Forbidden Dance

Chapter 4: Faith

As expected, Psych is much more interesting than Econ, and time flies by. After our fifty minutes is up, it’s finally time for Tara and me to find the auditorium for auditions. It’s only now that I suddenly feel nervous, even more so than before, and my palms are sweating and shaking as we find the auditorium ten minutes later. Both of us stop right inside the doors, stepping into the dimly lit, massive area that boasts theater seats and a beautiful stage. At the front of the auditorium are a group of people I recognize as the team dancers, and scattered about the other seats are observers and what I assume are other dancers there for tryouts. Nobody really bothers to glance back as Tara and I slip in and take seats near the back. I need a moment to compose myself before announcing our arrival.

“Next up is Hailey Stanford. Come on out, Hailey.” I recognize Danny’s voice from one of the men up front, and a sigh of relief slips through my lips. Out of all of them, Danny seems to have the most faith in me. I’m still curious as to why, though, as he’s never seen me dance. He’s just assuming I’m any good, and for all either of us knows, I’m going to blow this entire tryout.

A moment later, a beautiful girl with legs that go on forever enters the stage. She’s dressed in a lovely dance suit that shows off her curves and her golden blond hair is tied up in a ballerina bun. I can tell just by looking at her that she’s not new to dance. Not at all.

“How cliche,” Tara murmurs to me. “She’s like the epitome of a dance snob.”

I nod but don’t say anything. This girl, Hailey, is probably going to kick both of our asses for the tryout. The thought makes my stomach roll with nausea. If this is what I’m up against, I should probably just leave now.

Wait, a little voice in my head says. Just because she looks good doesn’t mean she dances well.

I highly doubt that, but I won’t run away yet.

As the music to a familiar jazzy song begins, Tara and I watch intently along with the rest of the small crowd as Hailey begins her routine. I certainly wasn’t wrong in assuming that the girl was good, because she is, and anxiety climbs up my spine as Hailey twirls and moves her beautiful body to the music, lost in her own world, taken with the groove and the beat of the music. I swallow, squirming uncomfortably in my seat. Even Tara seems impressed by this girl, and that makes it even worse.

As the music fades and the lights dim to dark, a round of applause cracks through the crowd. I can’t help but notice, however, that the men, including Danny, barely clap their hands before leaning over and whispering to one another. I’m sweating now as the second dancer comes up on stage, a male hip-hop star. He does well, really well, and I cringe when he’s finished. The applause for this guy is even louder than the last, and anxiety simmers through me. I shake my head and lean in towards Tara.

“I’m sorry,” I say, rising to my feet. “I can’t do this.”

“But, Faith—,” she reaches for me but I slip out of her grasp and hurry towards the door to make my escape. As my fingers brush the door handle, the sound of my name stops me. This time, it doesn’t come from Tara, but it’s a man’s voice, one I recognize.

“Aren’t you here to try out, Faith?” The voice asks. I turn slowly, my eyes locking with the very man who confronted me outside the classroom. The douchebag. His tone drips with derision and mockery, and anger flares inside my soul. As his eyes stay locked with mine, the rest of the team turns to look at me. I shift my gaze to Danny, and his eyes light up.

"Faith," he says. "You made it."

I open my mouth to respond and then close it again. I can't leave now, not with everyone's eyes on me. Beside Danny, the rude kid speaks again.

"I don't know, Dan, I think she was trying to sneak away instead."

"Cut the s**t, Theo," Danny says, his dark eyes narrowing in his friend's direction. "Leave her be."

Theo.

I hate that the name suits him. He looks like a Theo. A very, very hot Theo who, for some reason, has it out for me. Then again, the guy sitting to Theo's right who I also haven't met yet, is glaring at me like I've done something to personally and mortally offend him.

"I'm here, aren't I?" I demand, straightening my spine and throwing my shoulders back. I think of my mother, of her unyielding confidence. She taught me all I know, and I intend to show them all.

"You got this, girl," Tara whispers under her breath, looking proud. Despite my terror, I return her smile and walk confidently down the aisle and to the stairs leading up to the stage.

