"And one . . . two . . . three . . . four!" I called out, clapping my hands in time with the words. The five high school girls on the floor moved from position to position, their matching shoes squeaking on the flooring as they went from maneuver to maneuver. The only sound in the studio was their feet, my keeping the beat, and their breathing.

Dance practice isn’t as glamorous as most people think. It's a fact of life that music eventually starts to wear on you, and that great piece you pick out now is going to be more painful than the Macarena by the time you compete with it. It was a reason that I made sure each of my classes danced to something different, because there was no way in hell that I would have been able to tolerate hour upon hour of listening to the same thing five and a half days a week.

"Miss Carmen," one of the girls, Meghan, who was also the leader of this particular group of friends, whined, "we've been doing this same thing for twenty minutes."

"I know," I said. "I'm the one with the clock, remember? But you're right, there's no competition coming up. Take a break, and let's have some fun with it."

While the girls were getting some water, the doorbell dinged, and I turned, surprised when I saw Dante Degrassi walked in. "Hi."

"Ten minutes," I replied, pointing at the girls in explanation. "Have a seat."

He nodded, making his way painfully across to the little line of chairs I had in place for parents who wanted to watch the little kids’ classes. I had to chuckle. The man looked like he was death warmed over, and he moved like he had the worst case of muscle soreness in the world. I'd seen geriatric old men who moved easier than he was. I watched him settle into the chair, then turned back to the high school girls, who were done with their breaks. "Okay, let's run through something we've done before. Tiffany, do you still remember that Ariana Grande track we did a few months ago?"

Tiffany, the youngest and newest member of the group, nodded enthusiastically, and I laughed. "Okay, let's get to work."

There was nothing really all that complicated about the routine. I had the girls copy what Ariana did in the video for the song. The girls loved it, and it ended the class on a high note, which I wanted to do every time. Besides, they did have some talent, but like most high school age girls, they had a hard time embracing the grind that is real dance training.

After class was done and the girls had left, I walked over and sat down beside Dante, who hadn't moved since sitting down. "How's it going?"

"I'm in pain," Dante said with a laugh, "but it's the good type."

"The good type? I'm not too familiar with the good type of pain," I replied. "What have you been up to this past week?"

"Actually, I've finally gotten a break,” Dante said, smiling painfully. "And for that, I have to thank you. It seems my crazy stunt of tackling Eduardo convinced Tomasso to give me a chance to join his new crew."

"Congratulations," I cheered. "At least you got something good out of it. So what's causing the pain then?"

"Well, Tomasso wants all his people to be top of the line operatives, and to be honest, I'm not in as good of shape as I thought I was,” Dante said, groaning slightly as he leaned forward. "So for the past two days, I've been working hard. Tomasso told me you could help me out.”

“I still do massages for Bertoli men whom I trust," I replied, smiling. "Can I trust you?"

"Trust me to do what?" he asked, somewhat confused. I realized in an instant that he didn't know anything about me, and to him, I was just a girl who did massage and danced.

"Nothing," I quickly dismissed, happy on the inside. "Just some of the guys tend to have problems keeping their hands to themselves. But if you're looking for one now, there's a problem."

"What's that?" he asked, groaning. "Don't tell me you've got another class."

"Nope, that was my last one for the next two hours," I said, not mentioning that the next class was some of my former co-workers from the Starlight Club who would come in on their off nights to practice, "but my supplies are out. I've got an order coming in supposedly tomorrow with the next bottles of stuff I use. Unless you've got a bottle of olive oil in your car, we'll have to postpone."

He groaned then nodded, forcing a calm face. "Okay, I can do that. In the meantime, though, Luisa told me to keep moving, and that starting next week, I'm supposed to work out on my own three days a week. I just have to find something good for cardio that I enjoy and can stick with.”

"So what is your thing?" I asked, relaxing. I didn't know what it was about Dante, but I just felt comfortable talking to him. "I've figured out it's not swimming."

“Very funny,” Dante sarcastically said, but still cracking a smirk. "Actually, I don't really know. I thought maybe you could help me with that, too."

“Oh, really? How’s that?” I asked.

"Well, I may not look like it, but I can tear it up in the club when I go," he said, a bit cocky.

"Oh, really?" I snickered, amused. "And where do I come in? Taking me to a club?"

Dante shook his head. “That sounds fun, but I was considering taking a few lessons."

"Really?" I blurted, surprised. “You’re shitting me.”

"Okay, I got it, bad idea," Dante said. “I’d probably scare all the little ones or women off.”

He went to get up, but I stopped him, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Wait. It's not that it's a bad idea, just that you're the first man to ask me for dance lessons. I was surprised, that's all."

He dropped back into the chair, sighing. "It's okay. I don’t want to cause you business.”

"It's not that, really," I said apologetically. "Like I said, you just surprised me. The next closest man I have as a student is fourteen, unless you count the seniors group I teach twice a month on Thursday mornings. Some of those guys are nearly in walkers though. Oh, and there's George, but he's flamboyantly . . . gender fluid. What sort of dance are you looking for, anyway? You don't strike me as a ballet type.”

