Finding Your Feet

by Cass Lennox

  “Thanks for showing up,” someone muttered audibly in the back.

  “I just wanted to tell you I’ve put QS Dance forward for a new, very last-minute event. It’s really exciting, and I wanted you all to have a chance to participate.” Derek paused, building anticipation.

  Someone coughed.

  He threw out his hands, coffee sloshing in his cup. “QS Dance, in direct competition with Cherry Studios, is having a dance-off at this year’s Pride!”

  Tyler sank down further in his chair. Oh Lord, no. No way in hell was he competing against dancers from the biggest dance school on this side of Toronto. Around him, he could see others reaching the same conclusion and avoiding eye contact with Derek.

  “But there’s a twist!” Derek continued. “The dance-off is partnered. Three instructors will each be paired with a member of the public, teach them a routine the week before Pride, i.e., next week, then perform at the dance-off. The couple with the best moves wins. Three dancers from each school. You get to showcase your moves and your teaching skills!”

  Everyone looked aghast. Tyler pulled his hood over his face. Teach some random yahoo to dance? In a week? Against, never forget, one of the biggest dance schools in Toronto? Normally Tyler was all for dance competitions, but this was a mistake waiting to happen. What was Derek thinking?

  “Public auditions are being held the day after tomorrow, so you need to decide now if you want to join in,” Derek said. “Anyone can do this. Anyone at all. Given it’s for Pride, it’s going to feature LGBT people; that’s literally the only condition for the couples. You can dance any style you like.” He glanced around the room, taking in the reaction. An eyebrow quirked. “You will, of course, be paid one and a half your going rate for your time.”

  Tyler noticed a few people nearby instantly looking more thoughtful.

  “It’s a great opportunity to show Toronto what our little school can do,” Derek said, apparently moving on to the inspirational part of his speech. “We’re progressive! We’re forward-thinking! We’re diverse and dedicated! Not even Cherry Studios offers the focused classes and talent that we have. Frankly, we can win this. I have no doubt that we can. So,” he scanned the room, “volunteers?”

  Next to Tyler, Gigi’s hand shot up.

  Tyler stared at him as Derek gave a one-handed fist-pump. “Gigi, awesome! Who else?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Tyler hissed at Gigi.

  Gigi’s eyes went big and innocent. “What do you mean?”

  “Cherry Studios. Cherry Studios. They’re going to cream us.”

  Gigi leered. “Not if I cream them first.”

  Carmen also volunteered, and Jean wrote down her name. Tyler was sitting between Carmen and Gigi, and Derek’s eyes almost naturally latched on to his. Almost. Tyler’s stomach plummeted. Derek grinned wolfishly. “Tyler! Good man!”

  “Huh?”

  Everyone was looking at him. Tyler stared back at Derek. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Write his name down, Jean,” Derek said, ignoring him. Jean’s pen flickered.

  Tyler turned to Eddie. “He can’t be serious.”

  Eddie’s expression said she was reluctantly impressed. “Oh, he is.”

  “Fantastic, everyone! Thank you so much!” Derek beamed at the crowd, and Tyler felt like throwing his coffee into the guy’s face. “Time to rock on with our day. Gigi, Carmen, Tyler, stay after, please.”

  Tyler closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “This is supposed to be my day off,” he groaned as people gathered their things and left.

  “Quit whining,” Eddie said, patting his shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

  “For you.”

  “And for me,” Gigi said dreamily. “Maybe I can teach some scruffy bear cub how to tango.”

  Carmen snorted. “And you wonder why you’re still single.”

  Tyler opened his eyes and watched the other dancers leave. A few of them smirked at him, and he glared back.

  Eddie poked Gigi on her way out. “Take this seriously.”

  Gigi gasped with mock outrage. “Since when don’t I?”

  “Since always, Gigi,” Derek said, approaching them.

  Carmen stood, elegant in her bun and favourite red flamenco skirt. Noticing her poise and easy femininity, Tyler felt a bite of old conflicted feelings that eased into gentle reassurance and admiration. She caught him staring and smiled. He smiled back and turned to Derek as Jean closed the door and joined them.

