Not the Life I Want Ch.1
I skipped football practice again. I've been doing that a lot lately. I just have to watch him dance.
My name's Cato, captain of the Hammer High football team, rich family, girls all over me, you know the drill. But I don't want any of it. The only events that I look forward to are Tuesday and Thursday evenings when I can skip practice and watch him dance.
The "him" I've been referring to does have a name, and yes, I know it. I don't just stalk nameless subjects for my own pleasure. His name is Peeta and he dances for a local company that has rehearsals that are open to the public on Tuesday and Thursday nights. This is mostly due to the fact that it is a dance company for mostly younger students, and parents want to come watch. I'm usually the youngest person in that audience those nights.
As I walk to the rehearsal hall a few blocks away from the school (small town), I allow myself to daydream a little bit about the first time I saw Peeta dance.
Peeta is somewhat of a celebrity in this town, depending on whom you ask. To some, mostly women and young children with big dreams, Peeta is the epitome of where hard work can get you. Despite his small stature that would normally put him at a severe disadvantage in the world of dance, he was recently selected to attend a summer program at Carnegie Mellon for lyrical contemporary dance. Of course our small town Tennessee newspapers ate that right up. He was on the cover of the local journal and on the news. You'd think it was the greatest feat anyone from our town has ever accomplishes. What's sad is that's probably true. Almost no one ever gets out of here. Peeta will though I'm sure. Anyway, all of this press meant that his face was on display a lot around the town. Majestic pictures of him in intricate dance positions allured the hearts of many, including mine. I had gone to school with Peeta for years and never noticed him; we are even in the same grade. He's one of those reclusive students who don't draw attention to themselves.
I didn't do anything about my new-found interest for a long time, I'd tell myself it was due to social pressures. That brings me to another point, those people in the town that didn't view Peeta with the same appreciation that others did. You see, most of the men and teenage boys in this place viewed Peeta with contempt, calling him all sorts of names like fairy boy and princess. His chosen form of recreation didn't fit the mold that seems to be ingrained in the small minds of the men here. Dance is for girls, they would say. I knew that if I showed interest in Peeta or what he was doing, I would have to take some of that criticism as well, especially because I had quite the reputation. I've been known as a "lady-killer" since I was in the seventh grade. It's been beneficial to me up until this point, helping me to hide my true desires. But now I'm afraid of putting that in jeopardy and being exposed, probably hated. While this did scare me, it was not the principle fear in my mind regarding Peeta. I was afraid of finally having to face the feelings which I've done everything I possibly could to cover up for years. I was afraid of myself.
After weeks of hard contemplation I finally decided how I could go about seeing him without the whole town knowing. Actually going to a recital was out of the question. One reason was because the closest one was months away and I didn't think I could wait that long. Another was because I was sure to be recognized. I figured out, however, that the company has open rehearsals on Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 4 to 7. This posed a slight problem because it ran into football practice a little bit. The first day was easy though, because I just said I felt sick. I told the coach that my stomach was churning and I needed to sit down; he told me to go home like I knew he would. Right after showering I started walking to the dance hall and the anticipation was killing me! I was finally going to encounter the guy I'd been dreaming about for a long time now. And I'm telling you, he didn't disappoint. What I witnessed that day was one of the most beautiful experiences I've ever had.
I got there right before rehearsal was starting. Good thing too because they lock the doors on anyone trying to enter late. I took a seat somewhat in the back. I wanted to be able to see everything happening, but I didn't want to run the risk of anyone, especially Peeta, seeing me there. There were very few parents that came out to watch their children, none of whom I knew, so I was in the clear. I felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest. Then he walked on stage and everything stopped. I don't even think I breathed throughout the entire routine. My whole world was Peeta the moment he started dancing. I still remember every movement he made and it brings a smile to my lips as I stroll. I won't try to explain all of the complicated choreography, but I can tell you it was magnificent. Every motion was calculated and utilized in a way that would draw the most emotional response from the audience. His face was a tool he used to draw you into him. You saw the depth of his struggle at the start, but at the end his eyes shown with a victory that was unmatched even by the greatest war heroes.
At that moment, I was his. I didn't know what love was, and I was very unsure of what exactly my feelings were for Peeta. But, I knew that I wanted to get to know him. I wanted to spend all of the time I could with him. I wanted to laugh with him and cry with him. I wanted to push him to succeed and protect him from discouragement.
Naturally, I continued to spend all of my Tuesdays and Thursdays watching Peeta dance, going unnoticed in the back. I wasn't unnoticed, however, by my football coach. He took my excuses for a while. Coach Turner probably thought I had a good reason to miss, even if my excuses were getting less and less believable. Eventually, though, it got to be too much and he called my dad explaining all of the practice that I had missed. At this point, it all blew up in my face.
My dad is not angry by natural disposition. It takes a lot to cause him to lose his temper, but when he does he is absolutely enraged. I came home that night, still high from watching Peeta dance, to find my father waiting by the door ready to explode. He yelled and screamed in a manner that I have never heard from him before. By this point, I had missed 10 practices. Before Peeta, I had never missed a practice in my life. My father made sure to raise me to be disciplined and dedicated, and up until then I had never disappointed him. He demanded to know where I was going every Tuesday and Thursday. Obviously I couldn't tell him, but I couldn't come up with a lie straight to his face either. I stood there silently waiting for punishment, but he simply ordered me to my room. It was unsaid but understood that I would not miss another football practice.
Today is the first time since that incident two weeks ago. Those two weeks without seeing Peeta dance were the hardest I can remember; I had almost nothing to look forward to when I woke up in the morning. I woke up today and decided I couldn't take it: I would go to his rehearsal today and I would speak to him, no matter what my father might do.