Dante shook his head, laughing out loud. "Me in a ballet uniform? No thanks. I was thinking maybe ballroom dance. It might actually be useful every now and then.”

"Ballroom . . . that’s hell on the low back and hips. If you're stiff now, what're you going to be able to do on the floor?"

"I can still do my thing," Dante said, his pride forcing him to his feet. “Trust me, I can dance my ass off.”

“I’d have to see that before I believe it," I challenged him, waving a hand out. "I'll even put some music on. How about what that last group was doing?"

"Ariana Grande? Not my type," Dante said, working his way out to the middle of the floor. “Pick something not so teeny pop?"

"I think I can find something," I said, going over to my computer. Pulling up my iTunes, I chose a favorite beat of mine, not a famous song in any typical sense, but a standard hip-hop beat that formed the base for quite a few other songs. Tapping, I brought it up, letting Dante listen for a minute. "What do you think?"

“Um . . . let’s do it," he said, starting to dance. I watched for a while, and I couldn't hold it in anymore as he flailed around, gyrating and moving in something that looked somewhat like a cross between an epileptic fit, boxing, and twerking. I starting laughing, feeling lightness and happiness coming with each laugh.

Dante, however, didn't understand that my laughter was yes, directed a bit at him, but at the same time, it was that all my stresses were seemingly gone for those moments. Still, he stopped, his face turning red with either shame or anger, I wasn’t sure.

“Damn. Am I really that bad?” he asked.

I sobered quickly, seeing his face, and I knew that here was someone who, like me, was really trying to prove himself better than what everyone thought he was. "I'm sorry. I have to admit, it was a little funny. You at least have timing though. I could see that you were carrying the beat, even if you were doing it wrong. But mainly, it was good watching you dance. I enjoyed myself."

“Well tell me like it is, why don’t you . . .” Dante replied. I wasn’t sure if he was playing along or offended. He was a tough guy to get a read on.

I put my hand on his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart. I felt bad for my laughter, regardless of whether he was offended or not. “Can I ask you for something?"

"What's that?" he asked, stepping back.

"Can you come by tomorrow morning, say at nine? We can start lessons then. Just you and me, one on one.”

Dante thought, then shook his head. "Nine's too late. Tomasso and Luisa have had me coming by at ten the past few days. Can we make it eight, or even seven?"

I tilted my head, smiling. "You're going to try and peel this night owl out of bed early just to dance, huh? Well, as long as you don't mind if I have some bed head, you've got a deal. We’ll have to work in a massage every now and then to work those muscles loose though. I don't want to try and teach you if you're going to be stiff as an old man all the time."

Dante smirked and nodded. "Okay. Uhm, how much is this going to cost me, anyway?"

"I'll give you the Bertoli-slash-guy who stuck up for my honor discount," I said, patting his chest. "How's twenty bucks a month sound? That'll be for two lessons a week, one on Tuesday and one Sunday. If Tomasso and Luisa give you Sundays off, we can even make that one an afternoon lesson so that I can get some sleep and show you that I do know how to brush my teeth too."

“Sounds like charity, but hey, I’ll take it," he replied, giving me a genuine smile. He was cute when he smiled. He was the sort of guy who should do it more often but didn’t. At least he’ll fit in good with the Bertolis. "But if I just happen to bring you breakfast every once in a while on top of the twenty bucks, you won't be too mad?"

"Mad?" I replied with a smile. "You bring me breakfast, and I may just kiss you. Now go. I've got to get some dinner and let it digest before my last class shows up. And no, you can't buy me dinner. Yet.”

"Deal. Thanks, Carmen. I'll see you here tomorrow, seven o'clock."

Dante headed out the door, limping slightly with his stiff muscles, and I called after him. "Dante!"

"Yeah?"

"When you get to your place, take as warm a shower as you can. Pop a couple of Tylenol or something. Tomorrow, I'll show you how to warm up and stretch out so that you won't be so sore!"

“Sounds great!" he said, going over to his car, a used Mercedes that I could tell had come from a bargain lot. "Good night, Carmen!"

As he drove away, I couldn't help but smile as he pulled out onto the road, disappearing quickly into the flow of traffic. I didn't know what it was. Maybe it was his earnestness, or maybe it was his smile. In any case, I hadn't lied to him. I did have to get some dinner before my last class arrived. I went into my little living area, and looked into my fridge.

"Half a Tupperware of Bertoli lasagna," I said, shaking my head. Suddenly, there was another ring of the bell at the door, and I went back out front, seeing a pizza delivery guy standing there. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Carmen Esperanza?" the guy, who upon closer view was actually from Bertoli pizza, asked.

"Yes. Why? I didn't order anything."

The delivery man shrugged and set down the bag that was in his hand. "I just got the name and the order. It's already paid up, just if you could sign for it, please."

I did, making sure to give the kid a tip, and watched as he walked out. Opening the bag, I saw that inside were two Bertoli pizzas with a note attached.

My friends. Still taking care of me, even though I didn't deserve it.