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None of them make me feel that way. This is just a club, not a bona fide dance team or anything. But still, it’s easy to see that most of them have been enrolled in dance classes since they could walk.
A few just like to dance as a way to let off steam, same as me, but the majority are hard core. I find myself looking up terms on my phone after practice or texting Miss Dawson. They go something like this:Kick ball change? Um, hello?
I think she’s loving this as much as I am. She reminds me that she’s coming to the spring show, making it sound like a threat. There’s a performance right before Christmas break, but I’m pretty sure I won’t have enough rehearsal time under my belt to even make it onto the stage for that one so I’m keeping it to myself.
“You’re not blowing us off again tonight, are you Skylar?” Pilar walks into the studio—make that glides in—and sets her bag down on the floor next to mine.
“Um…”
“Nope, nada, no way.” Her boyfriend Devon shakes his head. “Last week you promised, so no more lame excuses. I want to see that fine ass out on the floor,” he turns and winks at his girl, “and so does Pilar.”
Pilar, Devon, Isadora, Misha—they even sound like real dancers. I’m even more sympathetic to Grace’s boy Jax than I was before. This crew reads like the lineup of principal dancers at the Bolshoi. And while Skylar Perillo doesn’t exactly readworking the pole, it doesn’t have the same ring as say, Simone Hamilton, just another one of the insanely talented dancers in this group.
“If she doesn’t want to go, leave her alone.” Simone always sounds like she’s bored, so when she’s talking about me it’s unnerving.
Isadora sits between me and Pilar to start her stretching. “Simone doesn’t want you stealing any of her thunder. She thinks she’s Beyonce once she gets out on the dance floor.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of any competition from you slags.”
“Slags?” Pilar teases. “For the one hundredth time, you’re not British. You’re from Cleveland, remember?”
Once I stand, Devon comes up behind me and gets me going in a slow samba step. “Come with us. You look like you need some fun.”
And he’s right. So after practice I rush back to the dorms, take the quickest shower known to mankind, and slip into the only thing I own that just might pass for club attire.
There are no clubs where I’m from. There are a few bars that have line dancing on Friday and Saturday nights, but those are even considered out of town. The majority of my dancing has been done at house parties, where jeans and a tight top are considered cosmopolitan, so getting into a cab in high heels and a minidress feels downright foreign.
I’m in the dorm that houses scholarship and foreign visa students, so none of my dance troupe friends are nearby. And while I’m not usually one of those people who can’t walk into a party alone, right now I’m wishing I would have arranged to meet Pilar and Devon outside.
Standing on the sidewalk at the address they provided, there’s nothing to indicate that I’ve arrived at the right place. It’s dark out here and the building looks like some old abandoned factory. I was expecting, I don’t know, a red velvet rope, a few beefy bouncers—something to indicate that I’m not on the set of some horror movie.
I text Pilar:Are you here?
Yes, she writes back.Thought you were flaking out.
I’m here, I think. But…
Before I can type anything else, Misha pushes open the warehouse door and the pulsing beat of dance music fills the air.
“Devon told me to come get you. We forgot you’ve never been here before.”
“Oh my God. I thought I got the address wrong or something. I was expecting—”
“Studio 54 circa 1978?”
I don’t answer because I’m not sure if he’s making fun of me or not. Odds are that he is.
“C’mon…You’ll love it. The DJ is a friend of mine.” Wrapping one arm around my waist as he leads me inside, he leans in and whispers, “And you look smokin’ hot.”
Mischa is not into me, I’m one hundred percent certain of that, so I take his compliment and the fact that he insists on buying my first drink as kind gestures meant to make me feel more at ease. I feel like a fish out of water right now so I must be looking the part, too.
“I didn’t peg you as a martini girl.”
“This is the first time I’ve had one. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Taking my first sip, I do my best to hide the fact that it tastes like poison going down. People seriously drink these for pleasure?
Mischa laughs and squeezes my hip. “Just think of it as liquid courage.” He points towards the center of the dance floor. “See where we are?” I nod when I see a few familiar faces. “Have a few more sips of that and then come join us.”
