Distorted Fates

by R. L. Weeks

  The school intercom buzzed, interrupting the teacher midsentence.

  “Sundae Phillips, please report to Mac’s office.” For the second time this morning, all of my classmates turned and looked at me. I looked up at my biology teacher, who nodded her head in acceptance that I was leaving. I threw my stuff in my back pack and left the classroom.

  I heard clapping behind me and made the mistake of turning around. In all his dark-haired glory, he stood there clapping. Of all the ones I managed to sneak a peek at, he looked by far the closest to my age. I turned back around and practically ran toward Principal Mac’s office.

  “I know you saw me,” he spoke softly as he followed close behind me.

  “Hey, Dae…your Dad is waiting for you.” Ms. Jenkins, the front receptionist and intercom announcer, nodded to the door. The students knew him as Mac. The faculty and parents knew him as Principal Mac. I knew him as MacCarter Phillips, my Dad. My father was captain of the football team, valedictorian, class president and principal of the high school he attended—this high school. I had certain expectations thrown at me because of this. I was not a straight ‘A’ student, I didn’t play sports, and I really didn’t like talking in front of people. All of these facts didn’t keep the teachers, coaches, and students from being extra hard on me.

  I knocked and walked into his office. He broke into a smile as soon as he saw me. “Hi, Baby Girl.” Even though at home I love when he calls me that, here I cringed. If anyone else heard that, they would automatically think he was showing favoritism.

  It didn’t faze him that in the matter of the seconds it took for him to say those three words, he had made me uncomfortable. This was why my try-out was so important. If accepted, I got out of this school. It’s an opportunity that fell into my lap, and an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up.

  Dad interrupted my thoughts. “Your mom dropped by your…umm…dance sandals…somehow, in your hurry this morning you left those on the couch.”

  I gasped, “Crap…I took those out to make sure it wasn’t the pair I broke last week. I am so glad she brought these.” I smiled as I grabbed the leather lyrical sandals from his out stretched hands and confused eyes. He never understood the dance thing. Not one little piece of it. He knew that I had potential—I even heard him bragging about me once. But he never understood the dancing, let alone how these mini thong sandals would save my feet, and my day.

  He grabbed my wrist as I reached for the sandals and threw me into a bear hug. “We are so proud of you.” Those simple words brought me back to reality and tears to my eyes. If I get accepted, it would be a whole new start for me. It also terrified me, because for the first time in my life I wouldn’t be my Dad’s shadow.

  Chapter Three

  12:15 P.M.

  While everybody was eating lunch, I was in the mirrored dance rehearsal room warming up. It would have been nice to have some privacy, but energy boy sat in the corner and stared at me the entire time. At least he had the decency to remain silent.

  This tryout was important in that I, little ole Sundae Phillips, was head hunted to join an experimental school of the arts for gifted youth. The head hunters of the arts school were there to watch me dance. It was still surreal, but an honest to goodness, god-sent, legitimate way out of the school.

  While my muscles were still warm and limber, I slowed down and did some serious stretches on the barre. I used the highest barre and lifted my limber leg up. I bent forward and back stretching and warming up my hamstrings, trying really hard to continue to ignore energy boy. He ruined my peaceful stretch by breaking the silence. “I know you saw me earlier.”

  I tensed up and lost my stretch. I lowered my leg to put my less limber leg on the same barre. With one leg down, I leaned down and put my head on my knee cringing a little at how tight the muscles were in that leg. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed into the stretch. After a few seconds, I opened my eyes and the next thing I knew, energy boy looked up at me from the floor on his back with a big grin on his face.

  “I know you see me,” he said through his smile.

  I lowered my leg and walked to the door. I peeked outside, feeling pretty sure no one would be out there since it was lunch time. I locked the door and lowered the blinds over the only window into the room. There was only one other time in my life I was willing to do what I did next. It was ten years ago, and it caused me to get into a lot of trouble with my parents. The kind of scary trouble where my parents almost separated and sent me to live with my grandparents. That kind of guilt was not good for a six-year-old. I taught myself to follow three basic rules: avoid, ignore, and, by everything that was holy, do not confront.

  I was about to break every single one of those rules.

  I walked over to the stunning, dark-haired creature and got in his face, “Why today?”

  His eyes widened in shock, and I realized my mistake. He was only guessing. He still wasn’t sure that I could see him.

  He clapped. “I knew it! I was right and they were wrong…”

  I refused to be side tracked, so I rolled my eyes and began to ignore him again. While he continued his own inner party, I walked back over to my bag and grabbed the dance clothes I was going to wear.

  I looked at the clock and noticed I only had twenty minutes to get myself ready. I kicked it into high gear to get myself over to the auditorium for the tryout. He was still doing his own thing, so I took my stuff to the changing room. I took off my sweats and legwarmers, leaving me in only my black leotard.

  Energy boy appeared in the room, “You thought that after I discovered you…you could just hide from me?” He had the gall to sound offended.

