Inhaling Alongside You✔️

Chapter Twelve: There Is No Rose

"When you look into that crowd, don't think about whose watching. Don't even think about me watching. Give your focus to the dance. Don't be selfish with your attention" He advises.

I nod, retting my Pointe shoe.

"No more over thinking" I repeat.

He nods.

"Thinking is for the weakest of dancers. When you dance your mind must be..." He lulls for me to complete.

"Clear, agile, and confident..." I answer confidently.

I have grown stronger as a dancer, Mister Edmond has taken notice of that as well.

No longer shall I over think.

Thinking is for the weakest of dancers.

I am no weak dancer...

Today is the first day of our first show since two full months of rehearsal and raft drafts of our numbers.

I've waited and entirety of months and weeks and day and hours and minutes and second; just for this very day. I am anxious, nearly jumping out of my skin as we run through countless numbers again and again.

Most are pained about our tireless Filipino director, but I'm not. Most are fearful in his presence, but I'm not. I'm not tired of his gruesome words shouted throughout the theater as he proclaims order, because I am used to it. I was coaches the same.

I can't say the same for my production mates, but I rather have someone directing me who is just as passionate as I am about his craft.

"Jessè...Come here!" Mister Sanchez calls from the left wing of the stage.

Gabriel lowers me from our breast lifts, gently setting me onto the ground before I jog over to Mister Sanchez.

"Yes Mister Sanchez?"

He turns away from the extra he was fussing with, flashing his tiny bleached teeth.

"Jessè, My dear. I have exiting news for you!" He clasp his hands above his heavy accent.

The man can never pronounce my name correctly. Instead of Jesse (Jes-ee) he pronounces my name Jessè (Jes-say). I never put in effort to correct him. I honestly don't care, him acknowledging me by name is just well worth it.

"Really sir?! I mean, yes Mister Sanchez?" I blush, my stomach blistering with butterflies.

"I have a solo for you. Should you choose to accept, which you will" He poses, nodding.

I nod confidently, buffing my chest proudly.

"Great! Great! You will need to learn the number for There Is No Rose in one three hours. I would hope you can handle that?"

I nod once again, fighting the urge to leap for joy.

"Yes sir. Considered it handled" I assure him.

He once again claps loudly, flashing those tiny, bleached teeth once again.

"Marvelous! I would like to think Mister Jackson will be here as well?" He asks, as if idolizes by just the mention of Michael.

"I'm not sure. I'm sure he will try, sir" My tone softens in hidden disappointment.

Oblivious to my disappointment, he squeals like a small hold before pointing a dagger finger at his next target.

My mood has most definitely deteriorated. I can't help but think the only reason I was so freely given a solo that many have been begging for, is because "Mister Jackson" will be lured into coming to see his girlfriend perform.