Can't Do It by Myself

There aren’t many times when I’m in the dance studio and I’m completely lazy. However, on days when I’ve done the first thirty seconds to my dance twenty times in a row receiving only one, “Okay,” I don’t feel up to doing much. Alyson and I, Aly being my teacher, were in similar states of apathy. Competition was five weeks away, plenty of time in theory, but in our world that was five weeks filled with stress over if I was smiling fake, or if my heels were distinct enough, or if my upper body was bending over too much.

Over the years, my disgust of the studio floor had vanished. I had no problem lying like I currently was. My entire body sprawled out, chest heaving, dried sweat covered with new sweat, and one arm covering my face so I could at least pretend the lights weren’t actually on. The last glimpse of Aly I got before I entered my near comatose state was somewhat of a hunched, defeated animal.

“I’m not even close to done tonight either,” her voice sounded pained, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

I picked at a piece of purple painter’s tape she used to mark the floor for the tots with my free hand.

“I thought I was your last class on Tuesdays. I mean, we don’t get done until 9:15. Who could you possibly have coming in this late?”

Her phone rang out some awful 80s tune, and I finally sat up, but only because I could actually feel my muscles tightening. Stretching all over again is a pain and a half. I scooted across the wood floor to sit in front of the mirror. I pushed my v-sit open against the wall. Two birds, one stone, stretch and inspect my braces for leftover dinner.

“Ella did what? How hurt is she? Well, I know you can’t just leave the boys at home alone. Alright, can you give me ten minutes, and then I’m only my way home? You take Ella to the ER; ask Regan to wait to go to her friend’s until I get home and then everything will work out.”
I looked up at her in the glass. If it were possible to actually see someone have an aneurism, I think I did.

“Shit, damn, shit. Okay, so, someone is coming. They should be here in exactly three minutes. I’m supposed to be teaching this guy tap for—I don’t even know if this is supposed to be talking about this.”

As she was most likely contemplating telling me more, said guy arrived with what appeared to be another guy. I couldn’t imagine who would be so important that Ella, who worked 7-4 at a day job and then 5-9 at dance, would teach extra hours. That is until I saw Rupert Grint and handler in the mirror.

“Oh shit, you’re early. Shit. Okay, brief overview of my shit day and the new temporary plan. My daughter is being taken to the emergency room as we speak. My husband’s three boys are being watched my oldest daughter. I have to get home, pronto. Your options are either wait until this weekend to start, or Emerson here can help you.”

“Emerson can do what?”

I had been attempting to fix my hair for all of two seconds before realizing it’s no simple task to undo an hour’s worth of sweat and dance damage. I don’t think the shock had really set in at that point; I was more perplexed at the oddity of the situation. In the time it took me to unglue myself from the wall, Aly was already listing off a shockingly long list of reasons I would be a decent substitute for the job. His handler begrudgingly agreed, all the while the sort of dopey, nice guy grin hadn’t left Rupert’s face as he looked between me and my dance teacher.

By the time they were all shaking hands and the two older adults were exiting stage left in this strange world that had become my life in a matter of moments, I had regained control of my brain, but only so much as to manage a simple, “What?” as the shaggy redhead was sitting to put on his taps.

I slid down the mirrors, surprisingly terrified. Where do I begin? First off, Rupert Grint was sitting in front of me as nonchalantly as I’ve seen a person act. Second, I had never taught anyone in my entire life, and it was obvious this meant a lot to Alyson. The only time I had attempted to teach, Marisol ended up with a heel tap sized bruise on her right butt cheek and a cut to match.

“Mind if I ask you something?” I said before I could stop myself.

He nodded simply, wiggling his first foot out in front of him.

“How on earth did you end up here, in Arkansas, in a dance studio that has forty kids on a good year? Oh, and take those off. You’ve got to stretch before you do any dancing. You can pull a muscle tapping too.”

I wiped my face with the neckline of my tee, blinked a few times to force my contact back into place, and looked his direction. I gestured to the center of the small room; he walked, I scooted. Rupert mimicked my v-sit with a lot of difficulty just as I had difficulty holding back my snicker.

“Well, I really want this part in a movie and these people really want me, but I can’t dance. I mean, I took one class back in primary for a school musical, but yeah, anyways, they’re giving me one year to learn. I’ve already wasted six trying to find the right teacher. Everyone tries, but they all get very frustrated. We, Alan, the firm representative whose sole purpose is to find a bloody teacher, and I decided to come to this area since the film’s being shot here. Right, well, we attend this one competition thing and saw a few really good dancers, and when we went to another one, it turned out your studio was a crossover in both cities. So, now I’m here to see if maybe someone a bit lower key is the answer.”

I had to physically force my head to stop. I had been just nodding through his entire speech, while Rupert struggled to follow my lead on stretching and speak at the same time. Every time he grunted I felt a little more awkward. I often forget most of America is not as flexible as I am, and I’m not even that flexible compared to most of the dancers. I’m not actually like most of the dancers I compete with. They all participate in more than just tap, which really only requires a bit of stamina and some leg muscles. I am too top heavy to ever be a prima ballerina; my stomach is not nearly tight enough to do the leaps, but I never wanted to be.
I pulled a bobby pin from my chestnut hair and reattempted to secure the fly-aways.

“We should probably get started. What time do you have to leave?”

A call to my grandma was definitely in store when he said Aly had booked him through 1 am.

“Mamaw,” I leaned against the doorframe of the small adjoining storage/changing room.

“Yeah, I’m done with my class. Macy called and wants me to meet her and a few others at the Huddle House. Yeah, don’t worry. Oh, well, I probably won’t be in until close to one; don’t wait up. I love you.”

“Mamaw?” His smile turned into a smirk, and his green eyes lit up.

I narrowed my stare at him, “I live with my grandmother; now, can we get started?”

He scuffed his tap shoe along the floor. “How old are you anyway?”

“I’m eighteen. I just finished my tenth year of tap; I’m more than qualified to teach you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”