Finding Your Feet

by Cass Lennox

  Carmen swished past, her feet barely making a noise.

  Evie entered the room and put her stuff down. Tyler was stretching in the middle of the room, facing away from her and glaring at the mirror. Behind her, Katie and Brock settled into place. Evie shed her jumper and joined him in his stretches. “Fun night?” she asked.

  He scowled. “Don’t ask.”

  “Wow, that good?” She didn’t really expect an answer.

  He huffed.

  Evie had been where he was; she’d gone to university in London, after all. She left him to stretch by himself.

  As she had expected, she’d woken up in pain. Her muscles were decidedly not happy at being used like this. So she’d stretched before breakfast and went through the moves she could remember under Bailey’s watchful eye; now she felt almost all right again.

  Certainly more all right than Tyler, judging by his expression.

  Ten minutes later, he crouched next to her as she stretched her legs.

  “Sorry,” he said tersely. “I’m not a morning person.”

  “It’s 11:30 a.m.”

  “I woke up an hour ago.”

  Be nice, Evie. “I’m not a morning person either. I get it. You sure you want to do this now?”

  “No time later. You done stretching?”

  She nodded.

  He stood and held out a hand. “Let’s go over what we did yesterday.”

  Evie let him pull her to her feet.

  Out into the centre of the room she swayed, reliving that expansive, stage-owning pose, then forgetting the next step. With his help, she managed to fumble through her part of the opening routine a few times until they thought she had it.

  But when he joined her, it was disastrous. She did the opening bars, bumping into him when she turned, misjudging where he’d be. They corrected, then he took her hand for their first moves together and promptly stepped on her feet.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “I thought I’d be the one stepping on your feet,” she joked.

  “I have your moves in my head as well as mine. They’re all mixing.” He dropped her hand, shook himself out, then took her in hold again. “Slowly.”

  They bumped their way through the routine, miscounting, stepping on each other, mixing up turn directions. Elbows jabbed, knees knocked, and more toes were squashed. Her feet started hurting, and every time she bumped into him, it was slightly painful because he was a solid mass of muscle. Evie’s heart sank lower and lower the more they messed up. The final straw was when Tyler accidentally kicked her leg. Pain exploded across her shin and Evie hopped back, cursing in surprise.

  Tyler looked aghast. “Oh God.” He extended his hands to her. “I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s fine!” She put her leg down. It would bruise, but it wasn’t bad. “I’m not hurt.”

  Tyler sank onto his heels. “The fuck is wrong with me today?”

  Evie glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:30 p.m. He was hungover. Awake for just a few hours. Grumpy. Stressed. She guessed he’d had to rush here. Had he eaten? An idea came to her, and she went to her bag. She returned with a cereal bar.

  “Here,” she said. “It’s not a proper meal, but it’s food.”

  He glanced up at her, then took the bar and ate it. She crouched next to him.

  “I’m really sorry.” He crumpled the wrapper in his hand. “I don’t normally hurt my dance partners until at least the third session. Promise.”

  Humour was always a good sign. “It’s fine. Honestly. I can barely feel it now.”

  He didn’t look like he believed her. He looked almost wary, actually, crouched like that, eyes jumping between her face and the floor. Was this just the hangover talking? Evie wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Tyler,” she said uncertainly, “I was more surprised than hurt, you know? Not a big deal. We’re cool.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not what I’m here to do.”

  Oh. He was meant to be the professional dancer. Was that it? “You know, I missed the part of the form that said we had to get this perfect straightaway.”

  His expression lightened, and his mouth quirked in a small smile. Evie smiled back. What was going through his head? She wasn’t sure until those dark eyes flickered to Katie and Brock and he whispered, “I wish they would go.”

  Evie had forgotten all about them. Ah. “Give them some good material, and they will,” she whispered back.

  “Like what?”

  “It’s not so bad,” she said loudly. “At least we haven’t fallen yet.” Then she reached out and pushed his shoulder. He sprawled on the floor, the look on his face so comical Evie couldn’t help laughing.

  “Look at that.” She batted her eyes at him. “My leg feels so much better.”

  An evil grin wormed itself across Tyler’s face. “Oh, you’re in trouble, Godzilla.” He swept one leg under her, sending her to the floor too.

  She rolled back up into a crouch. “Have to try harder than that, Ronaldo.”

  He gathered himself and lunged as she skittered back. She stood, jumping away from him, ready for when he surged to his feet, so she could dart around him with a burst of laughter. He chased her around the studio, finally cornering her in a hold, and knocking her feet out from under her. She found herself literally hanging in his arms and grabbed his shoulders instinctively. His scent unfurled around her as he lowered her in a dip: masculine, musky, slightly sweet, and possibly tinged with last night’s tequila. He dipped her back, lower and lower, an evil glint in his eye.

  Evie might have misjudged this.

  “Who hasn’t fallen yet?” he asked as he dropped her. She gasped as she fell all of one inch onto the floor, then started laughing again when she realized what he’d done. He sat next to her, grinning.

  “Arse,” she managed once she’d calmed down.

  “I try.”

  She smirked. “You smell like tequila.”

