by K. K. Allen
There was that ass kicking I needed again. It helped. Soon enough, I’d gotten into my own rhythm, and I started using the little down time we had to mark the steps with Shane.
When Dominic entered the room an hour later, the intense energy among the dancers was palpable. Everyone had reverted to competition mode, and I could practically taste their blood as Janelle proceeded to cut another fifteen dancers.
Fifty dancers remained.
My heart leapt, and I turned to Shane. “I’m still here,” I hissed, looking around the room in disbelief. My eyes connected with the floor in the center of the room, and my heart kicked in my chest. “Shane.” I grabbed and shook his arm. “Look.”
He followed the direction of my stare and let out a booming laugh. The spot was empty.
“Well, what are you waiting for? It’s time to slay the shit out of the competition.”
“Number eighty-six,” Janelle called out. “You’re up.”
The last hour had been an exhilarating whirlwind of choreography, line critiques, and group performances so Dominic and Janelle could see how we meshed with other dancers. Cuts were nonstop and random, dwindling the group to a mere ten.
I jogged to the front of the room and took the only spot available on the end. And as soon as the music started, I felt it—the surge of energy that cycled through me at the start of every performance. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to totally let go and let my muscle memory take over. To attack each move with a fierceness that turned me into a superhero.
People often asked how I was able to perform with so much passion and confidence. My answer was always the same: “Know the routine so well, I don’t need to think about the moves anymore.” My job was to express with conviction everything my body already knew. So that was what I did.
I spun out of a move and into a final pose, a giant smile plastered on my face. Janelle’s eyes were focused on me. She was nodding, and I knew I’d impressed her. I nailed it. I wanted to burst with joy.
Shane’s group went next, and I low-fived him as we exchanged spaces. “So hot, Lex.”
“Kill it, Shane.”
Shane was one of those dancers who popped and locked so hard, I wondered if my eyes were playing tricks on me. But it was his contemporary that had made me fall in love with his every step. The boy could have easily made it in professional ballet, but that wasn’t where his heart wanted to take him. No. Shane’s heart was in modern dance, which was why he easily outperformed all the other dancers in his line. Break dance was his specialty. I wasn’t surprised that he annihilated the routine.
Shane returned to my side while Janelle paused, looked at a sheet of paper, then walked to the front of the room. “Let me see numbers eighty-six and one thirty-three, one more time, please.”
My heart plummeted as she waved another girl and me forward into a line. Shane and I glanced at each other, as if realizing the same thing. The majority of the dancers must have already been chosen—which meant she wanted one more look at us before she made her final decision.
They were going to either cut me or keep me.
“Good luck,” Shane mouthed from his spot against the back wall. Nerves rattled my face as I smiled in return.
The music started, and all my anxiety fell away. It didn’t matter who was in the room or what personal problems I had outside the studio. When the music started thumping through me, I was a totally new person. A whole new brave person. And this dance was no exception.
Shane grabbed my hand when we were done, our breaths heavy and palms sweaty, but I didn’t pull away.
Janelle leaned into Dominic, and they deliberated in hushed voices. Two of us had to go for them to have their final eight. Unless they made an exception. Hope flickered through me.
Janelle frowned, then Dominic shrugged as if there were some disagreement, but it didn’t last long. Janelle faced forward and grabbed the microphone, her smile breaking through her serious expression.
“Numbers eighty-six and one thirty-three, thank you so much for joining us today. Unfortunately, you didn’t make it through.” Her kind eyes settled on me. “You both made it a very tough decision, and for that, you should be very proud.” She beamed at the remaining dancers. “The rest of you, congratulations. We’d love to have you in Dominic’s next video. Please stick around for a few minutes.”
A familiar hand settled on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Lex.” Shane was so sincere, it almost made everything worse.
If a heart could split in two, that was exactly what mine did in that moment. Half of me was overcome with joy for my best friend while the other half was completely brokenhearted for me.
That audition couldn’t have been more perfect for him. I knew that, deep down, from the start. I wanted him to get the part, and I was elated when he did. There wasn’t a single ounce of me that felt resentful toward him. But damn, I didn’t think rejection would suck this hard.
Shane wrapped his arms around me, and I squeezed him back. “You deserve this. You killed it today.”
“So did you.”
I shook my head, refusing to let any negative emotion surface. This was his moment, and he was going to enjoy every damn second of it.
“I’m holding out for something better,” I teased.
He hugged me again, practically swaddling me, until he was called to the front of the room.
So I left my first audition with a heavy heart and a jar of bottled-up feelings that I still refused to release. Not there.
I looked around the crowded hallway while figuring out my next move. It must have been the top of the hour because everyone was heading to a class. I didn’t feel like taking a class. Not after that audition. I didn’t feel like going home either. I didn’t even feel like waiting for Shane to leave his meeting with Janelle and Dominic. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts and maybe open that jar of bottled-up feelings I’d been holding onto so tightly.