  Should I or should I not talk to him? For the last ten years, I forced myself to make a habit of ignoring every single one of them. I forced myself to believe that they did not exist. Screw it, he and they would not be allowed to ruin the tryout for me. “No,” I said.

  He looked at me with his head cocked to the side like a confused puppy. That innocence made me even more upset. “No. You will not mess this up. Can’t you see that I am busy?”

  Forget the fact that I had broken my rules. What surprised me the most was that the boy that had been nonstop energy and chatter for the past two weeks had nothing to say. He continued his innocent look of confusion, with his head still cocked to the side.

  “You know what?” I asked him rhetorically, “Screw it!”

  I sat down on a chair in the changing room and proceeded to pull up my flesh tone footless dance tights over my leotard. “I am tired of you. I am tired of them. I just need to do this. Let me get through this tryout.” I stood up to shake the tights into place. I sat back down and slipped on my leather thong dance sandals.

  I looked back up at him and practically begged, “Please. Don’t mess this up for me…” I had to take a shaky breath because I could feel my stupid eyes trying to tear up, “If you leave me alone during my tryout, then I agree to talk to you.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to talk. I turned the chair around to the one and only vanity mirror in the changing room. I over did it a bit on the makeup that morning, purposely, so that I wouldn’t have to reapply later. I only had to put a little extra green tinted mascara on top to bring the green out in my eyes on stage, so that I wouldn’t look washed out. I separated my long brown hair into two sections and braided. I twisted those two braids into a bun. Easy, it was out of my way and wouldn’t fall down. I was ready.

  When I turned around to leave, I almost walked smack into him. There wasn’t enough room for me to go around him. So, I either had to push him out of the way or wait for him to move. I cocked one eyebrow up, silently expecting him to step aside.

  After a few awkward seconds, he finally said, “Deal.”

  Confused, I asked, “What deal?”

  Through his perfect teeth and perfect smile, he said, “I will stay out of your way…when this is over…you and I will talk. Now, how do you mortals do this?” He reached his hand
out to me with his pam down.

  I looked at him and snorted, “I am not, and I repeat, not kissing your hand.”

  “That’s gross! No, I am trying to offer my hand in a shake.” His eyebrows were scrunched together in confusion, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  I reached my hand out to shake his.

  The awkward handshake only lasted a few moments, thank goodness. I dropped his hand and grabbed my dance bag. By the time I turned back around, he was gone. I didn’t have time for this. As I was flipping off the lights in the dance studio, I heard, “Peter.”

  “What?!” I asked.

  “My name is Peter. Names have power, so use it wisely.” As soon as he said wisely, he disappeared. Behind where he was standing was a clock.

  Crap, I only had five minutes. I took off running.

  Chapter Four

  1 P.M.

  I made it to the auditorium with one minute to spare. I was on time, but winded from running through the school. I laughed at all the odd looks the other students gave me. I couldn’t blame them though, I must have looked crazy with my leotard on and practically barefoot. They have never been secretive, they thought me odd. In fact, they told me all the time. I really did believe no one there would miss my presence, except for Dad.

  Unsure of how to proceed, I just walked onto stage. It was more awkward than I thought it would be, given that there were a lot more people here than I expected. I don’t really know what I expected, maybe three people in the front row. The front row was practically full with people of all ages and gender. I looked around and in the wings of the stages were more people close to my age—I did not recognize them either.

  I did, however, spot Peter in a wing talking to someone who very much seemed to be the female version of him. As if sensing me looking at them, both turned to look at me at the same time. He smiled and waved. She glared like I had somehow offended her. Weird, I thought to myself.

  There were large refrigerator sized shapes with black cloths draped over them on the back part of the stage.

  A lady in the front row also looked over her shoulder and spotted the people in the back row. She was the most formally dressed of all the people there, with a black dress suit, red under shirt and black stilettos. As she walked away, the red soles of her shoes popped; indicative of Christian Louboutin. Based on how she was put together, I would’ve bet that the shoes were the real deal. She must have said something to the three in the back row because they all got up and left. Then, she locked the entrance to the auditorium and silently made her way back to her seat.

  Literally, the rest of the people in the front row were casual. They were all shapes and sizes. Most of them had on jeans. The one closest to the fancy lady had on black jeans and a black shirt with huge biceps. There was an imprint on his left hip—a sure sign he had a weapon on him. I swallowed, unsure what I was getting into. I must have looked at the big guy for too long because he scowled at me.

  “You are Sundae Phillips?” She spoke, breaking the awkward silence in the room. Her voice was beautiful, with a slight tilt in her accent. Every single person in the front row turned to watch when she spoke, like they were hanging onto every word. Every person, that was, except for the big guy who continued to scowl at me. That scowl broke whatever her voice did to me.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I shook my head clear, as I answered her.

  She smiled, “You have two numbers prepared for us?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a more traditional piece and I have a contemporary that I choreographed myself

  She nodded her head back once. “Very well, let’s see what you have.” She then waived the back of her hand dismissing me. What the hell? She dismissed me. I felt my temper peeking through, but I swallowed it. I refused to let my temper get the best of me, especially on such an important day. I kept reminding myself that as I walked off stage to put on the first of my two song choices for my audition in the sound system.