  He sniffed his armpit. “Yeah. That’s not from last night or anything. That’s how I smell permanently.”

  “Must be difficult staying sober with all those fumes. No wonder you were all over the place just now.”

  “Hey. Hey.” He poked her leg. “Who’s the professional here?”

  “I don’t know. All I see is some hungover—”

  “Ahem.”

  They looked up to see Katie with the microphone.

  “I hate to interrupt”—she raised her eyebrows—“but as you’re not rehearsing, I thought I’d get Tyler’s interview down.”

  Tyler stood.

  Evie pushed herself up and walked with him over to the bags, a little disappointed and confused at her disappointment.

  Katie positioned him facing the light, and Brock trained the camera on him.

  “Please tell us who you are and what you do,” she said.

  “I’m Tyler Davis, and I’m a professional dancer.”

  “What’s your background in dancing?”

  He shifted his weight. “I did ballet when I was a kid all the way to high school. I started experimenting with more contemporary dance styles, including swing and interpretive, when I was in my late teens. I decided I wanted to try going professional and did a dance performance course at college, with a side certification in dance education. I met Derek through the course and joined QS Dance when he set the company up. Now I teach and perform.”

  “What sorts of things do you perform in?”

  He shrugged. “Music videos, live performances, research presentations . . . whatever I can get.”

  “Why did you decide to do this competition?”

  Evie could tell he wanted to say, Because my boss told me to.

  Instead he recited, “I’m queer and I think it would be inspirational for other queer people of colour to see someone like me excelling at dancing professionally.”

  Well, that was also true and important.

  “If you don’t mind telling us, what’s your orientation?”

  H
e ran a hand over his neck. His eyes flickered to Evie, then back to Katie. “My queerness doesn’t come from my orientation. I’m a straight trans man.”

  Tyler was transgender? Evie hadn’t expected that. And why not, Evelyn Whitmore? Stop assuming people are cisgender, especially in a place like a queer dance school. Of course, knowing that people came in a variety of genders and that sometimes people had to make physical changes to transition to their true gender was one thing; remembering it and applying it when looking at people—interrupting the socialized, automatic need to identify everyone’s presented gender—was another.

  At least she’d read him correctly as male, especially after being lifted with those powerful arms of his yesterday. Imagine all the training behind that strength. Imagine training as a female-bodied dancer, then learning moves for male roles with a transitioning body. Imagine going professional, despite all the odds. Imagine still being open about that kind of identity in front of a dance company and friends and an audience and a camera.

  Wow.

  “You’re into girls?” Brock blurted.

  Tyler crossed his arms and grinned. “Yeah.”

  Relief lit up Brock’s face, making Evie smile. Ha. Interesting.

  Katie glared at Brock, then turned back to Tyler. “And how are practices going from your point of view?”

  “As you can tell”—Tyler swept his hands wide—“awesome.”

  Evie chuckled as she stuffed her spare cereal bar into her mouth and checked her phone. Another email from her mother had come in while she’d been practising.

  Hello darling. Doug’s asking after you and wondering if you need a place to stay in London when you come back from Toronto. He has a third flat near King’s Cross. Let me know. I saw your pictures of poutine on Facebook, and I have to say that I hope you’re eating proper meals as well as junk. Do remember what I told you about holiday eating. Shep was sick again, from damaged dog food I think. Was sick all over the hydrangeas. I took him to Dr. Nishan and he ran a few tests. Will get results back in a few days. Rich sends his love. By the way, he told me to watch a YouTube video of someone who looks very much like you. I’ll send the link to you later, the resemblance is uncanny. When are you visiting Niagara Falls?

  She plunked the phone back into her bag with mixed feelings. Good thing that fucking YouTube video was blurry.

  “Cool,” Katie was saying. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but did transitioning change anything about dancing for you?”

  Tyler shifted his weight. Again, he looked at Evie. Maybe he was nervous talking about this in front of her? She smiled at him and saw his shoulders relax.

  He cleared his throat. “A few things. Some of it was simple, like learning how to lead or building up my upper-body strength. Other aspects of it are less simple to deal with.”

  “Is there transphobia in the dance industry?”

  “There’s transphobia everywhere,” he said, “but we’re not unheard of as dancers. I don’t shout about it, as I think my dance skills speak for themselves, but I have had the occasional job purely because of my trans status.” He shrugged. “That’s life.”

  “Why dance?”

  He straightened and smiled. Not the polite one he’d flashed during the interview, but the one that transformed his face. “I love dancing the way I love breathing. I’ve never been able to see myself doing anything else.”

  Katie smiled at him. “Gigi said the same thing.”

  “He would. We’re definitely not doing it for the money.”

  What passion. When was the last time she’d felt that strongly about anything? Drawing, maybe. Only she’d never taken her drawing as seriously as Tyler took dancing.

  “I think we’ve got what we need for today,” Katie said.

  Tyler twisted away instantly. “Great.”

  Katie and Brock gathered their things and left, Brock in particular avoiding eye contact as he shut the door.

  Evie stood and held up her hand. “Teamwork.”

  Tyler high-fived her. “Damn right.”