CHAPTER 5
Lex
Curiosity seemed to take my mind away from the staggering disappointment I’d just faced, so I wandered the wide, mazelike halls of Gravity. I peeked through windows and open doors to spy on classes in session. I passed by the staff room and the community area, where dancers congregated throughout the day, and moved swiftly past the training center that held a gym, sauna, pool, and locker rooms.
There was a college vibe as I traversed the halls, unique from any other dance studio I’d been in. But the history embedded subtly throughout the facility spoke the loudest. It had awards dating to the mid-nineties and autographed photos that appeared to date back just as far. I stopped at a plaque with a gold plate and wooden frame, feeling an instant tug on my heart. I knew it was special, even before reading the words.
In Loving Memory
Rashni Kaur
1976 – 2010
Founder of Gravity Dance Complex
I had a heaviness in my chest for a man I’d never known but who’d created something so beautiful. I wondered if he realized the impact his studio had on the world, not just in entertainment but as inspiration to young hearts everywhere. Like mine.
I first learned about Gravity from going down the YouTube rabbit hole. One second I was watching adage exercises to help strengthen my center, and the next I was taking an inside peek at studio performances choreographed by none other than Theodore Noska.
If my parents had known their sixteen-year-old daughter was internet stalking a twenty-four-year-old guy, they would have changed the Wi-Fi password on me for life. Fast-forward six years. If they knew their twenty-two-year-old daughter was more infatuated than ever with that now thirty-year-old man, they would have driven me straight back to Seattle.
I couldn’t let that happen. Living in a dingy apartment off Ventura Boulevard, sleeping on air mattresses in the living room, stealing Wi-Fi from our neighbors, and frequenting the laundromat down the road wasn’t exactly what I pictured when Shane and I decided to move to LA. But so far, it had been the most liber
ating three months of my life.
As I continued down the hall, it was almost as if Rashni’s spirit was with me, guiding me, encouraging me to explore. I had a newfound respect for the space where I’d been spending my days and nights—and a deeper respect for myself. I did it. I was doing it. Following my dreams, even if the current path was a little rocky.
I didn’t even realize I’d hit the end of the last hall until I spotted a gold-textured sign above it.
Gravity Performance Center
The antique white French doors below the sign were closed, but when I pressed my ear against the entrance, everything seemed quiet. I pulled on the handle, halfway expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily, so I peeked through the dimly lit crack.
Empty. A sigh of relief escaped me as I entered the theater.
The first thing I noted was the theater’s size. It looked large, but I didn’t have much to compare it to. There were three sections of blue velvet seats, and each aisle had a runway of carpet and stairs with gold-wrapped banisters, all of it angled down toward a deep stage.
Scuff marks marred the stage floor, and a faded blue-velvet curtain was open. Small brass lamps holding dim lights were fastened to the floral-papered walls, emitting a comforting ambience despite the vastness of the space.
I made my way forward, down the wide aisle, detecting a light draft that brought a scent of fresh wood and paint. After untying my black sweater jacket from my waist, I slid my arms through the sleeves and zipped it over my breasts. I threw the hood of the fabric over my head to combat the frigid air and, with a sigh, sank into a seat at the front of the room.
My thoughts flashed between the failed audition and the constant look of disappointment on my parents’ faces that always seemed to accompany anything to do with dance. They didn’t get it, and I knew they never would. But as a college graduate who’d pursued all the internships and part-time positions offered at my parents’ publishing house, I’d done everything they’d asked to stay in their good graces. My decision to move to LA had disappointed them, but at least they agreed it was my decision.
A loud clang from above jarred me from my thoughts, and a beam of bright light flooded the stage. I gasped, sinking lower in my seat when a figure dressed in white jeans and a leather jacket walked out from stage left. My heart galloped as I identified the man with one sweep of my eyes.
Theo.
There was no mistaking his lean but muscular build, his sexy hot mess of blond hair, and the square face that showcased the sexiest dimple in his chin. I couldn’t see his dimple now, or his insanely hot lips—thick with a peaked Cupid’s bow—but they had been embedded in my mind since yesterday. My cheeks heated at my thoughts.
He removed the jacket and slung it toward the curtain, revealing a loose white muscle shirt underneath.
Music streamed in from the surrounding speakers, but Theo just stood there, his eyes closed, his head down, and his jaw locked tight, as if he were taking in the words and imagining what he could do with them. Even I was imagining what he could do with them.
Rumors started traveling the moment he’d strutted through Gravity’s main doors yesterday. It seemed his mysterious reappearance had been everyone’s favorite topic. Talk in the community center gave me the impression that Theo was content on bouncing from job to job without a real break in between. Apparently, he hadn’t taught a studio class in years, so the probability of him trying to find an open studio to teach in was slim. No one understood why he was back, though there were whispers of a hush-hush project for someone high-profile.
My eyes snapped to the stage when he started to move. First he rolled his neck and then his shoulders in slow and steady isolations as the unfamiliar song played on, save for the random lyric or beat that would inspire him to break out into a combination of moves. Was he choreographing in his head? He’d never talked about his creative process in any of the interviews I’d seen. He always made it seem as if it just happened.