  I purposely gave myself ten seconds before either song began to give myself time to walk in place. This first song was a very classic slow violin tune. Since it was more traditional, I kept many of my movements in my core, torso area. The hardest part of moving this way was throwing my years of ballet out the window—not pointing my toes, and moving at the waist with no corset. Gasp, nobody was going to judge me if I were to raise my arms without following through on the rules of movement.

  The four-minute piece was almost over and I was on the homestretch, ending with the most challenging move. I bent inward on my core and lifted my flexible leg up so that my head connected with my knee. Here it comes, please don’t fall, I said to myself over and over again. I stretched my leg out in front of me, in a high extension with my toes pointed. I then twisted to the side, manipulating my balance leg and foot to open up. While still holding the impossibly high leg up and now out to the side, I flexed my foot to match the last note of the violin. I held the pose for a few seconds after the song was over.

  The well-dressed lady laughs and clapped her hands, “Well done. For this next piece, we want to see how well you are able to adapt to changes.”

  I tilted my head slightly, confused by what she way saying. “I don’t understand.”

  She laughed some more and waved two fingers in the air, just like the Queen of England would do. The people in the wings of the stage, including Peter, came out and uncovered the big boxes behind me. Except they weren’t boxes, but instead, six large cages. Inside of each cage were very large and very angry looking men. They weren’t even looking at me, per se, but at the fancy woman. She smiled and somehow ignored the fact that the moment they got out of the cage—they were probably heading her way. The big guy moved to stand in front her, blocking my view of her.

  “We want to see how you think on your feet. Go ahead and start the dance. Don’t worry…you won’t get too hurt,” she said through giggles. I don’t think I liked the ‘too’ part of getting hurt.

  Nervously, I walked off stage to plug in my second song choice. This was a song with actual lyrics about change in life—I chose it because of what that tryout could mean to me. I walked more quickly to stage because in this piece I choreographed myself starting out on the floor.

  The singer started a cappella. This was the most important part of the routine. If I couldn’t portray my emotions in the first thirty seconds, the rest of the piece would be irrelevant. I moved off the floor and allowed the tears to freely fall. I tried to feel how life would be without my dad, without my schedule, and without my comfort zone. I stood and the singing stopped for a few seconds. I stared out to the audience, with the tears on my face.

  Before the music started back up, I saw the lady stand and put her hands up signaling something. I didn’t have time to turn around as my movement started again. I reached up to my cheek, and touched the tears. I lifted my wet finger tips to the air. I felt the stage vibrating with movement behind, I slowly turned around.

  The angry men are out of the cage and slowly walking toward me. The music started up. I dropped my hands because I was terrified. They all reached me at the same time. The one directly in front me grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me to him. We were facing each other, so close, we were touching cheek to cheek. “Who are you?” He whispered in my ear.

  “Dance…” I hear the lady up front say, with more force in her voice than earlier.

  I pushed myself away from him. He let me go at the same time making me ungracefully land on my butt. I was horrified, but I still wanted the show to go on. I started the same movements on the floor that I did in the opening. The difference was this time instead of portraying the feeling of everything changing, I portrayed the feeling of anger. Where I would have gracefully slid my hands over the floor; I beat my fist on the stage. I kicked the air with everything in me. There was nothing graceful about it, and by the time I stood back up I was beyond angry. Dancing enhances my emotions anyway, but this time it was further enhanced by the anger I felt at botching the piece.
<
br />   I faced the men and walked to them. They stood still. I expected them to approach me, but they continued to stand still, trance like. I took full advantage of that in my movements. I grabbed their arms as I lifted a high extension with my legs. I used one of the men as an object to push off of to perform a backflip. The one that whispered in my ear followed me with his eyes. His eyes moved, but nothing else—I couldn’t even see him breathing.

  The other people on the side of the stage came running out in front of the four men. Each of the men had several people surrounding them with nets. I started laughing during my dance because the men were not moving, so the nets couldn’t have served a purpose. I continued dancing around the men and now the other people. I stopped at Peter.

  The closer I danced to him, the stronger I felt. I put my back to his chest. His side of the net loudly fell to the floor as he dropped his grip to place his hands on my waist. I turned my head to the side to look up at him and stopped moving for a just a moment to make eye contact with him. I reached up and touched his cheek as he leaned over. He inhaled deeply behind my ear. The amount of energy and strength I felt from him was amazing. I could have done ten of those dances without rest.

  My eyes widened in realization. How did I not put all of it together?

  I pushed away from him and looked at all of the people on the stage. I should have known. Peter was talking to people in the wings. Peter was following the woman’s orders at the front of the stage. That would mean that I exposed myself to all of the people on the stage, including the angry men—whoever they may be. I turned back around to the front as the music ended and fell to the ground. The falling part might have looked well timed, but I fell because my legs gave out on me.