I've been to nothing short of a million studios.
My anxiety keeps bubbling to the surface, and I'm painfully unsure of what to do with my useless ass.
Every studio I walk into doesn't feel right.
I drive over to Heartbeat Studio, Palace Studio, 35th Street Dance. I wander from place to place, pulling into parking lots, from as close as a couple miles from my neighborhood to the bigger city.
I also get about five fucking parking tickets like the dumbass I am.
When Mom sees them, there's no doubt that I'll be six feet under by tomorrow.
Setting all that aside, I step into what feels like thousands of studios—when in reality it's probably been about seven— and still never feel that spark, that draw.
Some of them are insanely expensive and I'm broke as hell, other don't seem to fit. Too frilly, too cold, too uncomfortable.
I spend the entire day driving, air wisping through my hair as I lower my windows and blast music from the speakers, earning a couple of middle fingers from drivers in passing.
Dad would've known the right place.
He was intuitive like that, just knew when something was right, when something fit. But I can't afford to think about Dad. Not when I'm probably the last fucking thing on his mind.
So, I shake the thought away, shades slipping down the bridge of my nose. I don't find a place, don't find just the right thing to have colleges give me a second glance.
I don't find shit.
Really, the only thing that's keeping me from completely losing my shit is the paint job I did on my motorcycle. With Soren Choi and Damien Cortez's help, I managed to pull off a look that deadass elicits tears from my eyes and emotion from my cold, cold heart whenever I lay eyes on the design.
A literal fucking masterpiece.
Who knew that Damien Cortez was a wizard with aero-spray and paint? My lips twitch slightly. And Soren Choi can sketch out a layout design in a span of five minutes.
And for a second, I forget about how shitty and unproductive this day has been, and drop by the Macky's drive-thru, like the addict I am.
Plus, their vegetarian options genuinely slap.
***
"Riya!"
I exhale a groan.
It's only eight in the goddamn morning, and I haven't had my coffee yet.
Meaning, I'm not in the mood for shit.
All I've really been doing is lurking through the halls in the hopes that no teacher will bother me, and primarily, in the hopes that She Who Shall Not Be Named and her neon fucking glasses won't make a startling appearance.
My hopes have been proven very wrong. I try to calculate all the possible scenarios in my head.
I could just make a run for it. I'm fast, I guess. Not as fast as Blue Maxwell, but fast enough to outrun Ms. Olsen and her questionable fashion choices.
I could turn around, make some half-assed excuse about my lack of confidence and then ditch as soon as possible. Or, I could—
"Riya!" A hand on my shoulder.
Shoulders sagging, I whip around, my eyes meeting Ms. Olsen's.
"Ms. Olsen," I say, trying to force a grin. I really need coffee right now. Shit.
"How's the search for activities going?" she asks, grinning good naturedly like the quintessential girl scout.
I could bend the truth, tell her progress is being made, somewhat. I could be vague, give some random ass mumble and then head to class. My eyes meet Ms. Olsen's bright ones and I sigh.
"Not good, to be honest." I finally say, the words coming out in an exhale.
"Oh?" she asks, eyebrows knitting together and lips slightly parted in polite surprise.
"Yeah," my head shakes. "I drove around a lot, tried to go through the dance studios on one of your brochures," my hand flies through my hair, "but, I couldn't find anything that really felt right." A pause. "Do you have any more resources? Any advice? Any recommendations?"
The questions slip from my lips quickly, because shit, I'm nearly desperate. Dance is the only shit I feel like I can do, and now, I don't even have that. It's the universe's greatest way of flipping me off.
Ms. Olsen pauses. "All those brochures were most of my resources. I don't have a ton related to dance. What solution do you think we can come to?"
My lips purse as I shake my head. I stand in the hall across from Ms. Olsen, trying to come towards some sort of solution, some sort of answer. How do I tell Ms. Olsen that I'm too broke for half of the options, and don't fit into the rest? Some are too far away from home.
We come to no ends.
No solutions, no answers. To her credit, Ms. Olsen tries. But, it's clear she doesn't really have an answer for me. Can't really blame her, I don't really have an answer for myself, either.
My eyes drop to my watch. "Well, looks like class starts in a couple of minutes." Massaging my sculp, my eyes flicker back to Ms. Olsen's as she adjusts her pink glasses. "I'll weigh my options over, think more about it, I guess."
Ms. Olsen gives me a smile, and I return a tight lipped one. We got nowhere, made no progress whatsoever.
At this point, I'm ready to just let shit go.
"Well, email me to converse more about this subject, okay?" Ms. Olsen says as she waves at my retreating figure.
"Okay," I lie, sending her a half grin.