I watched him for a long time, his focus inspiring. From what I’d gathered about Theo over the years, he was a deep thinker—quiet, serious, and not much of a talker. He kept a low profile when it came to his personal relationships and never got caught up in political warfare. He seemed … simple, yet there was nothing simple about the way he danced.
Track after track, he let the record play without stop. I heard more unfamiliar songs, but at some point, I recognized that the voice behind the sultry vocals belonged to Winter. The world’s hottest pop icon—clearly, since she didn’t need a last name—the pop and R&B-inspired singer from Canada had gotten her big break six years ago when she was just sixteen. She was known for her knockout stage performances and catchy songs guaranteed to blow up the charts.
I held my breath when I realized I must have just listened to Winter’s entire unreleased album. Suddenly, I felt I had gone beyond simply invading Theo’s privacy. My head whipped around the space, my heart frantic. Had I trespassed? Could there be consequences for something like this?
Unease rattled me, and I would have snuck out right then if I hadn’t thought I would attract attention. So I stayed put as guilt feasted away at me until, finally, Theo started to walk off stage.
I let out a deep breath as I quietly pulled myself out of the row. I was a split second away from making a run for the exit when Theo strutted back onstage.
My eyes froze on him, half expecting him to catch me in the audience, but his eyes were on fire and so focused on whatever he was trying to accomplish that he still hadn’t spotted me.
I sat back down, my palms sweating and my heart hammering, and then watched as everything he’d been building in his head exploded onto the stage.
Theo laid it all out on the dance floor. His passion. His intensity. He practically shook the room. There was a litheness behind each glide and twist, the strong lines of his body as he rolled into a lock, and the tension he unleashed in each isolated movement.
Jesus. Is this what an out-of-body experience is like? I was weightless, transfixed at the scene before me. Dance was the language of Theo’s soul. He bled in sweat. He breathed in the music. And he radiated passion through every square inch of his body.
I’d always been fascinated with how much emotion could be conveyed through dance. How the body could become an instrument and tell an entire story. Watching Theo dance proved it. He was my preacher, and I was his loyal disciple, two seconds away from worship.
A sheen of sweat coated his face and dripped down his neck, disappearing beneath his long white shirt. He was a beautiful man, but it was what he expressed through his body that made him a god. Some had even called him a modern-day Bob Fosse, with stunning technique and the fluidity that gave him a unique edge and limitless creativity. And it wasn’t just the way he moved or choreographed a single piece but the way he put productions together, making the audience feel immersed in whatever world he’d created.
The longer I sat there, the worse I began to feel. I wasn’t sure how much time passed before he took his next break and downed an entire bottle of water, his muscular chest heaving, his body a river of sweat.
The music still played, but nothing could disguise the sound of my phone when it started to ring.
Crap.
I might have even gotten away with the one ring since the music was so loud, but when bling after bling sounded, like the annoying chime of a morning alarm, I knew I was screwed. I scrambled to steal my phone from my pocket, already feeling intense eyes watching me. I pushed the switch to quiet my phone, but it was too late.
The room carried a heavy silence, and an inferno of heat washed over me. I could feel a confrontation looming.
“Who the hell are you?” The boom of his angry voice shook me.
I cleared my throat and stood, shakily, then stepped into the aisle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were going to be in here.”
“I didn’t see you come in.” His tone was accusing. When I couldn’t find the words to respond, his cheeks redde
ned. “You’ve been here the whole goddamn time? Didn’t you see the ‘Reserved’ sign on the door?” He threw a look toward the main doors and raised his finger. “How did you get in here? The door was supposed to be locked.”
I looked in the direction he was pointing, confused, then turned back to Theo with a shake of my head. “It was unlocked. There was no sign. And no one was here when I—” I swallowed the jumble of nerves in my throat. “I just wanted a little privacy.” I began to back away slowly. “I’m sorry. I should have told you I was here the moment you walked in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I-I don’t know. You looked … focused. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
His breath came out in a rush, and he leaned in, trying to get a better look at me. “Take off your hood.”
My hand shook as I lifted it to my head and slowly pulled down my hood, too nervous to just rip off the bandage, as I should have.
“What’s your name?”
“Alexandra Quinn.” I snapped my mouth shut then opened it again. “Lex, actually.”
“You look familiar. Why do you look familiar?”
He doesn’t even remember. I shrugged, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. “I’m just a dancer.” It was true. I was a nobody to him. Invisible.
His eyes scanned the length of my body, I assumed to check out my attire. “Clearly,” he murmured, and I wasn’t sure if he meant for me to hear it. “I’d hate for anything you saw here to get leaked. I could have you sign an NDA, but I don’t have fucking time for that right now.”
My jaw dropped. “I won’t leak anything—I wouldn’t—but I’ll sign it if you want.”
He hopped off the stage and made his way toward me before stopping a few feet away. His heavy scowl caused my heart to leap into my throat and my pulse to pound through my veins, and I couldn’t for the life of me find my next calm breath. I took in a ragged one instead as he assessed me.