  “I’m so glad you three volunteered,” Derek began.

  “Hey.” Tyler leaned forward. “I didn’t—”

  “It’s a crazy good opportunity,” Derek continued, “for you and for QS. The publicity alone is going to be worth it. I’m so excited it’s you three, honestly.”

  Jean passed out three sheets of paper. “This is more information from Pride about the event and this year’s theme. It should help you with the choreography.”

  “Remember,” Derek said, “you’ll be working with people who’ve never danced before. It’s between you and them how much time you devote to this, but you only have a week to learn a routine.”

  Gigi’s hand shot up. “What about our classes and other jobs?”

  Jean pulled out another set of sheets. “Completely up to you. As long as the classes at QS are covered, I don’t care how you manage your time. You will be paid for your rehearsals, though, if that helps you prioritize things. I will expect a log sheet from each of you.” She handed those out too.

  “These auditions,” Carmen asked, “do we get to choose who we’re teaching?”

  Derek shook his head. “You get input, but no, Justine from Cherry Studios and I will be overseeing the auditions. You need to be there to meet and organize schedules with your partners, but we’ll have final say over who’s chosen. You might end up with someone completely different than you or,” he eyed Gigi, “someone very similar to you. Pride said they want to see queer people on the stage. They want representation and diversity.”

  Tyler figured they’d certainly have that. Gigi was white but had never seen the inside of the closet, Tyler was half black and transgender, and Carmen was Spanish Canadian. Tyler wasn’t sure of her orientation and was fairly certain she was cisgender, but she was a nice person who would work with anyone and everyone.

  Unlike him.

  Time to pin Derek to the wall. “Derek?” he asked. “A word? Outside?”

  In the corridor, Derek crossed his arms and leaned against the door. Tyler took a moment to calm his anger and nerves. He opened his mouth to tell Derek that this wasn’t a good time for him, that partnering was a bad idea, that this was going over a line, that he just wasn’t ready—

  “I’m sorry, Tyler,” Derek said, taking the wind out of Tyler’s sails.

  Goddamn it. The worst thing about Derek, far worse than his lack of punctuality or misunderstanding of the word volunteer, was how genuinely nice a person he could be.

  “That was a shit thing to do, man.”

  “Yeah. But I mean it—you’re perfect for this. You’re exactly what this competition needs. And it would be an excellent opportunity for you.”

  Tyler was unconvinced. “If it was any other school, maybe. Cherry Studios? I say this with total respect, but are you high?”

  Derek grinned. “It’s a challenge, but you and Carmen are up for it.” He glanced at the door to the studio. “Gigi would be too if he could stop flitting around for five minutes and focus.”

  Tyler drew himself up and stared Derek straight in the eye. “I don’t want to do it.”

  Derek leaned towards him. “I get it, Tyler. You know Lucette’s no longer with Cherry? Justine said she found work with another dance company in Vancouver. So, no worries, she won’t be one of the Cherry dancers, and oooh, wait, before you get that look on your face—”

  What look? What fresh bullshit is this?

  “—yes, that look, I’m certain this will be a great thing for you.” Derek put a reassuring hand on
Tyler’s shoulder. “You have talent, Tyler. You need to put yourself out there and show everyone else that. Put Lucette behind you. I know it’s been a rough year for you, but I think this could help.”

  Fuck. Trust Derek to deliver the solid emotional goods. He knew the mere potential of Luce’s presence would be an issue. Damn him for thinking of everything. Tyler was almost convinced this was an okay idea now.

  Derek’s hazel eyes burrowed into his. “I know you can win this thing. I know it. And here’s the thing Tyler: I think you know it too. So how about it?”

  Tyler’s mouth twisted. Derek maybe had some reasonable points. And it would be a fun challenge, provided he got the right person. Oh, fuck it. “Fine.”

  The guy actually victory-punched the air. “Yes!”

  “On one condition: no girls.”

  Derek’s eyebrows flew up towards what was left of his hairline. “Huh?”

  Tyler meant it. “No girls. I want to teach a guy.”

