The song ends. Everyone’s breathing hard but smiling, obviously happy and energized.
Fifi turns the lights back up. “Okay, I see you next week. Make sure to practice so not forget. I do not want to teach basic step again.”
I hang back as people filter out, even though I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. A sign of what to do next, I guess.
“I can see you enjoyed very much, yes?” she asks when it’s just the two of us.
“You’re a great instructor,” I tell her, still breathless.
“Yes, I know,” she says with a smile. “You are good student, very natural. Still need to work on hips, but you have good head for steps and excellent timing in body.”
I smile even wider. I’m surprised by how much I like her compliment. I had way more fun than I expected to. I can also feel that ballroom might be one of those things where it’s easy enough to learn the basics but much harder to get all the subtleties of movement.
She looks me up and down, contemplating something. “I have proposition for you,” she says. “There is competition they have every year. LA Danceball, is called.”
She tells me all about it. LA Danceball is one of the largest ballroom dance competitions for professional and amateur dancers in Southern California. They have lots of different age group and proficiency categories. Her proposition is that I enter the Amateur Under 21 category on behalf of the studio.
“Are you kidding?” I ask. “That was the first ballroom dance lesson I’ve ever taken.”
She waves me off. “Is amateur category. And like I say, you have potential.”
I shake my head. “Why do you even want me to enter?”
“If you win, studio gets free advertising, and maybe we get some more clients.” A worried frown flashes across her face. I get the feeling the studio not only wants more clients, it needs them.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Come, come. There is reason you walk in here in first place, no?”
She’s right, of course. There is a reason I walked in here in the first place. Is this what I’m supposed to do? Enter a ballroom dance competition? Martin is in my head again, insisting that I go with the flow.
“But, Fifi, I don’t even have a partner,” I say.
“Not to worry,” she says. “I have perfect someone.”
CHAPTER 14
Dance Number One
THE PERFECT SOMEONE isn’t there when I show up at the studio after school the next day, but the owners—Archibald and Maggie—are.
“You must be Evie,” Maggie says as soon as I walk in.
“That’s me,” I say, giving them a small wave.
I forgot how striking they are. He’s wearing a gray tux. She’s wearing a glittering fuchsia gown and bright makeup. Unlike last time, her locs aren’t pinned up. They cascade around her shoulders.
“Fifi didn’t bully you into doing this, did she, dear?” Archibald asks.
“I am not bully,” Fifi protests.
“Did she guilt you?” Maggie asks.
“No bullying or guilting,” I say. Maybe my suspicion from yesterday is right. The studio does need money. “I just thought this would be fun.” And it’s true that I think it could be fun, but that’s not why I’m doing it.
“Well, that’s wonderful, dear,” says Maggie. “I want you to know there is no pressure for you to win.”
“There is itsy-bitsy little bit of pressure,” Fifi interjects. There eez eeetsy-beetsy leetle beet of pressure.
“Fiona Karapova, don’t you dare—”
But before Maggie can start scolding Fifi, the studio door opens behind me.
“Ahh, here is partner now,” Fifi says.
I turn around. It’s the boy I met in studio five the first time I was here. Xavier. X.
“It’s you,” I say.
“It’s me,” he agrees.
“But why?” I ask.
“You mean that existentially or what?” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at me, displaying not one but two Classic Romance Guy Characteristics.
Maggie interrupts our staring contest. “You know each other?”
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” he says. “Yvette, right?”
“He stole my bike,” I explain, stomping out the infinitesimal and completely uncalled-for spark of happiness I feel that he remembered my name.
“Borrowed it,” he clarifies.
“So he could break up with his girlfriend,” I explain some more.
“We were already broken up,” he clarifies some more.
“She bought a prom dress,” I remind him.
In my periphery, I see Archibald and Maggie watching us with mouths slightly open.
I know how this looks. It looks like we’re bantering, like sparks are flying between us like in witty, old romantic comedies. It looks like the start of something. But I promise you, there are no sparks. Nothing here is on fire.
Archibald chuckles. “Well, Evie, this is our grandson, Xavier.”
“It’s just X, Gramps,” X says. He gives Maggie a hug.
“Come,” Fifi says to X. “Stand next to girl so I can see you together.”
By “girl” she means me.
X walks his long legs over to me.
“We will have to do something about clothes,” Fifi says as she scrutinizes us both. “But they are good match height-wise,” she says to Archibald and Maggie. “And both very good-looking. Especially X,” she says, and waggles her eyebrows like some sort of demented cartoon character.
“Fiona, be a dear and don’t undress my grandchild with your eyes,” says Maggie.
“You prefer I should use my hands?” asks Fifi.
Archibald guffaws an actual guffaw.
X cough-laughs into his fist.
To be fair, Maggie kind of walked into that one.
After we’re done laughing, both Archibald and Maggie explain how the competition works. We’ll be competing for the Top Studio Amateur prize in the Nightclub Dance category. Nightclub is made up of five dances: bachata, salsa, West Coast swing, hustle and Argentine tango. Westside Dance Studio, their main competitor, wins the prize every year.