Anybody

Sashay, leap, pirouette, pencil turn to kneel, lay flat, back roll, stand, body roll, center leap, fan kick, switch leap, tour jetee, back walk over, left split, shoulder pop, ball change stomp, repeat. Center leap, right split, roll flat, slide back, music fade.

It was a simple routine, it really was. But Penelope had been stumbling over the choreography all morning. She had two hours to get it perfect before the curtain went up. In those two hours, she had to be ready to dance what could possibly dictate the rest of her career. There would be so much riding on that night and yet, Penelope’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

Each time she would close her eyes to envision the dance, Patrick’s face would flash into focus. His happy smile and bright eyes would be there, and not to mention the facial hair he had begun to grow for the playoffs.

One word he had said a full week ago came to mind.

Us.

It was such a simple, two letter word that had sent her world crashing down around her. It had been the way he had said it. There was a longing, and a hope to it that Penelope had never heard someone use. She didn’t know how she felt about, but one thing was evident. Patrick Sharp was on her mind and he certainly wasn’t going away any time soon.

There had been multiple calls from him and dozens of texts, none of which had been answered. There had been messages passed through Kane and Jon and Marissa and Shannon, all of which she had ignored. It was eating away at her, but Penelope was stubborn.

“You know it’s not doing you any good if you keep stressing yourself out,” a voice said from the doorway of the studio.

Penelope looked up from her spot on the floor. Hunt.

“Sir,” she said straightening up. “I was just rehearsing.”

“More like freaking out over a routine you know,” he smirked knowingly. “I’ve never known you to not have a routine down for a show.”

“First time for everything, I guess,” she shrugged.

“Something’s on your mind, Meyers,” Hunt said leaning against the barre. “What is it?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Penelope insisted. “Really.”

“So it is a boy,” he smiled. “Who?”

Penelope gaped at her instructor. He was suddenly acting…normal. Why was that?

“He’s… no one,” she shrugged. “Not important.”

“If he’s getting in your head like this, he obviously is,” Hunt said. “Who is it?”

“His name is Patrick,” Penelope allowed. “And I screwed it up.”

“Everything is fixable. What happened?”

Before she could lose the courage, Penelope launched into the tale. She gave every detail, sans the sex related ones.

“And I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Except for the fact that I feel like shit.”

“I’ve been dancing for a long time,” Hunt said. “And I’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way. But the one I regret the most is not going after the woman of my dreams.”

“What happened?” Penelope asked crossing her legs on the wood floor.

“Things got tough, I let her walk away, and instead of chasing after her, I kept dancing,” he said. “She moved on.”

“Where is she now?”

“With her husband and family in upstate New York, last I heard,” Hunt shrugged. “She got what she deserved, what I couldn’t give her.” He shook his head. “The moral of the story is to not wait for fate to change things for you. Don’t wait for something to come to you. Chase after it, just like you’ve been chasing your dreams your whole life.”

“What?” Penelope was lost. Usually, Hunt wanted their minds, bodies, and souls focused on one thing and one thing only. Dance. Now he was telling her to do something else.

“Do what you think is right,” he said walking towards the door. “Just be back in time for your act.”

Ah, that was the Hunt Penelope knew.