Dancing with Danger

Chp. 3 Dance Partner

"School is the other way," he said noticing we were heading the wrong way. I bit into my apple and nodded.

"We're getting coffee," I said swallowing. He leaned back in his seat.

"It's not even seven yet," he groaned. I ignored him and pulled into the Starbucks drive through.

"Hi," I said to the speaker. "Could I get a caramel latte?"

"Anything else?" The person asked. I looked at Clapton.

"Um, just black," he said.

"And a small black coffee," I added.

"Ok, pull up the first window," the voice instructed. I pulled up and paid the man working the window. I tossed some coins in the tips jar and waited.

"You're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart, are you?" He asked me.

"No," I said and tossed my parents crumpled note at him. He read it and grinned.

"Hilly?" He asked. "Is that a nickname?" I nodded as I handed him his drink. I took mine and placed it in the cup holder. "Can I call you that?"

"Can I call you Claps?" I asked him as I pulled into the street.

"No..." He said slowly.

"Then there's your answer," I said. He frowned.

"Whatever," he said sounding hurt.

When I pulled into the parking lot and parked Clapton was out and heading for the building. I sat there for a minute leaning my head on the steering wheel. The door opened and closed, someone sitting in the passenger seat.

"Hills," they said slowly.

"What is it Whitney?" I asked her. I saw her manicured hand take my latte. Whitney, my best friend, and total diva. She was Puerto Rican with tan skin, and pitch black hair and dark eyes. She loved clothes, and drawing, she wasn't much of a dancer.

"Hills, why did Clapton Michaels just get out of your car?" She asked a hand resting on my back.

"He lives with me," I said sitting up. "His dad kicked him out, and to get a scholarship at Berkeley I have to do some dancing stuff with him over the summer."

"Oh, wow," she said and handed me my drink. I sipped it carefully.

"Lets go," I said and grabbed my backpack and climbed out of the car. She followed me into the building. I smiled to myself, last day of homework was yesterday, finals started today, meaning I got to leave early. Don't get me wrong, I hate finals, I love leaving early so I can dance. Today Whitney was coming with me so she could draw some positions and take pictures.

After school, it was around eleven, I finished with cleaning some things out of my locker when I closed it. I turned around and two strong arms slammed me into my locker.

"Ouch!" I said and glared at Clapton. "What the hell?"

"I was trying to get your attention," he said.

"You have it," I said glaring at him.

"What are you doing after school today?" He asked me.

"Dancing," I said. "My friend was going to take photos of me for her portfolio or something."

"Oh, the Latina chick?" He asked. I nodded slowly. "She's hot." I made a disgusted noise in the back of my throat and pushed him away.

"Why do you care what I'm doing?" I asked him.

"I wanted a ride," he said. "It's cool though." He turned but I caught his wrist.

"You should come, I need to see what you can do anyway," I said. He sighed and looked at the ground.

"Ok," he said. "But this doesn't mean I'm waking up at fucking five in the morning to dance with you."

"I didn't ask you to," I snapped and started towards the door. Whitney was leaning on my car as I approached, Clapton hot on my heels.

"Hey," Whitney said. "Um, hi, Clapton."

"Hey," he said giving her a smile. I felt a pang of jealousy. Wait, jealousy? Oh, god.

Clapton didn't bring dance clothes, luckily my dad kept clean sweats and muscle shirts in a drawer under the front desk. I threw them at Clapton and he caught them easily. He went into a dressing room and I went into the other. I put on tights, a pair of Soffe shorts and sports bra under a dark magenta tank top. I stepped into the studio and saw Clapton flirting with Whitney. I resisted the urge to vomit and turned on the stereo to the Pandora on my phone.

"Ready?" I asked him. He shrugged. "What have you done before?"

"Well, I used to do some hip hop as a kid, and I experimented with contemporary and some modern that's about it." I sighed with relief he had an idea, he wasn't useless.

"Do you think you can do lifts?" I asked. He nodded. I gave him instructions on what to do and we got into position.

He placed his hands on my hips and I jumped as he lifted me up. I arched my back, and spread out my arms, as my head looked up, my toes pointing. I heard the click of a camera. Then I fell. No, Clapton dropped me. I crashed against the hard mat and rolled over on my back. I sat up quickly and then stood. I punched Clapton in the chest and told him the next hold I wanted to try. He agreed. I jumped on him wrapping my legs around his waist.

"I have to say, I like this position," he muttered his hands holding my butt. I adjusted them to the small of my back.

"Spin," I said. He spun and I whipped my head to the side so my hair was flying as he spun. That was when he fell on top of me.

"Ugh!" I said as 200 pounds of muscle landed on me. "God, how much do you weigh?!"

"C'mon Hills, it's all muscle," he said.

"Get off me, Clapton!" I snapped. He laughed and got up. He pulled me up. Next we tried a dip, he dropped me again. He took me under the arms and spun while I steadied my legs. He "accidentally" threw me across the room. I could already feel the bruises forming.

"Oh my god, Hilly, are you ok?" Whitney asked. I rolled onto my back and gave her a thumbs up.

"Peachy," I mumbled. Clapton took my hand and began helping me up again but his grip slipped and I fell back again. I smacked his second offer away and stood up on my own.

"You sure?" He asked.

"Yes," I said. "And by the way, I have sixth grade boys who lift better than you do!"

"I'm sorry!" He said. "I didn't mean to, honest."

"I'll do on more with you, got it?" I asked him. "If you drop me, I swear, I will not dance with you at all." He looked hesitant, but agreed.

I stood in front of him facing the mirrors. He placed his hands on my hips.

"This only lasts a second," I reminded him. He nodded and lifted. I was raised over his head and I did a quick split and he lowered me to the ground and dipped me by surprise. The choreography was already putting itself together in my brain.

"That was so cool!" Whitney squealed and I ran over to see her shots.

"Do you want to try some other stuff?" I asked him. He shrugged. I gave him more instructions and he took my hips from behind. He lifted me over his head, I arched my back, bent one leg, and held my arms out. Once he put me down I began to trust that he wouldn't drop me. I gave him more instructions for the next lift.

I leaned into the crook of his right arm and he lifted my left leg up so it was straight in the air as I leaned back. Our eyes met for a brief second before continuing the lift. Without removing his hands he lifted, turned, and then slipped. We tried several times before we got it right. I was swung around with one foot pointed out the other bent and my body resting on his thigh, we got it. I think I found my new dance partner.