  “Not sure I can promise that, Tyler. Can’t discriminate like that.”

  “But it’s not—” His brain caught up with his mouth. “Fuck, I mean, not like that, no, just not—”

  Derek nodded, uncharacteristically serious. “I know what you meant. I can’t guarantee anything, because honestly? I think what you need is another female partner. You need to get over Lucette and whatever she did to you. Get back on the horse, as the saying goes.”

  Tyler knew that, but it was somewhat humiliating to hear it from his boss of all people.

  “Sorry, buddy, but you can’t control this. Just roll with it. Read the sheet.” He tapped the papers in Tyler’s hands. “Get some choreography down ahead of time. And none of that interpretive shit you like—do something for the crowd.”

  Derek smiled encouragingly at him, then went back into the studio. Tyler stared down at the information sheet in front him. Auditions: 9 a.m.–1 p.m., University of Toronto St. George Campus, Front Campus (King’s College Circuit). Dance styles: any suitable for performance in public with a partner. Please keep the abilities of your partner in mind. PrideTO hopes to raise awareness during the event for the PrideTO charity fund for homeless LGBTQA2S teens. Theme: Fierce.

  What the hell? Would anyone actually go for this? His heart sank. Fuck. He was going to end up with a fifteen-year-old who was more flexible than him and would flake after two sessions. Or a creeper. Or a fortysomething in the middle of a life crisis. Like hell he’d let himself be paired with someone like that. There were only so many crises a guy could handle at once.

  He pulled out his phone—venting was needed. He scrolled through his list and went straight to Sarah. The woman was made of sunshine and empathy, and she hated Lucette more than he did. He dialled, but she didn’t answer. A memory wormed into place from the last time they’d spoken. Something about a friend? Going to the airport? She was picking someone up. Damn it.

  Derek opened the door. “Get back in here. I’m not done talking.”

  Tyler bit his tongue and silently made peace with the fact that the next two weeks of his life were going to be crappier than normal. At least it couldn’t get worse.

  He re-entered the studio, only to be presented with another form from Jean. “What’s this for?” he asked, scanning it. Personal Release Form? What does that mean?

  Jean said blandly, “Katie asked that I distribute these to you.”

  “Who?”

  “The director of the documentary team.”

  Documentary team? Tyler looked over at Gigi, who was scribbling his name on the form while Carmen read hers carefully. “People will be filming us?”

  “Yup,” Derek said. “Katie is Justine’s daughter. She’s doing a film degree at U of T and wants to document the practice sessions and performances for a project.”

  Tyler stared at the form. He wanted nothing more than to shred all the paper in his hand and throw it over Jean and Derek.

  “Remember, one-and-a-half times your going rate,” Jean murmured to him, holding out a pen.

  He looked into her sympathetic eyes.

  “This ridiculousness will be over by next Saturday. That’s what I’m telling myself. I’ll let you take the following week off from teaching. Paid.”

  Okay, now he just wanted to throw everything over Derek. He sighed, took the pen, and signed.

  Evie had heard all the stories of Canadian weather: the perpetual cold and snow and apparently inadequate summer. Thus far she’d found that the summer part at least was completely wrong. She and Bailey were having late-morning coffee in the greenery near the University of Toronto, basking in the sun and enjoying a small, warm breeze. She was wearing fewer layers than she ever had in the UK, while Bailey had made a deference to the warmth by wearing tailored, cuffed shorts and rolling up their sleeves. Hardly inadequate at all.

  In fact, nothing she’d seen so far could be described like that. Here in the greenery was downright pleasant. There was a small market at one edge of the park, with pastry stands, farm groups offering vegetable deliveries, and one stall offering a free go on a dance machine. She could see the banner asking passersby, So You Think You Can Dance?

  Bailey tipped their coffee at the stall. “Not sure how legal that is.”

  “It’s not the official dancing show?”

  “No.”

  Wait, hadn’t Sarah mentioned something about this? Evie’s jet lag was minimal, but the last two days had been an absolute whirl of activity. Sarah and Bailey couldn’t be better hosts, and Evie wanted to smack her paranoid airport self for doubting them.

