A/N: For realz thou. The first group in the dance video, killed it. I didn't like the solo girl, because I thought she was too focused on adding her own flares than focusing on her techniques and original choreography. But's that's just my own opinion. You'll see a blonde Masami, so I've uploaded a pic of what she's supposed to look like. LOLZ. What a joke. Sorry for not updating for the past 21 days... I've been super busy and today was the last day of my Chem1 class. Took the exam and I think I did pretty well! Oh, and just last week, I found out that I have rheumatoid arthritis at the age of 19. For real? Like what the heck? I'm an avid soccer player and runner, and future physical therapist. The biggest irony right there, guys.
Anyways, I felt like this chapter was pretty short even though it had 1,286 words. I'll just make the next update better haha.
ANYWAYS, GUESS WHAT. I GOT MY BRACES OFF AFTER 3 YEARS! Haha, it sucked that I had to go through my first year of college wearing braces, but at least I get nice, straight teeth for the rest of my life. Yupp, that was the only notice-worthy announcement that I had to make besides this update (^.^)
Oh and, the bold dialogue in this chapter is spoken in English.
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"Alonzo King's Line Ballet?" I read the sign outside of my new ballet studio. I ran a hand through my newly-bleached strawberry blonde hair. After getting numerous of weird stares at my naturally pink hair, otou-san and I agreed to make it look... natural. Wisps of pink were still there, but I decided that since the majority of my hair was now strawberry blond, it was good enough. I crossed the line at getting contacts though. I didn't want to hide my heritage, and I wasn't going to "American-ize" myself to that extent.
I had my duffle bag slung over my shoulder with my leotard and ballet slippers stuffed inside. I took a deep breath and slowly breathed it out before pushing the glass door open.
"Hi! How may I help you?" The cheerful receptionist chirped out in English. I silently thanked Kami that I had spent a couple of years of my childhood with Kaname-nii in America.
"Hello, I uh, I'm Masami Fujioka. I'm the new dancer from Japan?" I smiled at myself for remembering the proper English grammar of introducing myself. Recognition flittered through her face as she gaped at me.
"No frickin' way!" She screeched. I winced at her slang and at how loud her voice was. "I'm like, your biggest fan! I've been following you ever since your debut in North Carolina years ago! It was so cool! Like, that's why I'm working in this ballet studio!" She continued to rant. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"I'm totally surprised! I mean, your pink hair was like your most noticeable physical feature. Did you dye your hair or something? I mean, blonde actually looks pretty good on you!"
"Uhhh.... It's strawberry blonde, but yeah, I dyed my hair."I sheepishly scratched my cheek.
"Oh! Let me bring you to the back! Mr. King's the owner of the studio, and I think he's here today!" She squealed excitedly. "I'm just so ecstatic that you're here! I mean, you're Masami!" I refrained myself from rolling my eyes at her already annoying voice. Five minutes haven't even passed by, and I was already done with her. She slipped around the counter and waved at me to follow her. I reluctantly did so, allowing her to lead me to the studio. Music vibrated through the large studio as soon as the door swung open. My mouth almost dropped down in awe as I watched the group practice with a choreographer standing nearby, assessing them. It wasn't even a classical ballet or a contemporary ballet dance, it was more of a contemporary hip-hop dance.
"Wait, I thought this was ballet?" I turned around to the girl next to me. She grinned, "It is! Mr. King likes a wide variety, so he throws in other styles of dance. They perform at every competition there is in and around California, and they usually place first. If not, then they're always in the top three dance groups." I could hear the awe in her voice.
I turned back around, taking note at how different the American culture was from Japan's. The girls were wearing baggy shirt and leggings with high-top sneakers despite this being a ballet studio. Back in Hitomi-sensei's studio, we were required to wear our leotards and slippers, no matter what style of dance we did.
I watched with fascination as the group of five moved in synchronization to the loud bass of the song playing. I laughed and cheered along with the others when they ended. This could be what I was looking for.
"Ah! Mr. King! This is Masami! She's the new dancer from Japan! You know, the Masami who's the prima ballerina and toured over Europe?!" The receptionist who brought me to the back exclaimed, bouncing over to the older man standing in the middle of the dance studio. Immediately, all eyes narrowed in on me, causing my cheeks to flush pink once again.
"Come over here," Mr. King waved me over. I shuffled my way over, trying hard not to meet anyone's eyes. I stopped right in front of the taller man, waiting for him to say something.
"So you're Chinatsu's student, eh?" He hummed, rubbing his chin. I nodded my head in confirmation. "She said she had a fantastic student over in Japan, so let's see if what she said is true. Let's see if you can learn this routine by the end of today."
My mind began to whirl around, learn an entire choreography in less than four hours?! Who is this man kidding?! Hitomi-sensei, take me back, please! This is hip-hop, not ballet!
"W-what do I wear?" I stammered in confusion. His brown eye critically scanned me over.
"Whatever you're wearing now is fine." I nodded my head once again and hurried to the opposite side of the room where the other dancers stood and dropped my bag down on the ground.
"Alright, everyone! We're going to take things slowly from the top again! Everyone on the floor!" Mr. King clapped his hands, causing the remaining dancers to scatter on the floor.
"First two times will be a dry run-through. After that, you're on your own. Don't forget that I'm assessing you today for the solo part. Our competition is next week. Don't let me down." We all nodded our heads as a serious atmosphere descended on us. He broke the steps down for my benefit, but I could see as others were struggling to remember the moves and were grateful that Mr. King was breaking them down one by one.
"When the song starts, it begins with 'Bitch, I'm Madonna'," Mr. King began. "You're going to have four male dancers with you on this. So girls, you're going to have to freestyle during the twelve-count movement right there. You'll hear a series of fast clapping ten seconds into the song, that's where you'll have to synchronize with the boys. So five, six, five, six, seven, eight."
I slowly followed Mr. King's movements, watching the mirror's reflection. I brought my fists hands down as I widened my legs into a crouching stance before bringing myself back up with my right arm perpendicular to my chest. My right hand was placed in the crook of my left elbow with my left arm parallel to my upright body, my index finger pointing upwards. Then, my left arm overlapped on top of my right before snapping back up, my lower arm moving down to point at the ground before pointing back up with my thumb, index and middle finger sticking out.
I've been craving for this.
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"This dance is all about giving me attitude. I want to feel the sass dripping from your body, ladies. I want to feel the attitude and dominance in this!" Mr. King shouted, clapping his hands together. Sweat dripped down from my forehead, trickling down my neck and soaking my tank top. I glanced around the studio and noticed that the other girls were just like me: panting for breath and sweaty.
"Last run-through and we'll call it a night," Mr. King encouraged. My eyes snapped towards the clock above the mirrors, widening considerably. Six hours passed and I didn't notice?! Wow, this is really the power of intense dancing with the pros.
"Who do you think you are?
You can't mess with this lucky star
Hold up with my nose up
And that rose up in that thang up
I'm froze up, but my stove up
Cause he eatin' like it's his dinner
I run shit, I don't fall back
Cause I'm on track, I'm a sprinter
I'm bossed up, I got 'em awestruck
It's that go hard or go home zone, bitch
I'm Madonna, those hoes know."