"Do you have a song preference?" Danny asks, his eyes roaming over my baggy tee shirt and sweatpants. I feel like an i***t and have to remind myself that I'm not here for a fashion show. I'm here to dance. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing.

"Can you play Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake?" I ask, and he nods, looking mildly impressed as Theo leans over his laptop and chooses the song for me. Swan Lake was one of my first competition songs. If I'm going to show them ballet, what better song than this one?

The music begins, and I take a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush through my body.

As I begin to move, I feel the grace and elegance of ballet take over me. Every step, every turn, is carefully choreographed, yet still feels like an expression of my soul. God, I missed this.

I extend my arm, reaching out to an imaginary partner, and then begin a series of pirouettes. My body spins and twirls, but I am completely focused, my mind blank except for the music and the movements, just like my mother taught me.

The minutes pass painfully fast. As the music reaches its c****x, I leap into the air, feeling weightless and free. I land softly on the ground and hold the final pose, feeling the audience's surprised applause wash over me. It feels so familiar, and a sudden flashback of my mother standing at the edge of the stage after this very dance comes barreling into me like a freight train. I remember her tears of pride, and the smile on her face as she applauded.

That was the night she chose to break the news of her cancer to me.

I straighten up and try to catch my breath, catching sight of Tara who stands in the middle of the aisle applauding loudly. Many of the other dancers are cheering and clapping, including Danny, but the other ones, Theo and the guy next to him, simply stare at me, sneering. I ignore them both, basking in the admiration of the audience. God, I missed this. But even as I relish in their admiration, I know that the true joy of ballet is not in the applause or the costumes, but in the moment when movement and music become one, and my body becomes a vessel for the beauty of art.

“Well done, Faith,” Danny calls, sitting back down to observe me. I’m trying to catch my breath; it’s been so long since I’ve danced, I’m surprised I even remembered the routine.

“Well done?” Theo repeats, turning to the kid on his other side. “Sure, she did fine. But don’t you agree, Mark, that precious Faith here didn’t loosen up for a single moment on stage? She danced like a zombie—or a corpse.”

The other guy, Mark, nods, his eyes narrowing in on me. “I noticed that, too,” he says. “She doesn’t know how to dance without the strict rules of ballet. I was waiting for her body to loosen up, but it didn’t. It was an act. A routine. There was no emotion. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed she hated dancing and was just doing it to please somebody.”

Crushed, I look at Danny, who furrows his brow. “You were a little stiff,” he admits, and I let out a huff but say nothing for a long moment. I’m humiliated and angry and all I want to do is smack all three of these guys in the face.

“You said you were looking for ballet dancers,” I say steadily, my eyes roaming over the trio. “That’s what I did. Ballet.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Danny continues as if I didn’t speak. “You did well. But the boys are right. Can you learn to loosen your body? To bend to the music? This team isn’t just any team, Faith. We need someone hot. Seductive. Someone who can get up on that stage and temporarily be someone else.” He pauses. “Is that you?”

My eyes meet Tara’s across the auditorium, and she gives me two thumbs up, encouraging me.

“Yes,” I say, my eyes traveling back to Danny. “I can do that.”

“Thanks for your time,” Theo says. “We’ll let you know if you made it.”

“Will I hear either way?” I ask, and hate myself for caring so much. I missed this, I missed dancing. And I hate that I had to go and remind myself of how much I missed it. Because the truth is, I probably won’t make it. And that will be a tough pill to swallow.

“We’ll contact you if you make it,” Danny says, glancing over his shoulder to where Tara still stands. “Tara, you’re up.”

It’s clear I’ve been dismissed, so I slink off the stage, all the powerful, beautiful energy I had flowing through me only moments ago dissipating into thin air and leaving me silently begging for more. It feels like coming down after a night of drinking—like a really bad hangover that just won’t subside. I want to cry, but that’s the last thing I need to do in front of these guys. Forget them. I’m not supposed to be dancing anyway.

“Don’t listen to them,” Tara whispers as I pass by her to take my seat in the back row. “You did amazing.”

