One-two-three. Ouch!
I had to adjust. Started taking bigger steps back in hopes of steering clear of those floppers. And it worked, but then she adjusted to my adjustment and still caught my big toe. Argh!
“Very good, ladies. Now, I want you to take one step back. Hold your pose, but separate yourself from your partner,” Coach Whit instructed, the song now fading out, a new one beginning. The sound of claps came from the other end of the track. I cringed, already knowing what was happening, but I had to look anyway. And there they were, Ghost and Lu, slapping their stupid hands together like clowns.
“Dancing with the stars, Patty!” Lu yelled out. And before I could say anything—and I was going to—Coach, like, Coach Coach, started laughing too. He had been working with the boys’ relay on the field and was now walking toward Lu and Ghost, letting out the nastiest cackle ever. So loud and ridiculous that everyone stopped what they were doing to watch him. He laughed and laughed, slapping his knee and patting his chest and throwing his head back, all the way across the field until he reached Lu and Ghost up by the hundred-meter start line. He threw his arm around both of their shoulders. They were still chuckling. Then Coach whispered something in Lu’s ear. Then in Ghost’s. And then they weren’t smiling no more. Coach pulled away from them and took a few steps back. Ghost and Lu looked horrified. But then they faced each other, awkwardly, took each other by the hands, awkwardly, held each other (barely) around the waist, awkwardly, and did their version of the waltz. Whoa. I almost passed out, and I wasn’t the only one. Everyone started losing it.
“C’mon, fellas, stay on beat. One-two-three, one-two-three,” I yelled, snapping my fingers on count. Brit-Brat jumped right in, and so did Krystal and Deja. Even Whit joined us.
“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three,” we all chanted, eventually leading to everyone chanting, all the runners, even Sunny.
Then we were all singing, “ONE-TWO-THREE!” waving our arms around like conductors (I don’t know why, it just seemed appropriate), watching Lu and Ghost waddle side to side like toddlers who had just pooped their pants.
“Okay, okay, ladies,” Coach Whit cut us off, still laughing, and tried to wrangle us back in. “Let’s refocus.” We all regained our composure and tried to reposition ourselves for more waltzing. Just as we grabbed hands, Coach Whit said, “We’re gonna do the same thing, but this time, let go of each other’s hands. Separate yourselves so that another person could fit between you.”
“Wait,” Krystal said, immediately winding up. Her arms went from around Deja to her own hips. “So now we gotta dance in threes? Well, if that’s the case, I volunteer Deja to dance between them two.” Krystal pointed at me and Brit-Brat.
“Krystal . . . no. Just . . .” Coach Whit was stuck, struck by Krystal’s ridiculousness. “Could one of y’all explain, please?” Deja took on the task. Then we took our places again, but this time Brit and I were standing about a foot away from each other. We held our hands the same, and on Whit’s count, danced the waltz once more.
“Back,” Whit instructed. “Nice and smooth. Remember when you were closer, the pressure of your partner, knowing the steps, working and moving in unison.”
“You like a hippie or something?” Deja asked.
“Focus,” Whit said. “Might learn something.”
“Doubt it,” Krystal groused under her breath, but still loud enough for us to hear.
One-two-three.
“Left. Now, forward.” I was happy—relieved—there was space between Brit and me. Space for her feet to meet ground, and not my toes. It was also kinda cool to see all four of us moving around, swaying and stepping all at the same time. Reminded me of the Olympics—the only thing I like to watch, besides running, are the synchronized swimmers. I mean, to move like that in the water is crazy. Cheerleaders do it too, sort of. But not like synchronized swimmers. And me, Brit-Brat, Deja, and Krystal (once she finally shut up) were like synchronized swimmers . . . uh . . . synchronized runners. Ah. Ahhhhhhhh. Sneaky, sneaky, Whit.
We had made like twenty or thirty squares before Whit, finally, thank you Lord, cut the music. “Okay, that’s enough. Good job. So, how did it feel?” Then she pointed at Krystal, who was already fixing her mouth to crack a joke. Whit didn’t say nothing to her. Just pointed, like, Don’t.
“It felt weird at first,” I spoke up.
“Yeah, definitely. And I kept stepping on Patty’s feet,” Brit admitted. “But then we kinda adjusted, y’know?”
“Right. Same for us. Like after a few times you just kinda stop thinking about it,” Deja said.
Coach Whit looked at Krystal, who was smirking. “It was cool,” she said with a shrug, eyes everywhere.
Coach Whit nodded, poked her bottom lip out, not in the sad way, but in the surprised and satisfied way. “Well, let me ask you all this,” a clever grin replacing the pokey-lip. “How many of you realized that I stopped counting a long time ago?”
The rest of practice was Whit giving us the rundown about the handoff—the passing of the baton—and how it was just like dancing the waltz, but we didn’t actually practice it. She said we would be spending a portion of every practice for the rest of the week doing relay work; she was hoping that we’d be ready to give it a try by Saturday’s meet.
I found out after practice that Krystal, Deja, and Brit-Brat had run relay last year, which is why they were so annoyed by the whole dance thing.
“I’m just sayin’, it ain’t that deep. You run, then you hand the stick to the next person. Then they run.” That’s pretty much exactly what I thought it was. “All this cha-cha mess was . . . I mean, it was fine, but it ain’t necessary,” Krystal complained afterward. She took a swig of water, then threw her bottle in her duffel bag, zipped it shut.
“The waltz,” I corrected her, even though she was echoing my own feelings. It was cool, but it didn’t really seem all that helpful. At least not yet. Krystal shot me a look, but I didn’t pay it no mind because over her shoulder I could see Maddy coming toward me. Krystal went on mimicking the one-two-three count, Deja chiming in with the perfect amount of complementary snark, Brit-Brat laughing at them both.
“A’ight, I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”
“A’ight, Patty.”
“Bye, Patty.”
“Yo, Patty!” Ghost was just coming off the track, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. “You out?”
“Yeah.”
“Without saying nothin’?” He cocked his head to the side. “So you ain’t one of us no more? You too good for Sunny, Lu, and me?” He smiled, making it clear he was joking.
“Sunny’s my guy. I love Sunny.”