BILLIE'S NIGHTMARE

Chapter 4

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that no matter what, I won't listen. She makes it seem as if my future depends on me still being able to dance. "I'm afraid she gets stiff," she says. Why does that matter? Doesn't she have enough about me to brag about?

She has me wrapped around her skinny finger and I'm dancing to her tune. Almost literally.

"We're here." my mother announced when the car stopped. My father climbed out and walk around to open the door for her.

I waited for my dad to open the door and followed my mother towards the dance studio. I kept a good distance away from her and walked next to my dad. The warm air gently swept through my hair as I walked, brushing my face gently with its breeze.

"Are you picking me up?" I asked my father, but my mother wanted to give me the answer.

"No. Your father is busy."

I sighed. It would have been a dramatically annoyed growl, but I decided against it.

"I don't have anything appropriate to dance with." I pointed out, again, addressing nobody else but my dad. I'm assuming they don't allow you to dance in church dresses and heels.

"You have a locker in the changing room that has your things." my mother replied once again.

Great. So now I can't have a regular conversation with my own father without her interrupting.

"Dad, please pick me up tonight. We can go for ice-cream after?" I suggested. It had been long since I spent any time with him. I understand, he is quite a busy man and a mere few minutes with him is rare. We don't have a good relationship, but there is something there.

"I'll try." he replied with a nod.

I tried to ignore whatever kind of stare was coming from my mother and carried on into the studio.

Music immediately filled my ears when we entered the school. The students didn't stop moving to the beat, embodying the lyrics of the song and letting them guide them into symphonic movement. It synced them to the melody that possessed them into the hypnotic daze of dancing. I remembered that feeling. Contemporary dancing was a freedom of movement therefore of expression. When your voice is not enough to express and explain what the lyrics mean to you, your body did it for you, interpreted what your voice couldn't. I watched their unsaid proclamation, beauty enchanting the floor as their bodies moved  simultaneously. Soon, I would be there.

There was a woman in front of them, dancing with them, her silent command to follow her moves was needless to be said.

She had thick dark hair that she tied into a messy bun and was dressed in leggings and a tank top with sneakers hugging her feet. She excitedly walked over when she saw us enter.

"Keep dancing, you're doing good!" she told the students and I immediately noticed a slight tang of a latina accent slipping her tongue.

"Christell, hey!" she greeted, with her energy on high and her smile on full effect.

"Maria, it's been quite a while." my mother replied, kissing both sides of her cheeks before pulling away. The woman who I now know is Maria, directed her attention to me.

"And is this the all talented Elizabeth Gracie?" she asked with a look of admiration. I couldn't help the embarrassment flushing over my body. My mother must have given her an earful of bragging about me.

My mother nodded next to me and I granted Maria a smile.

"My oh my, she is quite the beauty." she said, and I thanked her with my smile widening. She was quite beautiful herself, had a beautiful smile.