“son of former punk rock icon Charlie Greenly.” Not “Luke Greenly, Performer.”
Just Luke.
Except, I can’t stop.
I play a soft melody that’s been dancing around in my consciousness. It’s been there for a while. Slowly easing its way to the surface. I’m not ready to let it take over yet, though. I suspect it’s going to carry me someplace I shouldn’t go.
Soon, though.
Maybe.
4
VADA
High school is not my favorite. More like, it’s item number one on my Things I Have to Do Before I Start the Rest of My Life list, except it takes four long years to accomplish. I’ve had a raging case of senioritis for the last three. I did get to drop Spanish after convincing my guidance counselor that, one, I have no need for the language credit, and two, my sad attempt at a C is bringing down my entire average. In lieu of Español, I chose dance and body movement.
I know, I know, the grungy bartender girl likes to dance? It’s weird. But you know how some people feel music in their minds or hearts or whatever? They play an instrument or sing, or they write. Well, I’ve always felt music in my blood. It moves me. As a little girl, I studied ballet and lyrical, but I grew out of the pink tights and black leotards. I didn’t love performing to someone else’s song choice, and I never cared for the rigidity of repetitive barre exercises for hours and hours. I needed to feel the melody. My toes twitched, and my abs would contract without my permission. I couldn’t wait for the moment my teacher would allow us to dance our own interpretations of the music.
I’d been eyeing this class for a while. It never fit in my schedule, but I was also afraid it might suck. Or, worse, I might suck. Because while I love to dance, I’m not prima ballerina material. But there is a certain freedom that comes with the last semester of your senior year. I can comfortably say fuck all to self-consciousness. Who cares if I look ridiculous? Next fall, I won’t even know these people. I barely know them now.
There are three separate high schools in this town, and each one is ginormous. Mine alone houses thousands of students, built around a courtyard easily the size of a football field. After sophomore year, I stopped seeing a lot of my classmates. Our classes were held in opposite wings, we parked in different lots, and I’m not an athlete, so I never grew close to a team.
It sounds lonelier than it is. But I’d rather lose myself in a sea of strangers than find myself one-on-one with an acquaintance. One-on-one requires a level of commitment I’m not sure I’m capable of. It took Meg an entire year to crack my shell. Of course, now she can’t get rid of me.
I’ve been attending Madame Marcel’s body movement class since January, and I’m in heaven most of the time. But I can handle the eight counts she instructs us to follow for the first half of the period if it gets me to improvised movement, or IM, the second half.
“Before we move on to IM,” she says, huffing slightly, a flush to her cheeks, “I want to talk to you about the end-of-the-year spring showcase.” She motions with a grace borne out of decades of practice, and we all sit around her turned-out feet in silence. I stretch out my legs, wrapping my fingers along the inner arch of my foot and pressing my torso against my knee. This isn’t the first we’ve heard of the showcase.
“I know it seems like there’s plenty of time, but let me assure you,” she continues, pinning us with her gaze, “it is the highlight of the performing arts department’s year. There are choral and band performers who have been working years toward this night. So, I ask that you be diligent and take this seriously, even if you do not plan to dance professionally after high school.”
I switch legs. While I don’t plan to make a career of dancing, I take this seriously. I’ve been considering music for weeks. I need the perfect song.
“Our senior composers have been given an assignment to observe the dancers and write something inspired by the body’s movement. This year, I’ve requested they take it a step further. We’d like the movement and the composition students to collaborate. You will act as muses to their creations. Therefore, the composition students will