Adjusting my backpack, I trudge past the flurry of students jostling past me as I try to make my way to my next class.
A voice. A tentative hand on my shoulder. The touch feels like a feather, a zap passes through it.
Turning around, my eyes land on her.
Her hair's half up, the rest falling to her shoulders in brown curls. Her eyes are soft, so careful it seems like she's afraid to break the imaginary glass surrounding her.
"Did you, uh, need a dance studio?" Evelyn asks, eyes careful as she adjusts the silver hoop earring hanging from her ear. It's almost like she doesn't notice her fidgeting, though, and her eyes stay on me.
Her clothing isn't anything out of the ordinary. A white t-shirt with a small smiley face drawn onto the center. With anyone else, it would've looked absolutely lame and corny. But, on Evelyn, —paired with a jean skirt and two socks, one higher up than the other, and white sneakers that shift on the floor— it looks right.
"Eavesdropping?" I say, lips twitching as my eyes flicker over to hers.
Her lips part, close. I wonder if she'll say anything. She has a habit of surprising the shit out of me anyway. One minute she'll be at Ryder's side like someone pretentious that everyone thinks they know. The next, she'll be awkwardly trying to skate after me, like she's trying to escape from everything else.
"I wouldn't say eavesdropping," she finally says, gaze flickering down to her mismatched laces. One is a pale blue, the other is a pale yellow. Meanwhile, she has a butterfly anklet on her right ankle, and fuck, I nearly want to gag at it all, because it's so painfully adorable.
She purses her lips, eyes flickering back up to me. "I just saw you needed help, and I think that's one thing I could help you with. Maybe. It's kind of stupid, but—"
My lips twitch at the fact that this is probably the longest thing she's ever said to me. Progress, I guess. "I'm listening." I finally say, and I fall into step with her, her eyes brightening in surprise.
Tucking a curl behind her ear, she continues, "I work at a dance studio." This is news. "My speciality is actually one-on-one classes, so." A pause. "I could help you." Another pause. "If that's what you're looking for!"
"What's the cost?" I ask, because Dad always taught me that shit's the first thing you ask at all times. If it sounds too good to be true, he'd always say, that's pretty damn suspicious.
Evelyn's eyes widen. The pink that crosses her face definitely can't have much to do with the heating inside the school. "You don't have to pay." Her head shakes, once twice.
My eyes narrow as I glance over at her. "Uh, yes I do? I'm paying for a service." I blink. "It'd be kind of fucked up if I didn't."
Evelyn's head shakes, curls shaking with her. We pass by Cath Greene, the pale blonde who eyes us as she passes by. Her eyes meet mine, then they burn into the back of Evelyn's head, as though trying to silently will her friend to turn around.
She doesn't.
In fact, Evelyn Perez doesn't seem to notice that she's there. Cath blinks before rushing past us, eyes still staying on the two of us as she disappears down the hall. I'm tempted to laugh, but I don't.
Instead, my gaze returns to Evelyn who keeps shifting her feet from side to side. "You don't—" she starts once more, but I rub my temples, eyes carefully flicking to hers.
"You don't have to be cute," I say, lips twitching into a half grin as Evelyn's eyes widen. "Give me a price and we'll call it a deal."
We whip around the hall, my back falling back against the wall as I slide down to the floor. I stretch out my legs, all clad in black jeans as I cross them. Evelyn glances down at me, lips pursing.
I pat the space of floor next to me. "Cleaners just passed by. Floor's pretty clean."
Evelyn huffs, head tilting to the side before finally sighing and sliding down onto the space next to me. Her shoulder brushes my sweatshirt-clad one, and her inhales and exhales are so painfully close that I briefly wonder whether I thought through everything before inviting her to sit so close to me.
"How about this?" Evelyn proposes, her eyes resting on the studs in my left ear. "You come for one class. Free of charge." A pause. "If you like it, then you can come for more! Then you can start paying."
Her lips seem to have a slight shine to them. A soft pink. Her face slightly glitters, like dust underneath her eyes. Except, pretty.
"Are you wearing glitter?" I ask, only half-comprehending her proposition as it plays in the back of my mind, my head working through it.
Evelyn blinks, hands rising to her face. "I was screwing around with my makeup and then, yeah." She shakes her head, almost willing her curls to fall over her face. "Couldn't wash all of it off in time for school." A soft, slightly sad laugh. "Don't worry, I know I look like a dumbass."
My eyes widen. "What the fuck? Who told you that?"
She blinks, head shaking. "No one told me that, per se." She runs a hand through her curls. "I mean, Ella told me I looked ridiculous this morning, so."
