to think maybe we don’t want the world to know about that shit?”
“Language, Sophia.” Lucy rolls her eyes and begins stretching her feet. From flat, to half, to toes. Up and down she goes. “If anyone is hurt, go see your doctor. That’s all I’m gonna say about that.”
“Thanks, Urkel.” Soph rolls her eyes. “Forget about the shoulder thing, then, geez.”
“What are we doing today?” Lucy asks. Not a care in the world. Not a single thing weighing her down.
“We’re choreographing,” Soph excitedly announces. “Ellie Goulding is on.” She crosses to the stereo and flicks a switch until “Hanging On” starts and fills my living room with energy. Then she looks to the camera. “Follow me, keep up, and if you have suggestions for us,” she points toward the floor, “pop them in the comments section. We love when folks want to help us choreograph.” She turns to Lucy. “Remember that one chick? What was her name…?”
My stomach flips when Lucy’s eyes come to the camera and lock right onto mine.
“Cam,” she murmurs. “She was nice.”
“And she totally made your lift better,” Soph adds.
She speaks and moves, converses and choreographs like it’s not a big deal to do both at the same time.
“Let’s pirouette, and then spin it out.”
She works her way through steps that bring her foot high into the air, higher than her head. And beside her, Lucy follows like it’s totally effortless to learn something brand new while on live camera.
They step in perfect sync, they glide to their toes, and when the chorus comes on, they lead their viewers into spins. One. Two. Three. Around and around they go, and on each revolution, they eye the camera. On the tips of their toes, they spin and check, spin and check, until on the final, Soph switches the position of her foot. Instead of creating the V with her working leg, she lifts it straight up until it points to the ceiling.
I follow on instinct, thrust my leg high, and grunt out in pain when I realize the enthusiasm behind my move doesn’t match my ability.
Lucy copies perfectly; they maintain their position for several seconds, then with smiles, they bring their legs down again and back into position.
“Make sure your turnout is perfect.” Soph speaks directly to the camera, as though she knows I messed up. “Keep your hips square, your legs strong, your turnout perfect. Make sure your foundations are exact, otherwise everything else you do is a waste.”
She wanders behind Lucy, grabs her hips without warning, lifts, and throws her so she flies for a few feet with her legs spread wide and a smile growing on her face the longer she flies.
Lucy drops back to her toes, and spins away, only to stop with a rapidly lifting and falling chest.
“Those of you at home can’t do that alone,” Soph says a little breathlessly, “but I really wanted to add the jeté. It always feels so badass.” She turns to Lucy. “Suggestions?”
“Let’s go back to the start,” she pants. “Triple spin, but bring the développé in earlier. Leg up, arms open, neck elongated.”
“Aww, look at you being the teacher,” Soph jests. She looks into the camera, but pokes a thumb at her co-host. “Thinks she can take over. Did she forget the gunshot wound thing already?”
At five o’clock on the dot, four whole hours of playful dance later, during which it almost felt like I was at the Ellie Solomon Academy, I switch my TV off and toss the remote to the couch so it slips between the cushions, and becomes the reason Will and I will fight later.
He’ll ask where it is. I’ll say I don’t know. We’ll argue around and around until one of us flips the couch, and then tomorrow, we’ll do it all again.
My calves sing from hours of dance. My hamstrings are pliable like a warm pretzel. I sit on the edge of the couch and start unraveling the silks from my ballet slippers, so pink ribbon listlessly falls to the floor. My chest still moves with exertion, and long strands of my hair hang in my eyes, sweaty and gross from working out in the humidity.
It strikes me as odd, how Sophia mentioned going for a run in the rain. Sore shoulders. Hell, she and Lucy even spoke about me for a moment during class.
The universe is trying to be a jerk.
Remember the life you could have had, Quinn. Remember the people that you barely know, but somehow miss,