  “So about Brock and Gigi . . .”

  Tyler groaned and dragged his hand through his hair. “Oh God. Gigi and his fucking meltdowns. Don’t get me started.”

  Meltdowns? “Was it serious?”

  He gave her a really? look. “No. They were in high school together. They have history. It’s not great history, but I think Brock wants to make up for that.” He smirked. “He wants to, and Gigi will make it very difficult for him.”

  What a relief. “When I saw them yesterday, I thought there might be something really bad going on.”

  Tyler shook his head. “Nope. Just teenage drama returned in adult form.”

  Evie nodded. “Good.” She held up her arms in what she hoped was perfect frame. “Shall we?”

  The rest of the session was way better than the start of it. That granola bar she’d given him was the only thing he’d eaten so far today, and he’d needed it. Needed it and the horsing around and the subsequent removal of the camera crew. It was somehow much easier to swing her around and guide her without people watching them. Way easier to iron out fumbles without having them captured on camera too.

  By the end of the session, they could manage about half the routine without major mishaps. Evie was having difficulty with a few of the partnered sections, especially where she had to be aggressive and dance a frenzy around him.

  When she found things hard, deep lines formed between her brows, and she occasionally bit the inside of her lip. Not that he’d noticed that particularly or anything; he just liked her focus. He liked that she was trying, really trying.

  Also she hadn’t treated him any differently after finding out he was transgender. He hadn’t thought she would, but he’d misjudged people before (and nope, not going to remember just how badly). So far, she seemed all right with it.

  And with him kicking her. It had been a while since he’d done something like that, and okay, injuries were par for the course in dance, but he never felt good accidentally hurting someone else. But she’d been chill about it. More chill than he’d been.

  While crouching on the floor after that frankly stupid-crazy series of mistakes, Tyler had heard Lucette’s voice in his head telling him that if he had to fuck up, could he please do it away from an audience and not embarrass himself and her. He’d been trying to talk himself out of it, desperately aware of the camera and of Evie, when she’d shoved him. It was like a spell had been broken, and he could ease back into the zone of teaching. Maybe eating had helped too, but Jesus, the girl could give him shit whenever she wanted to if it made him feel instantly better like that.

  They were cooling down in the Jet-free quiet, Evie sitting up for static leg stretches instead of slumped on the floor like she’d done during their breaks yesterday. She rose out of the stretch and dug in her bag. “Today was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I mean, I felt like I was getting it.”

  He nodded. “You are.”

  She took a long drink from her water bottle. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, then tore his eyes away, feeling . . . Ugh. This was the point where people made conversation, which seemed impossible to do if they didn’t have a step or move to talk about. His fingers played along the lid of his Gatorade as the silence rang loudly in his ears.

  Ask her something, Ty.

  He grasped for something to say. Anything. Anything! “So . . . what have you been doing in Toronto?”

  She shrugged. “We’ve done a lot of the touristy things. Bailey and Sarah are busy this afternoon, so I thought I’d go down to the island and walk around. We’re meeting for dinner at seven with some of the Toronto aces from Tumblr.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  She smiled. “It should be. The last meet I went to was in London, for Pride last year. It was fun, but not quite the same as having dinner and sitting around chatting.” She stretched out her legs, and he noticed their nice shape, how her calves ta
pered into her ankles. Just noticed it, the way he noticed that her water bottle had left her lips all moist.

  Jesus.

  He resolutely ignored her thighs. “So, you don’t hang out with many, um, ace people at home?”

  “Not really.” She leaned over, touching her toes.

  What the— Tyler looked down at his Gatorade, needing to . . . what? He saw women stretching around him all the time. But Gatorade deserved focus and attention. Riiight.

  “I have plenty of friends, queer and otherwise,” she was saying. “But a local asexual group in York? No, it’s not really a thing.”

  “That kinda sucks.” He had the transgender artists group and enjoyed the meets he could make. He couldn’t imagine not having them there; it was such a great feeling to be around people who were like you and just got it.

  She shrugged. “It’s not the end of the world.” She glanced over at him. “What about you? What does the rest of your day look like?”

  He grimaced and set the bottle down. “Work, mostly. Jean wants me to look over a few things for Pride, and I have an interpretive class, then a shift.”

  “Shift?”

  He nodded, easing his arms into a triceps stretch. “I work part-time at a café to cover my bases.”

  “Ah. I did that during uni.” She immediately looked guilty. “That is, I did that to contribute something towards my student loans while I was still studying. I was lucky I found other work right after graduating.”

  That was the dream. Now that she’d mentioned it though, he had no idea what she did for a living. “What is your work? I never asked.”

  She shot him a puzzled look. “I work in engineering. I told Katie about it yesterday.”

  Engineering? She was an engineer? “I guess I didn’t catch that part of the interview.” Whoops. Shit.

  “I do electrical engineering. Stuff with computer and network design.” She shifted her weight, suddenly awkward. “It’s interesting and pays the bills.”

  “I can imagine.” He couldn’t imagine it at all. Sitting in an office all day, staring at screens and data, dealing with photocopiers and colleagues . . . Nightmare. The money was probably amazing though.