he leads you around the floor to the way he spins you, says something about him. I learned a lot about Brent after we finally stopped kicking each other.” She laughs. A few girls smile at her.
“What about throws?” someone asks. “I’ve seen stuff where the girl gets tossed into the air.”
I answer, “The throws are like riding a roller coaster without a seatbelt. Once you get the basics down, the club will move into more advanced stuff. Pe… Dr. Granz and I usually show off some advanced moves at the beginning of club. It helps you see what you’re aiming to do. If that kind of thing appeals to you, we can work up to it.”
After that, we get into the basics. I have the girls line up and start showing them how to count off the steps. That’s all we do. For about half an hour we count and rock-step our way around the room. Toward the end of the class—or whatever it is I’m doing—girls pair off. They’re pretty much kicking each other. They look up at me like I taught them wrong.
“This isn’t working!” Tia says as she kicks Jen in the shin.
“Suck!” Jen curses and tries again.
Waving my hands at the front, I say loudly, “You’ve been taught the girl part. The assumption is that you’ll be dancing with a guy. The guy’s part isn’t the same as ours. That’s why you’re kicking the crap out of each other. Listen!” I clap my hands and they all stop. “Later at club, if you want to dance with your friend, one of you needs to reverse your moves. And, the guy always leads.”
“That’s so sexist!” Someone calls out from the back of the room.
I smirk. “Yes, it is. And you need to make sure you dance with a guy later. The concept is one thing. Doing it in action is another.” I’m a control freak, but dancing is different. It’s a place to let someone else lead for a while. I wave and tell them that I’ll see them later.