Co written by myself and the lovely dee-light-full on tumblr.
Conventions, in Kirsten's mind, had always been regarded with a touch of disdain. Huge halls, crazed fans, and professionals showcasing their work whether it was dance or TV or even knitting, seemed like far too chaotic a situation to involve herself in. It wasn't an environment that lent itself to actual, productive work. She was happier in the studio all day than she would ever be at any dance convention, no matter how highly regarded it was by others.
Work with the ballet troupe was simple enough. One routine learned in a month, and then toured across the country for another month. Return home, learn a new routine, and repeat. When she was home Kirsten was either practicing with the small barre she'd installed in her tiny apartment, stretching, or breaking in new pointe shoes. There was nothing else in her entire world. Everything narrowed down to nothing but dance, every single day.
It wasn't passion, exactly (and she thought maybe she'd never known what it was to be passionate). From the moment Kirsten had taken a class as a child, she'd be good at it. Really good. In a childhood where she'd had very little control over anything else, she had ballet. It became what some would call an obsession, and she danced every day just to move the tiniest bit closer to perfection. It might have been mechanical and robotic, in the eyes of many, but ballet was hers and she was one of the best at it.
Conventions were the opposite of the nice, normal, predictable balance that was her life. Conventions weren't just elite, well-trained professionals, but people messing around more for fun than for work. Kirsten had nothing against it, but she didn't see what she could learn from anyone there.
In the end, though, several girls from her troupe talked her into it. There would be all sorts of highly trained ballet instructors there, they promised, and opportunities for jobs outside of the shows they put on every other month. It wasn't that she wanted to move on from the troupe, necessarily, but she knew that realistically her career would end around the time she turned twenty-six or twenty-seven. It was good to have some sort of option for after that.
The building itself was enormous. The first thought that came to mind where the facebook photos she'd seen from her cousins when they'd gone to Comic Con. It was that, essentially, with tights, leotards, and a general lack of actual clothing instead of costumes of characters she couldn't ever dream of naming. A glance at the schedule she'd printed showed that there were enough halls and rooms dedicated to just ballet that she could completely avoid most of the convention and stick to what she knew she'd be perfect at.
Unfortunately, there was nothing for ballet that entire morning, which left her with a slew of hip hop workshops to try, or something more yoga-oriented. Yoga was the clear winner out of the two.
The class she ended up at was in one of the smaller rooms, just big enough for the twenty or so people that had showed up. She was early, as always (yet another thing she could control) and settled in a corner to do warm-up stretches. Someone had set up a portable stereo in the corner, some generic pop music filtering through the room from the corner it sat in, and several people were messing around in the center of the room while they waited for the instructor to show.
There were two in particular that had gotten really into the improv happening, busting out some absurd moves and giggling at each other. Kirsten honestly couldn't decide if either of them had any true talent - the girl had flexibility, sure, but neither one was serious enough. They were happy, though, and the sight of the girl pulling the guy closer to her and ever-so-gently bopping the tip of his nose tugged at something in her chest. She squashed it down as quickly as possible, turning her attention back to stretching.
She thought it'd been the last she'd see of them as the instructor filed in and everyone took their places in the room when the bouncy, overexcited brunettes settled down next to her with their yoga mats. They chattered among each other, leaving her alone, and she couldn't help but listen to them as they talked (and really, it was impossible to ignore as they were a few feet away).
The first name she got was Cameron. Goofy, lighthearted, Cameron, who seemed to have a smile permanently fixed on his face. He had nothing but cutesy nicknames for his friend the first several minutes of class; sweetheart, poppet, sugarplum, pumpkin and dollface (the very last was sometimes in an accent that she assumed was meant to be the one of some 20's gangster, but sounded more like he was faking a bad French accent). It was nearly twenty minutes into the class before she heard a name; Camille.
The two were giggling and whispering to each other as they and everyone in the room moved from pose to pose, following the instructor. Kirsten was tempted to shush them, at first, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself and so instead she settled for casting them a few half hearted glares. Unfortunately, they were too caught up in each other to notice. A few more sideways glances and her stern expression softened just the slightest bit.
