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3
Shelby
Ipulled up to the high school for dance team practice right before their last bell, eager to avoid swimming upstream as the students fled campus. I loved coaching the dance team. The girls on the team were amazing, and they were so enthusiastic and eager to work. It was a far cry from ballet, which is what I trained for, but it was a lot of fun. And sometimes when you get your dreams snatched out from under you, dream-adjacent fun was helpful.
I’d gone through many ups and downs over the last fourteen years since my diagnosis, but settling into my life here in Bluffton with my several dancing-related odd jobs had actually become nice. But there was also something niggling at me that I was on the verge of needing to pivot. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it felt like I’d just lifted onto the toes of one foot, arms in the air, poised and ready to change direction with a flick of my ankle. I was grateful that I had an appointment coming up with my HCM specialist. I’d voice my concerns to her, and see if it was anything heart-related.
On my way to the gym, I popped into the principal’s office and smiled at Maude from where she sat behind a large partition. She’d been the receptionist at the high school not only since I’d been there, but since I was a kid visiting my dad right after he’d gotten the principal position.
“Shelby Thompson,” Maude chided with a wag of her portly finger, “you shouldn’t have.”
I eyed the sunflowers on her desk, pleased with the arrangement done by Hattie, our local florist. “Happy birthday, Maude.”
“Thank you, sweet girl. How are you feeling?”
Her question was fine by itself, I guessed, but I couldn’t help the internal sigh when I heard it. Most people got the “how are you” without the “feeling” at the end. But when you lived with a chronic illness that happened to crush the dreams that the whole town knew you had, you got the word “feeling” tacked on, with a musical tonality of deep concern, to boot.
Well, the question may be framed differently for me, but I could still give the same lie of a response that everyone else gave. I would just say I was fine, like everyone else does; I’d say it because it’s easier than being honest. Who was everactuallyfine, anyway?
“Fine, thanks,”‘ I replied with a smile and nod.
“Good to hear, dear,” Maude said, then gestured to my dad’s office door. “He should be free if you want to go on in.”
“Thanks,” I replied. I stepped over to my dad’s door, knocked once, and then pushed it open. He stood in the center of the room with his arms around my mom’s waist, passionately kissing her. I held a hand up to shield my eyes as I backed out to Maude’s desk. “Maude. My mom’s in there.”
Maude giggled, covering her mouth. “Sorry, Shelby. She must have stopped by when I was in the bathroom.”
Rolling my eyes with a laugh, I went back into the office as my parents were laughing and taking seats on opposite sides of my dad’s desk. “Guys. Gross. You know the school policy on PDA.”
“That applies to the students, not to me,” my dad said with a grin. But I raised a brow at him, and he held up his hands. “I’m kidding.”
“I know,” I said as I dropped into the chair next to my mom. Even the walk from my car had me winded, then to be visually assaulted with my parents’ undeniable obsession with each other had me practically heaving.
It was good though, how much they loved each other. They’d met when they were both teachers at this very high school. He was a military vet who taught math and she was a free-spirit who taught art, and it was like the perfect opposites attract situation. The whole school had apparently been on the edge of their seats as the rumor mill churned with juicy tidbits about their secret relationship.
Then, when they came out as a couple, the students were very invested in the romance of it all. So much so that when my dad proposed, he did it during a pep rally, and told the whole school about it before she walked in so they could be part of the fun with a big sign they held up in the bleachers. Yeah. I guess you could say I got my passion for dramatic, public proposals from my dad.
“Just stopping by to say hi before dance, baby?” my mom asked, reaching over and giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Yep. I wanted to see if Maude got my flowers.”
Dad smiled. “You should have seen her face when they brought them in. I thought I was going to have to yell at you for making her cry during morning announcements. She pulled it together, though.”
“Good,” I said, leaning forward. “Also, I wanted to check up on a student. Jaycee Tellus. She hasn’t been at practice in weeks. Has she been in school but just quit the dance team without telling me?”
Dad frowned, flicking his eyes over at Mom before looking back at me. “No, and actually, her parents called earlier with an update, and I did ask them if I could fill you in.”
My stomach flipped. “What is it?”
“At first, she was sick with a viral infection of some kind. But now she’s having a lot of joint pain, and they’re trying to figure out what else is going on. She’s been doing her assignments virtually.”
“I see.” Standing, I grabbed my duffel and slung it over my shoulder. I didn’t know any details or anything, but the simple act of a dancer suddenly being out with a mysterious condition tugged the corners of my lips down. “Well, thanks for telling me. Can you keep me posted? Whatever they’re comfortable with you sharing, of course.”
“Of course.”
Mom wagged her brows at me. “Wait, the big proposal is tonight, huh?”
I grinned. “Yep, wanna come?”
