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“Yep, very good. Let’s find our center,” she instructs.
Harper turns to face the mirror while rolling her shoulders. Her stance is straight, legs and feet pressed together, but her toes are pointed out. The group is quick to follow her directions until we’re all in the same pose.
“We’ll keep our hands on our hips to maintain balance.” She holds herself still for emphasis. “It also helps us stay focused on our feet.”
Not in my case while I stare at her fingers digging into the clingy fabric. This friendship shit was doomed before I even suggested it. Or maybe she did. That would make more sense as my eyes linger on her ass.
“Just watch me.” She doesn’t have to tell me twice. “Step out with your right, then bring them back together with your left. The weight stays on your right. Just a toe tap from the left that sets you up to move back. Step out with your left, then close with your right. Open and shut. Back and forth. See how the steps match the beat?” She does several passes in steady succession. “That’s eight counts.”
“Why do we only count to eight?” The question comes from Susan, whose eye contact I’ve made a point to avoid.
“It’s easy to break the music up into sections, and using a lower number makes it faster to follow. That’s what I was taught way back when.” Harper winks at our reflections, upbeat as ever. She breaks from the sequence when the song changes. “Your turn to try.”
We wait in the centered position. For what, I’m not sure. Maybe for foolishness to creep in. The amount of dance lingo now in my vocabulary is appalling. Not to mention how far removed I currently am from my usual self. I rock on my thick soles under the weight.
That catches Harper’s attention. “Oh, shoot. Your shoes need to go.”
I narrow my eyes at her insistence in the mirror. “Why?”
“You’ll scuff my floor more than you already have.” She points to a black mark near my boot.
“These are all I have with me.”
“Should’ve read the email,” she whispers. “For now, you can wear socks or go bare.”
Flames lick my skin despite our audience. Rather than feed the fire by picturing her naked, I remove my boots and carry them to the nearest wall. Then I reclaim my spot front and center.
My brows lift in expectation as I lift a socked foot. “Better?”
“Much,” she says. “Okay, back to business. I’ll count us in. Five, six, seven, eight…”
As a whole, we step out to the right. I slide my left foot over and nearly slip on the zero traction. Sydney gasps at my clumsy footwork.
“Daddy, you gotta be careful.” Her concerned gaze peers down to assess the problem.
“Just gonna ditch these before I break a leg.” I wrench off my socks and toss them away in a discarded ball.
“Okay, I’ll help you catch up. I’m super good.” Syd bops in a seamless step touch like the pro she apparently is.
I copy her movements, hiding my shame behind a smirk. “This isn’t so hard.”
Harper had been walking around to inspect everyone’s progress, but her assessment falters when she reaches me. I notice her giving me a thorough once-over, stalling on my bare feet.
“Problem?” If she picks on me again, I’m likely to storm out. But I get the impression this is more of a personal… interest.
Her throat works with a thick gulp. “Uh, no. All good.”
In the next second, she scurries back to her place at the head of the room. Her reaction loosens my muscles, allowing me to move more freely despite the strange maneuvers. I even shake out my hands when the beat pounds.
“You’re doing awesome,” Harper shouts over the din. “We’re going to do six more repetitions at this speed. After that, we’ll go faster. We can add a twist to give the simple sequence more impact. Then I’ll introduce you to the ball change and some arm actions.”
Then she flies into motion. Her movements are graceful and sleek. I’m lost in the sway of her hips until she spins to face us, never breaking form. Her gaze scans us while she maintains the fluid motions. My steps are robotic as I follow along, but I manage to pull through with my pride intact.
Harper leaves her post in between to stroll the room. Her encouragement radiates from each person, boosting their spirits. Even I feel lighter on my feet after learning what the fuck a ball change actually is. The children take on an assistant role while flitting about. Each tiny dancer guides their parent or trusted adult in the choreography. Syd twirls her signature circles around me while keeping count.
“Phew,” Harper breathes. She wipes fake sweat off her forehead. “I wasn’t sure if twenty minutes would be enough, but you’re fast learners.”
“Only ‘cause they have the bestest teacher,” Sydney coos.
