because the gates closed at a certain time each night.
He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. His family didn’t have much, but at least there was no need for high walls to protect them.
He stored the steam cleaner in the closet and walked from room to room, shutting off lights. He’d worked at Twin Rivers Dance Studio since Katrina bought the place a few years ago. She’d taken pity on her fifteen-year-old cousin and given him a job. Now, three years later, and it was a second home.
He stopped in the last room, hesitating with his hand over the light switch. After going straight from school to the studio today, he’d had no time to stretch his muscles. Getting home a few minutes later couldn’t hurt.
He didn’t need music, not when he felt it in his soul. The notes rolled through his mind, giving him a beat.
He dropped his keys and phone on the floor and kicked off his shoes before stepping in front of the long mirror spanning the back wall.
Rising up on his toes, he bent his legs, testing his strength with a few ballet poses he’d picked up from his cousin. The Butlers could never afford to send any of their kids to dance classes, but Jack preferred to teach himself, to craft the choreography that suited his body.
Jeans weren’t the ideal outfit for dance, preventing him from lifting his leg high enough, but he didn’t let it stop him as he turned on one foot and reached toward the ground with a tiny hop.
A smile spread across his lips. He’d watched so many dancers come through here, and one thing he always noticed was they never looked like they enjoyed themselves. He didn’t understand it.
For him, dancing was freedom, joy. He’d never tell the kids at school how much he loved it, or that he wished there was a future in it for him, but that wouldn’t stop him from dancing any chance he got. It was who he was.
Running three paces, he imitated the jump Lillian Preston hadn’t been able to land cleanly. The impact of the landing reverberated up one leg before he launched into another move.
When Lillian danced, no one could take their eyes from her. Jack wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d watched her in Katrina’s classes many times. She exuded strength and more grace than he’d ever seen, but it was a refined sort of grace. She was like one of those million-dollar horses, bred to perfection.
He laughed to himself at the comparison. Okay, she wasn’t a horse. She was beautiful in a china-doll like way. Flawless skin with immaculate makeup, blond hair pulled away from warm hazel eyes—the only warm thing about her.
There was something… cold about her dancing, a lack of emotion. It was like she went through the steps, doing what was expected of her, and expecting textbook perfection every time.
But dancing wasn’t about perfection. Not to Jack. It was about feeling, about expression. Even in ballet.
His precise movement transformed into a more modern style, combining the emotion of hip-hop with the grace and strength of ballet. This transitional style was what he loved, a kind of dance he’d created himself. Jack planned each step, crafting his own moves.
Could a girl like Lillian ever pull off these steps?
Or would she be lost without her rigid structure?
It didn’t matter. Nothing else did while he danced.
By the time he finished, sweat streaked through his hair, and he pushed it out of his face, breathing hard.
Ringing filled the silence, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone. Swiping it off the floor, he answered.
“Hey, mom.”
“Jacky.” His mom sounded tired as she normally did. “Are you almost done with work?”
“Yeah, I can head home at any time.”
“Good. I have to get going soon, so I need you home.”
“On my way.” He picked up his keys and hung up.
On his way out, he finished turning off the lights and flipped the sign to closed before locking the front door and exiting out the back. Crossing the dark parking lot to a beat up old jeep, he climbed in. For years, Jack had saved every penny he earned to buy his jeep, and he loved it.
It took only a few minutes to cross the river to his house. As he walked through the front door, noise assaulted him in the form of his five-year-old sister, Alexis, and seven-year-old brother, Wyatt.
“Jacky,” Alexis yelled. “Wyatt ripped the head off my Elsa barbie.”