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Dancing came naturally to me and soon, my instructor caught on. After years of lessons, I’d become a junior instructor at the age of fourteen. My mom no longer had to pay for my lessons as long as I always showed up to help teach the classes. The day we moved to New York was the day I was forced to say goodbye to the studio that started it all—the studio that introduced me to the path I want to take in life. Someday, I’ll own my own studio, I hope.
I reach a hallway lined with benches. The benches face a wall of glass windows showing a series of dance rooms. I can hear a stream of vaguely hip-hop music coming from the closest room, so I make my way over and sit down on the padded bench. Through the window, I see a brand new, polished beechwood floor surrounded by mirrored walls with a sound system in the corner of the room.
There are five young girls standing in a straight line facing an older woman in what looks like her mid-to-late sixties. She has bright-crimson hair piled on top of her head in wild curls. She wears black leggings and a black tank top covered with a rainbow shawl that flows around her as she shows the girls a few moves for them to copy. I watch their routine for about twenty-five minutes until the teacher calls it a day and sends the girls off to pack up their things.
Parents have started to arrive, slowly filling up the hallway before the girls exit the room and leave with their respective parents. Once the studio is empty, I decide to introduce myself to the instructor. Walking into the room, the music has been turned down and the red-haired woman is drinking heavily from a bottle of cold water. I make sure to make some noise as I enter, not wanting to catch her off guard.
“Hello, dear, can I help you with something?” She smiles at me as she fumbles with her bottle cap before gliding over to me. She moves like water, all flowy and loose. Her shawl billows around her, and she’s put on a pair of bright-red, cat-eye reading glasses.
“I don’t remember this place being here, is it new?” I ask dumbly, vividly remembering the grand opening sign on the front of the building. I can't remember what used to be here before, but I would have remembered a dance studio for damn sure.
“You betcha. Just opened up last week. Are you interested in signing up for a class?” Her eyes roam my body. “You sure look like a dancer,” she comments, though not rudely.
“Actually, I was wondering if you might be...hiring? I’ve been a dancer since I was six, but I was a junior instructor since about middle school. I just moved here from New York and I’m kind of job hunting at the moment, I guess.” The woman stares at me assessingly. I’m normally not this straightforward, but something about this studio really calls to me.
“You want a job? How many years of college have you completed?” My mood perks up because I was fully expecting her to turn me down immediately.
“I have a bachelor's degree in the arts and I’ve danced in a few award-winning showcases. If you want I could send you my reel, Miss…” I realize suddenly that I don’t even know her name.
“Landy, you can call me Landy.” Her eyes sparkle as she smiles kindly, putting me at ease. She squints at me for a moment. “What’s your name, dear?”
“Nora Blair, ma’am. My mom and I just moved into town this week.”
Landy smiles and her whole face brightens. “Well, we just opened up this month and I sure could use some helping hands around here. Tell ya what, sweetling. You come in on Saturday and show me what you got, and I’ll consider it. Bring me that reel, too. I wanna see if you got the chops for old Landy’s.”
Excitement rushes through me. “Really? Oh my gosh thank you! I thought you were going to tell me to kick rocks.” We both chuckled and I felt my face heat.
She waves a hand in the air. “If you got the chops, then you got the job. There’s no sense in turning away talent when I’ve got all these students to mold.”
Without another thought, I fling my arms around the woman, but to my suprise, she just chuckles and squeezes me back. “I’ll be here!” I promise. “You won't regret this!” Pulling back, my eyes widen. “Oh geez, I'm sorry. I'm just so excited.”
Landy winks at me before turning back around as a new group of girls bustle into the room. “As you should be, girlie, as you should be.”
I leave the studio with a smile on my face and a new hope blooming in my heart. Maybe this move won't be so bad after all.
Nora
Ispot Kennedy the second I enter theCorner Street Cafe. She kindly ordered ahead for the both of us and is sitting at a counter-height table near the windows.
She hasn’t seen me yet, but I’m making my way to her when out of nowhere, I trip over a chair that some little kid just thrust behind him and feel myself falling forward. A strong pair of arms halt my fall before steadying me on my feet. I blow out a relieved breath and look up, only to suck that breath right back in and choke on it.
River, of all people, glares down at me with a clenched jaw and dark-green eyes filled with loathing. My body feels like it’s going into shock at being so close to him after all this time. I don’t know whether or not Luca said anything to him yet, but from the pure, unfiltered hatred pouring from his stare, I’d say yes.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he spits. He has yet to back out of my space and I realize I’ve been staring at him in shock for too long to be considered socially acceptable. “What the hell are you doing here, Nora? I thought you fucked off to New York or something.”
My throat tightens and I feel like throwing up. I search for answers I should have given him a long time ago. “I did, but I—”
“Rhetorical question, I don’t actually give a shit where you’ve been, only that you go back there as fast as possible.” His eyes are mean and cold as they slowly roam my body from head to toe. He smothers me with his presence. My heart already hurts.
“Riv—”
“Who’s this, babe?” asks a tall girl with a short, brunette pixie cut as she drags her hand over his broad shoulder. She comes to a stop beside him, making sure their bodies remain as close as possible without actually fucking on the floor of this restaurant. The image makes me want to puke.
River turns to the girl and plants a small, disgusting kiss on her thin lips before turning back to me. “Just some tourist who didn’t watch where she was going.” His sneer cuts right through me. “Maybe watch yourself next time before you hurt someone.”
The girl just stares, narrowing those brown eyes of hers in a way that tells me she knows a little more than she’s letting on. Unfortunately for me and my sanity, the chick isn’t bad to look at. Her skin is pale and luminous and her short, dark hair complements her slender neck and lithe frame. She’s so much taller than I am that it makes me feel like a child as I tilt my head up at both of them. My size always made me feel too young and naive around my boys, but now it’s come back to haunt me in the worst way. I’m a shrimp next to an elegant giraffe.
“So, why are we still standing here?” she asks with a small smirk to which I have to bite my tongue to keep from lashing out.