Kirsten lost herself in the next few yoga poses, finally getting a chance to look over at the two again when she was in a forward fold. Camille had her hands pressed flat to the floor, her stomach nearly touching her thighs. Every so often she'd rise up on her toes and ease her feet off the floor with the gracefulness of something well-practised, toes skimming her wrists for a moment before her feet lightly hit the mat again. Cameron caught on after a few seconds of it and started mimicking her, the both of them trying to get a press handstand before the other. Kirsten watched in amusement from her own forward fold as it turned into a competition, Cameron and Camille makes faces at each other the entire time.
Finally, after one last defiant attempt, Camille's legs lifted all the way up and she let out a little triumphant noise, sticking her tongue out at Cameron as she let her feet fall back to the ground. It was a short-lived victory, though; Kirsten had already caught sight of the instructor glaring at them from across the room, and Camille did the same moment later. The two brunettes burst into repressed giggles as they quickly got into the correct pose.
They kept it up the entire class, somehow, whispering and laughing like the best of friends. Kirsten couldn't help but look over again and again, the smallest of smiles forming on her face at their antics. She only stopped when they caught on to how obvious she was being - Camille had turned her head just soon enough to see Kirsten staring, smiled hugely at Kirsten, and then turned to Cameron with a little smirk and gesture. When he looked over Kirsten turned her eyes to the instructor, resolutely focusing on him and nothing else until the hour was up.
She was rolling up her yoga mat when a hand brushed her shoulder gently, and Kirsten look up to see Camille smiling at her. "Hey, sorry if we were a little disruptive earlier." the brunette said sincerely, though Kirsten guessed she'd still do the same thing again. "I think the sleep deprivation and jet lag kicked in a little bit there, and the two of us - Cameron and I - always get this way when we get to see each other."
"It's fine, don't worry about it." Kirsten assured her, tucking the last of her things in her bag. After a moment, she added, "You were both far more entertaining than watching the instructor anyways."
Camille laughed, loud and vibrant in a way that made Kirsten want to hear that exact sound again. "Yeah? Well, glad we could help, right, Cameron?"
"Hmmm?"
"You. Me. Both of us acting like idiots and entertaining the lovely blonde here."
He looked up then, beaming so brightly at Kirsten that it caught her by surprise. "Me, acting like an idiot? Never."
Camille rolled her eyes at him, sighing in the way of someone who'd been putting up with this kind of sass for years. "Whatever you say, Goodkin." She looked back to Kirsten, adding, "What was your name?"
"Kirsten," she replied, stiffly offering her hand as an afterthought.
The gesture seems to amuse Camille, who raised a skeptical eyebrow before shaking Kirsten's hand with no other comment aside from, "I'm Camille. And, as I'm sure you heard, that one's Cameron."
"'That one'? So cold and clinical, you'd never believe we were friends," Cameron joked. He reached for her hand too, shaking it and smiling (she didn't understand how any one person could be that happy, especially after a yoga class as long and boring as they'd just taken). "It was nice meeting you, Kirsten."
"Likewise." she hated how formal the words sounded as soon as they were past her lips, but neither of the two seemed to notice or care. Camille and Cameron threw their bags over their shoulders and bid her cheery goodbyes, then vanished out into the hall.
Kirsten had pushed the thought of them to the back of her head after that, ignoring any memories of sunshiney smiles or bright, excited eyes. Fate seemed to have a different plan, however, and she couldn't seem to shake them. First it was in a nearby cafe that they caught sight of her - Cameron waved like an excitable puppy and Camille cast her a wink while she bought her coffee and then hurried out of the building to drink it on a park bench several blocks away. Then it was classes; she'd leave one to find them hanging outside, waiting to go into the class after hers. They were in the main entrance of the building hosting the con almost every time she walked through, and every time the greetings got more and more excitable, to the point of absurdity.
So, naturally, when she took a cab back to her hotel that night, she found them there too.
"Look," Camille eventually told her when they bumped into each other yet again in their shared hotel lobby. "If you're gonna take a cab to the convention and back two, three times a day for the whole week it's going to cost you a pretty penny. Cameron has a car, and we're already going that way at least as often as you are. Giving him some money for gas – or, knowing Cameron a ridiculously complicated drink from some unknown coffee shop along the way – will work out much cheaper."
