Retrace

Chapter 6

Nia

The moment that I hear the small thump confirming the door has been shut, I rush to secure the metal chain. No more surprises. God, that was embarrassing, and it, of course, couldn't have happened with someone less attractive. It had to happen with a candidate who'd leave anyone else in the dust in the auditions for my G.I. Joe fantasy, my favorite one. The one that always does the job, exceedingly well.

Wrapping my knee-length beige cardigan around me, I tuck my legs under me and pour a cup of tea from the Jasmine infusion pot that I ordered in. I lift my notebook's screen up and wait for the programs to load. Clicking on the music folder, I take a sip of the ceramic, white mug. Dragging music files into a new folder for my first lesson, I end up with too many and start eliminating. Thrill fills me at the thought of teaching again. I can't wait to get to know a new group of young girls. I usually teach ages four to six, the age when innocence and sweetness are still at their peak.

Opening a memo, I jot down a list of errands for tomorrow: get accessories for the new apartment, deal with paperwork for the new job. Mainly all things related to settling in a new place. A smile crawls to my lips as I think about a visit to Pottery Barn. I'm on a budget and can't go too wild, but sometimes all it takes is a few items to set the right ambiance. A stream of excitement of everything new makes its way through me briefly, till my eyes are drawn to the new message flickering at the taskbar.

My mother.

The thought of home doesn't take long to join with the familiar twinge in my heart that never fails to remind me of what I've left behind. I close the screen, leaving my hand on top so it won't somehow lift up. I'm not ready to deal with anything linked to home yet. I leave the threatening device be and walk away, deciding to call it a night.

Night rituals finished, I bring the TV to life and flip through the shows till I land on a movie channel. I watch the credits of a movie that ended with a teary scene. Fluffing my pillows behind me, I wait for the next one to start. When the G.I. Joe theme song starts, I can't help but crack a brief smile.

~~~

When you sleep in hotels, you can never anticipate the level of morning light you'll be assaulted with. The brightness that I blink my eyes open to is borderline abusive. I'm not exactly a morning person, and that would be putting it in the most minor sense. I do not like mornings. Mornings represent another day to pass, another day to bear.

The first half of the day flies by before I can even notice that I have an hour left until my lesson begins. Fifty-two minutes and thirty seconds to be precise, in which I need to squeeze in buying the stickers that I plan to gift the girls with at the end of the first lesson, pick up my dance clothes from the hotel, and maybe manage to grab a small bite to eat.

~~~

A soft smile plays on my lips as I watch the girls attempt to perform the few little steps that I taught them for the last thirty-five minutes. The bright studio is full of joyful energy. It's as if pink exploded in here, its sparkly fallout splashed all over the small dancers.

I clap and smile wider at them as they bow in disarrayed unison. "Great job! "

Their elated, adorably flushed faces beam at me. They rapidly take their place, to my hand gesture, sitting on the floor in front of me. I open my palm to reveal colorful, magic unicorn stickers. "You did such an amazing job. I think unicorns are in order. " Ten lit-up pairs of eyes eagerly watch me as I move on my knees from girl to girl and press a sticker below their collarbone.

"Miss Nia, " a round freckled face with one of those plastic (pink, of course) glasses pips. I shoot her nametag a glance.

"Yes, Michelle? "

She smiles shyly. "Can you dance for us? "

I send the round clock above the door a peek.

"Yes, yes, " several sweet voices crackle at once. I nod with a warm beam. They all align to sit with their backs against the studio's mirrored wall, below the wooden rail, as I turn to put a new song on. I go with one of my recent favorites, an energetic summer tune.

I start to get into the rhythm, smiling at the girls. Movements reflected on the mirror before me distract me for a short beat. I nod at the few parents who have gathered to watch us before the lesson ends. The chorus comes and I close my eyes, feeling the music funnel through me, letting it reach my core. For these moments, everything else freezes; it's like I'm in a bubble in which the only thing that matters is the music and my moves.

With the accelerating drum beats, I sway weightless. I add synchronized twirls and subtle Samba moves, floating. The band holding my hair slides to the floor, freeing it to scatter over my face, back, and shoulders. I lose myself in my dance, uniting with the music. As the last notes play, I flicker my eyes open and motion for the girls to join me. They bounce around me giggling, eagerly mimicking my moves. We all bow as the song winds down and I clap enthusiastically.

When I turn around to hug them and show them to the door, I find an army of parents watching us through the glass wall. I get a few raised eyebrows from a group of mothers and some overexcited grins from a couple of fathers. But what catches my attention is the emotion, or lack thereof, on Mrs. Perry's face. She has her arms folded on her chest, her head slightly tilted toward one of the mothers who is talking to her. Is it me, or does she not look pleased at all?

The girls hug me, distracting me from a sudden unbidden worry. I crouch down to hug them back and wave goodbye as they skip toward their parents. Worrying my lips, I turn back to get my memory stick that holds the music and the bottle of water that I left on the floor.

Mrs. Perry is still talking to the parents as I pass by her. The look she throws my way prompts me to stop.

"Could you visit me tomorrow morning for a short chat? " she asks right after excusing herself to a blabbering parent.

"Sure, " I say with puckered brows, pulling my hair back in a ponytail grip and letting go. She nods and turns back to the waiting mother. She doesn't mention a specific time and I don't ask, a gut feeling tells me to just let it go.

I swing the locker room door open, cursing under my breath. Whatever happened in there doesn't seem to be in my favor. Did I overdo it with the dance? s**t, I really want this job, and the girls are so sweet. The high I had finishing the class has officially crashed to the floor. Quickly, I change my baggy dance pants to jeans and drape on a cream, knee-length cardigan over a black triple spaghetti strap top. I comb my hair back with my fingers and tie it high in a thin band.

"Mitchell? " I hear someone talk beside me as I continue shoving my stuff to a small duffel bag. My heart makes half a jump at the tap on my shoulder. Startled, I turn back to a pair of smiling, blue eyes. "It's Mitchell, right? " For a brief moment I observe the beaming lady with the bouncy, purplish hairdo, till it registers that here, too, I've filled my application form as Nia Mitchell.

"That's your name, isn't it? " she asks with an air of doubt.

"Yeah, yeah, it is. Sorry, I was just thinking about the lesson. "

She sends me a dimple ornamented smile. She extends her hand for a shake, which I mirror. "I'm Alex. "

"Hi, Alex. Nia. "

"So, Nia, a bunch of us are heading to Jake's. You wanna join? "

She's friendly. Maybe I should go with her; it would be good to talk to people rather than go back to my room and work hard on doing everything but think.

"Um, I guess. Who's Jake? "

She laughs, and it's an ascending, contagious sound. "It's this nearby bar we all go to much too often. "

"Sounds good to me. "