I blink. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, really," Evelyn's head shakes. "It's just..." her eyebrows knit together, "the way she said it, I guess." She shakes her head. "Sorry, I'm oversharing." A laugh.
"You don't look ridiculous," I say, and her eyes flick up to mine, faint glitter at all. "You didn't hear this from me, but you look okay. Maybe even pretty."
Her eyes seem to sparkle, and I unleash a multitude of curses in my mind as a soft smile rises to her lips, and all I want to do is hug her, while I simultaneously want to bang my head on a table.
"Anyway!" Evelyn blinks as she dives back to her original point. "Do you agree with the deal? You know, paying after the first class?"
My mind weighs over the suggestion. It's a decent one, definitely. Free trial shit. A perfect way to wade back into the dancing world without the pressure of an entire class with me, judging how out-of-practice I am.
"Sure," I finally say, my hand reaching out to shake hers. She's wearing a black elastic that slides further down her wrist as her hand shakes mine. Rising to my feet, I watch as Evelyn does the same, mirroring my actions.
I exhale. "Fuck. I need coffee. And I have like, three minutes until class starts." A groan.
"There's a 7 Eleven a couple of minutes away," Evelyn says, her eyes flicking over to mine.
"Think I can make it?" I ask, my eyebrows rising.
"No," she chirps, holding her books to her chest, before stooping down and meticulously placing them in her backpack.
"Damn," I say, hand rising to my chest. "Have a little faith, why don't you?"
"I wouldn't mind a latte right now," Evelyn says, eyes taking on a vacant expression. Her lips part. "But, we have barely any time."
My eyes flicker down to my watch, a smirk sliding onto my lips. "Three minutes is plenty. I've pulled a paint job on my motorcycle in the span of under two hours."
Evelyn stares at me, eyebrows knitting together. "What?"
Grinning, I back away, gesturing for her to come after me. "My mom dropped me off this morning, so I don't have my motorcycle with me, but I do have feet."
Then, I'm somewhat jogging down the hall, down the stairs, slipping out of the school doors, hair flying behind me. I don't look to see if Evelyn's behind me, but I hear her voice before I can consider it.
She's huffing after me. "Bad idea!" she says, still jogging behind me as we're out in the open, shoes padding against the sidewalk.
"Nah," I say, lips twitching as we rush down the sidewalk. Less than two minutes to go. Evelyn finally falls into step with me, and we're jogging, and I feel the rush of being alive trying to return to my veins, and I exhale a laugh.
"Estas loca," Evelyn huffs, head shaking. "You've lost your shit." She says, even as the 7 Eleven approaches in the distance.
"And yet," I say as we practically slide into the doors. "Here you are, following me."
Evelyn says nothing to that as we make our way to the front. I'm practically panting, and there's this buzzcut girl behind the counter with different-colored eyes and a semi amused smile sprouting onto her lips.
"One espresso and one caramel latte, please." I practically heave, my chest rising up and down with exhilaration.
The girl grins, heading over to the back as she whips up both drinks, placing them into a container as I pay for them.
Uttering thank you's as Evelyn pops a tip into the jar with my hands full, the two of us make our way back towards the school, high pitched, frenzied laughter rising to the air.
Somehow, we slide into the English classroom at 8:20 on the dot, and Evelyn takes her usual seat in front of me, whipping around as her eyes shine with euphoria. "Oh my God, we did that."
My grin is wide and mirrors her as I hand her latte over to her, our fingertips brushing. "We totally did that."
The English teacher hasn't even arrived in her classroom yet, only fuelling the absolute euphoria etched onto our faces.
"You're crazy," Evelyn breathes, taking a small sip out of her latte, which she clasps between her hands, her eyes meeting mine.
"So, I've been told," I say, the coffee warming up my hands, satisfaction rising to my lips.
Evelyn's head shakes as she glances down at the latte in her hands, eyes sparkling with slight surprise, muddled with amusement. "How'd you know my order?"
My lips twitch. "You seem like a caramel latte type of girl."
She tucks a curl behind her ear, smile gentle. "I can't believe you're making me do this type of shit. I never do this."
"You should try new things more often," I send her a grin which seems to resemble more of a smirk, and Evelyn's eyes widen slightly, thoughts working through her mind. But before she can say anything, the English teacher saunters into the hall, announcing the topics for today's class, and Evelyn readies herself to turn back to the front.
"And by the way," I whisper, as our teacher drones on from the front, "you should wear glitter more often. It suits you."
And Evelyn Perez's eyes shine back at me in return.
***
asjdhj the sapphic chaos i've been waiting for 🤩
,,, dedicated to the girl i was able to hold a conversation with for the first time !! n i feel so accomplished pls. anyway how are u :') also thank u for reading,, it means the world to me <3