She declined at first, but then rethought the answer in the shower that evening and found the other woman's suggestion to actually be very practical. So she texted Camille to say she was taking her up on the offer, got an enthusiastic response and hadn't thought about it since then.
Until she was standing outside the hotel lobby without either of her new acquaintances anywhere in sight, and some voice at the back of her head was telling her that she'd been pranked again, like the time in seventh grade when she'd been invited to the popular girls' party, and there had been no party there when she'd arrived all decked out in her new dress. She hadn't thought that spunky, friendly Camille or bubbly, witty Cameron were the type to find pleasure in inviting her to a non-existent carpool, but then she wasn't the best judge of people's character or intentions or what what most people found funny. She was just calculating how late she would be if she tried to hail a cab now – in rush-hour traffic, when every car seemed to be packed full like a can of sardines– when a silver convertible with the hood up slid to a smooth stop in front of her. The window rolled down and Camille's head stuck out at her, wide grin in place.
"Well, hello there, sunshine. Hope we didn't keep you waiting."
"Somebody forgot their tights," Cameron's voice yelled from inside the car, just before the hood started lowering itself.
"Say it one more time, and I'll tell her all of your embarrassing stories. And you know I have lots of ammo, Goodkin. Come on, new girl. Into the back – you have to earn shotgun in this baby."
After another moment of hesitation, Kirsten dumped her bags on one end of the back seat and then proceeded to try and clamber her way into the convertible, trying not to scratch the fancy silver paint as she awkwardly flailed everywhere. Camille and Cameron, thankfully, were oblivious to her less-than-graceful entrance; they were too busy squabbling over the music, slapping each other's hands away from the stereo dials like children.
"Everybody in? Everybody got everything?" Camille smacked his shoulder hard. "Then off we go – to infinity and beyond!"
"Oh, yeah," Camille said, loudly so she could be heard over the car engine and the hood slipping back up over their heads. (Kirsten slouched down in her seat, not trusting that it would not smack her in the back of the head as it powered over them.) "You'd better buckle up. This is going to be a wild one."
Kirsten found out very quickly that that had been sarcasm to one of the highest degrees; Cameron drove in a way that would have made the entire character list of The Great Gatsby choke with envy and sniff in derision. Camille seemed to think that his driving too slow or too cautious or too kind on the many, many assholes she seemed to find – and call out – on the road. But Kirsten liked it; slow and steady and almost dependable, like she knew she could fall asleep on the back seat and arrive in one piece at her destination, something she had never done before in her life. That feeling of safety mixed with the easy, affectionate atmosphere Camille and Cameron created around themselves and included her in, and when the questions fired by the two in front at her remained light and non-intrusive, Kirsten found herself relaxing. And starting to enjoy the ride.
Until Camille, with no warning whatsoever, started singing along to the song that had just come on the radio, voice almost top-volume and shameless. Cameron joined in at once, and when the chorus came along they added shoulder movements and duck-pout faces and Camille added in beats against the dashboard and the car floor. Kirsten sat and stared at them, unsure of what to do and feeling extremely uncomfortable at witnessing something that seemed incredibly embarrassing, to her. Cameron glanced at her, saw her expression, and stopped singing to laugh.
"Don't know this one?"
"No," she said, honestly; it was some trashy pop number she was sure the radio stations all overplayed.
"No worries; you'll get the next one."
She thought he'd been joking, but as soon as the next song came on both of them fell into it with gusto, dancing as much as the confines of the seats and driving allowed them, singing along to every word and, sometimes, the instrumental breaks as well. Whenever they stopped in a traffic jam or at a light, there would always be somebody looking over at them, and Kirsten felt red-hot mortification spread across her face in a permanent blush. This wasn't happening. She'd gotten into a car with absolute weirdos.
She nearly jumped right out of her skin when Camille suddenly howled, diving forward and turning up the music so loud the car's speakers seemed to shudder. "Cameron! It's our song!"