  The first day had been a feat in keeping Evie awake long enough to offset the jet lag. After dumping Evie’s luggage at Sarah’s flat, Sarah and Bailey had delivered her to the promised Tim Hortons—which turned out to be a coffee shop chain selling okay coffee and amazing doughnuts—then walked her around the centre of Toronto.

  Yesterday they’d toured more of the city, and Evie was all walked out now. They’d visited Casa Loma, various art galleries, strolled down Church Street and eyed all the rainbows, passed through Yonge-Dundas Square into the largest, most decadent shopping centre Evie had ever seen outside of London, through the financial district, dipped by the waterfront, walked along Queen Street (which apparently had the longest streetcar—not tram, she had to remember that—route in the world, a fact Evie intended to google), up through Chinatown and Kensington Market.

  She liked Toronto very much.

  The city horizon ranged beyond the boundaries of the university park. Evie pulled her camera and Godzilla from her backpack to take a picture of him with the Toronto skyline. The toy had become something of a mascot for her trip pictures. Bailey snuffled in amusement as she took the photo and reviewed it. The buildings were huge, shiny things that reminded her of the City in London. Like London, the architecture varied dramatically from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, getting smaller and more residential the farther one travelled from the city centre. Unlike London (and pretty much anywhere in the UK) the roads were huge and so were the pavements. Evie was used to tiny roads modernized from carriage paths; here there was just so much space. Everything about this new, big city demanded similarly brave, shiny things from her. Things like moving away to a new country to try a different, maybe better life in a place she could barely take in, and being independent and positive about it despite being an ocean away from nearly everyone she knew. She could do it. Maybe. She had to, because this was a promise to herself to try for brighter things.

  The dance stall still nagged at her. Why? What was it?

  Yesterday, while staring at the art car in Kensington Market, Sarah’s phone had rung: “Hungry Eyes” again. She’d turned away to answer. “Hey, Tyler.”

  Evie had briefly wondered who Tyler was, because he—or she, because wasn’t Tyler a girl’s name too now?—seemed close to Sarah and kept calling her. Perhaps he or she was another Tumblr ace.

  “Jeez, honey, that’s rough,” Sarah said sympathetically. “I know, I know, days o
ff are like super rare for you. Wait, what? A documentary crew?”

  Evie’s attention had been caught by the window display of a nearby souvenir shop. For some reason, it had a few shelves dedicated to British goods, stocking things like Twinings and Doctor Who placemats and, to her delight and Bailey’s wry amusement, Jelly Babies. They’d gone in. Sarah had followed them in, still on the phone, and found them crouching before a Downton Abbey board game.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Sarah had asked, before turning back to the phone. “No, not you, Ty, my crazy British friend and Bay.”

  Evie hadn’t really had an answer for her. She’d just left England. Perhaps it had been the novelty of seeing standard brands from home available here as strange imported goods; it had thrown her a little. It’d emphasized how not home she was.

  “Audition? Well, okay, sure,” Sarah had said. “I’ll see you then. Bye, honey.”

  And that was it. An audition. Evie frowned at the stall. Was this why Sarah had asked to meet them here? She’d left for work early this morning without saying much more than to meet her at the campus green. Bailey had made Evie pancakes and maple syrup and they’d walked here, enjoying the sunshine.

  “When’s Sarah meeting us?” Evie asked them.

  Bailey checked their watch. “Soon.”

  She lay back, tucking Godzilla into her arms, and stared up at the sky. The late-morning sunlight fell warm on her skin, and the sky was clear and deep blue. When had she last seen a sky that blue? This was what life should be about. Coffee and warm weather and good people and new experiences. Why had it taken losing her job and flying across the Atlantic to remember that?

  “Bay! Evazilla!”

  Evie sat up to see Sarah, red-faced and breathless, plunk herself next to Bailey. She pecked them on the cheek.

  “Sorry I’m late, honey. Work is killing me right now.” She turned to Evie. “The sushi place is just around the corner, but do you mind if I say hi to a friend of mine first?”

  “Not at all.”