“You’re up,” I say, holding back the tears until she’s at least out of range. I take a seat and watch my friend walk up on stage, and that’s when the tears come. As Tara dances, bringing a round of applause from all three men, all I can think about is how badly I screwed this up. I might not ever recover what little confidence I had left.

I escape out the back door just as Tara ends her jazz routine, too embarrassed to stick around, then make my way briskly back to the room to jump in the shower before Tara shows up and sees me crying. I stand under the hot water for what feels like ages, eyes closed, rinsing away the day. As I wash suds over my body, my fingers go automatically to the scars on the inside of my thighs. Red, jagged, once deep scars that had carried the burden of stress, anxiety, and self-hate for me. I haven’t cut in nearly a year, but when my self-doubt kicks in, sometimes my fingers itch to open those wounds.

When I finally emerge from the shower, my roommate is still nowhere to be seen. I have no doubt in my mind that Danny and the others are probably welcoming her onto the team right now, patting her on the back and s**t-talking me. I don’t want to be a bitter sap, but I am, and now that I’ve had my moment to mope, I realized I promised my dad and Sadie that I would call and let them know how the day went.

As if this day could get any worse.

I call my dad's cell phone first, hoping he'll answer and I won't have to call Sadie, but no such luck. I dial her number next, my heart racing. It's not possible, of course, for her to know that I tried out for a dance team, but Sadie never fails to uncover my deepest and darkest secrets. I swear, the woman has eyes in the back of her head and cameras hidden everywhere.

She answers on the second ring.

"Hello, Faith."

"Hi, Mom." I cringe inwardly as the word leaves my mouth. Sadie insisted years ago that I call her Mom instead of Sadie. I resisted for as long as possible until Dad got after me one night. She's not my mother, she never will be, but whatever appeases her is what I have to do. It’s easier that way. "Is Dad there with you?" I ask. "He didn't answer his phone."

"He's working late tonight."

I sigh. Sometimes I wonder if he works overtime intentionally to get more of a break from his controlling wife.

"I see." Taking a seat on the foot of my bed, I nibble on my fingernails, a habit that Sadie absolutely loathes. It's gross, I know, but I find myself doing it just to spite her sometimes.

"How was econ?" Sadie asks. "Did you pay attention?"

Of course, no “how was your first day”, or “did you make any friends?” With Sadie, it’s straight to business every time.

“It was good,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “And yes, I paid attention.”

“Good. We expect you’ll pass your classes with flying colors.”

“Right.” Just then, the dorm room door opens, and Tara steps in, her eyes landing on me. Guilt takes hold of me when I see her face, and I speak into the phone. “Mom, I have to go. Homework. Call you guys tomorrow.” I hang up the phone and meet Tara’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” She asks, and I shrug, unsure of how to answer that.

“I’m alright,” I say finally. “I’m really sorry, Tara, for running out on you. I kind of had a panic attack. It was a little stressful. But you—you danced beautifully.”

Tara smiles, but it’s forced. “No one tonight danced like you did,” she says. “And you don’t even see it, do you?”

I sigh and cup my hand over the back of my neck, rubbing the kink in it. “I don’t think they liked me.”

“They’re intimidated by you.”

I shake my head. “They’re not going to call.”

“You don’t know that.”

Tara’s insistent support overwhelms me, and before I know what’s happening, tears are streaming down my face, streaking my makeup and forcing a red flush to my skin. God, I’m a blubbering mess.

“Faith,” Tara says softly, and she gets up to wrap her arms around me as if we’re best friends and have been for life. “You’re far too hard on yourself,” she whispers. “Be proud, girl. You killed it out there tonight.”

I have a hard time believing her, but it’s useless to argue, so I force a sad smile and wipe the tears from my cheeks, wishing we’d never stumbled across the team in the quad, to begin with.

“Hey,” Tara says, nudging me. “How about we blow off the rest of our classes today and go shopping? We can update your wardrobe. I think it’s years overdue.”

I grin. “Blowing off class on the first day of school?”

“It’s one day, Faith,” she says. “Before we worry about school, we need to find you again.”