Kirsten thought they'd been ridiculous and loud before. If that was the case, she had absolutely no frame of reference to describe what they were as they reacted to this particular song. Despite the music being turned up so loud it was nearly making the car vibrate, Kirsten could still hear them singing. And it was very, very difficult to miss those dance moves. If they could even be classified as dance moves.
Another red light, and Cameron took the opportunity to let go of the wheel and increase his fervent appreciation of the song, causing the car next to them to look over and pack up laughing. Kirsten sank as far down as she could, knees practically by her ears, face flaming. I don't know them, she pleaded with the laughing, pointing people. I just met them a few days ago. I really don't know them.
Camille and Cameron did some synchronised hand movements, stopping only because the light turned and Cameron had to drive on. It didn't stop him still singing and pulling weird faces, though, and he glanced over at Kirsten in the rearview mirror, grinning widely at her position. Later on, she'd wonder if he'd meant to sing the next line of the chorus staring unblinkingly into her eyes. "I know we only met, but let's pretend it's love." She yanked her gaze away, disliking them furiously for doing this to her.
"Let your hair down a little!" Camille yelled over the music, twisting in her seat so she could grin over her shoulder at Kirsten.
Kirsten raised concerned fingers to her hair, which was already severely gelled back into a bun, and Cameron's laugh somehow floated over the blasting music even though it was soft and gentle and warm against the harsh pop melody.
"Metaphorically, Cupcake. Just metaphorically."
By the time they reached the conference, Kirsten was very sure she was never getting in a car with them again, Cameron's good driving be damned. In fact, she was seriously questioning whether she should let herself hang out with the two at all, given how absolutely embarrassing they could obviously be. But Camille and Cameron sought her out at every opportunity during the day, and Kirsten found herself warming more and more to them each time despite herself. They never reacted with any scorn to what she'd been told was her social ineptitude; there was a laugh here and there, and a weird look or two, but it was always overlooked and treated gently. Camille was spitfire and sarcasm but so far from cruel, and although she teased it always managed to turn out inclusive. Cameron was sunshine and dry quips rolled into a waistcoat, and relaxing around him seemed inevitable.
And by the time they were all ready to go home she couldn't find it in her to say no to their assumption that she was going with them. They left the top down, this time, the city lights and the night air blurring around them as they sang. They were absolutely ridiculous, and she had no idea what to make of them. But there was something warm in her chest that wasn't embarrassment or exasperation as she watched them howling and dancing, hair flying everywhere, and she thought that maybe sticking around them was not such a horrible decision after all.
That thought held even when they did the same ridiculous antics to the convention the next morning, dancing like two uncoordinated teenagers at a sleepover with brushes for microphones. Now that some of the shock had worn off, Kirsten had some time to wonder why two people who were serious enough about dance to go to something like this convention would do the kind of crazy they did in the car, or the kind of crazy they'd done in that improv session the first day she'd met them. There had always been a very firm, very straightforward line in Kirsten's head when it came to people and dancing – either they did it for fun and freedom or they did it as a lifestyle. The few people she had spent more than just class time with seemed to solidify that bit of truth for her, but here these two strangers were completely breaking the pattern.
It baffled her. Especially since her initial doubt about whether Camille had any actual talent or not had since been eradicated. When Kirsten slipped in to watch her new acquaintance dance during the convention, whatever little seed of scorn against contemporary dance that had been planted in her head by ballet purists was killed when she watched Camille's routines. She moved like she needed to to breathe; like she was shouting and showing off and keeping secrets all at once. It was controlled – every move precise and professional and calculated – but also raw and explosive and a little captivating, if she was being honest. She thought about watching Camille move when they were on the way home that night, eyeing the brunette doing a bad box while singing full-out to Justin Bieber, and the confusion settled further into her chest.
She put off going to watch Cameron dance for as long as possible. By that stage she was pretty sure she liked those two, as completely mortifying and strange as they were, and because she knew she didn't have very good people-skills she didn't want to have to give Cameron her assessment of his dancing. He did swing, for crying out loud, and looking at him wasn't exactly getting a revelation of the world's greatest dance machine. She'd grown up around diligent ballet dancers of both genders, and knew how the men acted and looked and behaved. Plus he'd admitted himself he rarely took part in major competitions, that he wasn't really the competitive type and that he was only there, really, for the experience and the fun.
