Chapter
One
Music fillsthe room as I stare at myself on the television screen. The strings of the orchestra swell, accompanying them is my foot tapping along to the tempo. On screen, I kick my foot and fly into a camel spin before a wobbly transition into a butterfly spin. Embarrassment floods my body and I chew the inside of my hot cheek. Nothing I can do about those shaky legs now.
Except that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Witness my own incompetence so I have the drive to do better. Tear myself to bits from the vantage of progress.
The music track settles, and I can see the exhaustion on my past self’s face. No wonder I lost points in presentation. Pushing myself to the limit needs to look effortless.
The video stops before I can strike my final pose. Maude steps out from behind me and blocks the TV with her back. “Thoughts?”
My leg is still bouncing, keeping time on a track that is no longer playing. “I look like shit.”
“Unhelpful,” she scolds. “Be specific. What looks like shit?”
I huff, aware of how immature I sound. It doesn’t helpthat I have my hoodie up, covering the bleach dye job I got last month. In the video, I’m still a natural brunette. Boring. Maude disagrees. She’s told me for years I have the same hair color as a chipmunk, the cutest vermin out there. Still vermin, but whatever.
“I’m winded halfway through the program,” I reply, slumping in my seat. “I get the height on my jumps, but everything else is shaky.”
She grabs the TV remote and rewinds a ways back before pressing play. “And… there.” She pauses, pointing at me post Y-spiral. “That’s when you tap out.”
I fidget with my zipper. “My hips hurt just looking at this.”
She surprises me with assurance. “Flexibility is always harder for men.” Now here comes the bitter medicine. “You should add yoga to your training.”
“But it’s so boooooring.”
“Explain to me how a thousand year old practice is boring,ma puce?”
I roll my head back, responding to the ceiling. “All you do is lay around and stretch. Which–”
Maude’s voice and mine overlap. “Is exactly what is needed.”
“I miss the rowing machine already,” I grumble.
“You said it yourself,petite puce.” She presses play, turning down the bombastic orchestra track that I still adore despite listening and performing to it for hundreds of hours. “Your jumps are good. You have the strength. You need to connect more with your body, pull and stretch till you’re comfortable.”
Maude’s French accent is long gone after almost three decades in the States. I’ve still tried to pick up a bit of French in the three years we’ve been working together. Not that I’ve gotten any closer to holding conversations with her in her native tongue.
“Why do you call me little flea instead of… anything else.”
“Because fleas bite.”
I sit up. “I don’t bite!”
The office door opens, a pair of antlers entering first. Maude’s husband, Garth, glares at me, but his grin gives him away. Not that he ever looks intimidating with his doe eyes. “Whoa, all fired up when we close in fifteen?”
I grab my duffle bag and skates. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
As I go to leave, Maude reiterates, “Yoga! See if there are any free classes on campus.” Which means there are absolutely free classes on campus. Like any good coach, Maude does her research. “And that won’t substitute your dance studio time.”
I call over my shoulder, “At least you’re giving mesomethingto look forward to.”
The Newburg Ice Arena parking lot is empty except for my hatchback and Maude’s mini van. The stars aren’t quite as bright out here as they are back on campus. Central Lehigh College is deep in Pennsyltuckey territory. The town highlights are the university itself and a big-box store on the edge of town. It’s a little more interesting now that I have a legal ID and can get into bars.
It’s a short half-hour drive back to campus but I turn my audiobook on anyway. Maybe the only perk of being an English major is you can have your assignments read to you.
At a particularly juicy line I mutter to myself, “Dantés, you petty bitch.”
