24
THEATER OF DIONYSUS
DANCE STUDIO
WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 8TH
8:03 P.M.
Skye had been elevating her swollen ankle on the barre for the last twenty-eight minutes. It was the longest she had ever balanced flamingo style, and she imagined her muscles were aching pretty badly. But she couldn’t feel a thing. As always, pain faded into the background like a shy friend when she was doing what she loved.
“Lead with your torso, Tweety!” Skye shouted over the jazz music. “Not your head.”
Tweety nodded like she understood, then proved it.
“Perfect!” Skye called. “Did you feel the difference?”
“Totally!” Tweety chirped with glee. “Thanks!”
“What about me?” Ophelia asked, mid-pivot.
“Ever since we twisted your hair into Princess Leia buns your balance has been much better,” Skye called. “You’ve got it!”
“Now me,” Sadie pant-asked, her choppy Robot oiled to a smooth slice.
“Keep carving butter and Mimi will love it.”
With each critique, Skye could feel her inner alpha returning. Even the color of her ankle was fading from purple to rotten banana yellow–ish brown.
“Prue, what are you chewing?” Skye winced.
Prue blush-swallowed. “A bran bar.”
“Why?” Skye asked, and then remembered Mimi’s suggestion. “I don’t think she literally meant ‘loosen up.’ She probably wanted to see more hips and less spine. Can you try that?”
Prue swayed like Shakira, practically knocking out a window with her sharp ilium bone. It was clear the ballet prodigy was having a hard time adapting to the free flow of jazz.
“Okay.” Skye took a patient inhale. “Imagine your hips are a pot filled with water,” she tried. “What you want to do is shake the water from side to side without spilling it. Try again.”
Prue tried and spilled.
“Again.”
Spuh-lat! Prue spilled.
“Again.”
Prue sloshed and wobbled and spilled…
… and then she got it.
Everyone burst into applause.
“Yes!” Skye shouted, good tears pinching the back of her eyes. She wanted to dance for joy but settled for a series of enthusiastic single-leg knee bends. “Music louder!” she commanded. “Let’s keep going.”
Sadie launched into a tour jeté–pirouette followed by a donkey kick.
“Ride the beat, Sadie, don’t just hit it!”
Sadie smiled her thanks.
All of a sudden, a series of vibrations shocked through Skye’s leg. Ohmuhgud! Were her limbs seizing? Had she just fulfilled her destiny? Was it time to die? She forced herself to make eye contact with the site of the leg shake, fearing the worst about what she would find there.
Instead of a gangrenous thigh, Skye saw the aPod in her hip holster, flashing in emergency mode. She had five urgent messages. Every one of them was from Charlie. Most of them said WHERE R U????? The other two were something about a map.
Skye’s forehead stung with how could I possibly have spaced on this sweat. It was almost 9:00 p.m. She’d been so wrapped up in the session, she’d completely lost track of the time. But wait—hadn’t she just made a pledge with herself? Toes before bros? Now here she was cutting the lesson short to sneak off and see Taz. But it was more than Taz. This was about the new pact she’d made with Charlie and Allie J.
Or at least that was what she told herself.
“Music off!” Skye clapped sharply. “Okay, you’re done. Mimi is going to be so impressed.”
“Wait!” Ophelia cried. “My turnout isn’t quite right yet.”
“Yeah, and my leaps still have lead,” Sadie whined.
Skye’s ankle began throbbing. She felt more torn than cheap tights. “I really have to go.”
“Where?” Prue stiffened. “Did your spy signal beep?”
“Huh?” Skye squinted like she was hard of hearing.
“We heard you were the spy.” Ophelia loosened her side buns. “And it kinda makes sense. You’re useless with that ankle, but you’re still here. It sort of adds up. Why else would Shira keep you?” She shook out her thick black hair. “No offense.”
“Um, is coaching you useless?” Skye managed, despite what felt like a balled-up leg warmer in the back of her throat. “’Cause from where I’m limping, you needed more saving than the beluga whales.”
“Then why are you going?” Sadie zipped up her silver sweatshirt and flipped the metallic hood over her head.
“I just have to do something, okay?” The backs of Skye’s eyes pinched again, but this time it was the bad tears. The girls who’d just been hanging on her every word were now hanging her out to dry. It hurt like doing the splits in skinny jeans.
“What?” Tweety asked, cocking her ample head. “Like spy?”
For a split second Skye considered dropping Charlie’s name to clear her own. But they’d made a pact. There had to be another way. “I’m not the spy, okay?” She sniffled.
“Oh, cry me a Riverdance,” Prue challenged. “Prove it!”
“Fine!” Skye snapped, reaching for her aPod. “I will.”
Skye: B there in 5!
Her thumb went white as she rage-pressed the SEND button. “Let’s go!”
Skye hobbled out of the studio with a pack of four dancers following her lead, possibly for the very last time.