Cameron, she assumed from the moment she met him to the moment she watched him balance a spoon on his nose to amuse Camille during a break, was probably a novice whose feelings she'd hurt very badly when she was forced to admit that, compared to what she put her body through and what she saw colleagues do, he wasn't very impressive.
And then the break ended, the spoon was put away, and she was forcing a smile and following Cameron into where his group of people were showing their stuff. She hadn't been able to get out of it, this time – Camille had checked to make sure she had nothing on right then, and between Camille's almost-stern look and Cameron's hopeful expression she'd had to relent. She only hoped neither of them got too mad at her for being unable to hide the truth about how she felt about Cameron's dancing. She wanted to sink into a chair as far at the back as possible, but Camille linked arms with her and yanked her to the front.
The first couple were better than Kirsten had expected, but there was nothing mindblowing about their rocking steps and occasional turns. There were another two pairs who danced before Cameron came on, and neither of them blew Kirsten away, either. Cameron's partner, a pretty girl with curly black hair that bounced every time she moved and a grin almost as wide as Cameron's, had to run off to put her glasses down, amid laughter from the audience. Cameron took her hands, saying something that made her giggle, and then the music started. It surprised Kirsten a little; the other couples had danced to songs of varying tempos, yes, but none of them had been nearly that fast. Cameron and his partner tested the rhythm for a few seconds, and then leapt into action.
Kirsten's mouth actually dropped open.
It was swing dancing; the base steps were still the same, if just sped up drastically. But Cameron didn't seem to do the steps so much as breathe through them, moving so fast she barely saw where one step started and where the next began. He moved Nina around the floor lightning fast, but so controlled neither of them slipped or faltered once, catching hands every time and executing turns perfectly. He spun her around and they danced back-to-front, pausing at moments that Kirsten was sure she never would have been able to remember and picking up as though somebody had simply pressed play on a remote. It was breathtaking; she couldn't even cheer with the rest of the audience, who were clapping and whistling their appreciation for the footwork that was blowing everybody away. It seemed almost impossible that anybody could move their feet that fast and still be the pillar and direction and guide for their partner, let alone Cameron.
"I know," Camille said, fondly amused as she patted Kirsten's knee. "I thought the same thing before I saw him dance the first time. Just assumed, 'Hey, it's swing dancing, how difficult could that be?' And then he did this in front of me and went into these – oh! Look, they're going to do it right now!"
It turned out to be flips. They'd done little jumps and twists before, but now Cameron was lifting Nina up and twisting her through the air, or lifting her onto his back or his shoulders or throwing her up, catching her, twisting her, and then letting her somersault onto him before he propelled her – powerfully but oh so very gently – away so they could slip back into the base steps, moving their feet even faster than before.
"He's... good." A huge understatement to be sure, but her brain still seemed to be stalling watching him move.
"Nina is the only one who can keep up with him, just about," Camille laughed. "And she says even she is overwhelmed at times." Kirsten could feel Camille watching her, but she couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from Cameron, grin wide as he slid under Nina's legs, leaped up, and immediately caught her mid-twirl and began the swing step again seamlessly. "You should bunk the last workshop today, if you can," Camille said, casually. "Come hang with us. We usually find a quiet hall and muck about with fusion dances. Throwing a ballerina into the mix will be fun. Not literally," she added, as Cameron flung Nina halfway across the stage and helped her land impressively. "Not until you're comfortable with it."
Kirsten opened her mouth, unsure of what to say not because she didn't know how to most politely articulate it, but because she had no idea what she felt about the situation at all. The dance ended and the audience erupted in applause, Cameron joining in with a huge grin so Nina was showered in appreciation from everybody in the room before he allowed his partner to pull him into a bow as well. He came up from his bow and caught Kirsten's eyes, and somehow she could see the fire and sparkle in them from where she sat. She nodded at Camille, still speechless, her heart thudding weirdly in her chest.