a/n: hey. coming back with a new story. :) before I start, i would like to preface this by saying i am not a dancer, or musician. i am, however, someone with access to research, namely an Internet connection. i apologise if any dance facts or music things are wrong. I would also like to say that when researching for this, dancing with the stars is not consistent with their tv show format and that was very frustrating so i suppose this is going to be my own version of the show? to put it that way.
I don't own the rights to the characters used in this story, aside from my OCS, or anything associated with Dancing With The Stars.
hope you enjoy the story!
Week 0
Now, Petra is not one to swear.
But Facebook can go fuck itself.
She'd delete the app it wasn't the only way to keep up with her extended family who barely know how to make calls on a mobile. But maybe it's worth not keeping up with Aunt Margaret's recent spring-clean up in return for not feeling like shit every time a certain someone pops up in her feed. Not to mention it's already been an awful few weeks; she's gotten confirmation failure emails from every audition she's attended over the past few months, piled up in her inbox at once like the universe decided now was the perfect time to let her know.
At 8:30 am, the first thing she does not need to see is her ex-boyfriend and the girl he cheated on her with commenting on a disgustingly cute couples post. She frowns at her phone and exits the app. She has better things to do. It still gnaws at the edge of her mind, though, an ugly little thought among all the real things she should be worrying about. So she blasts angry rock music on her way to work and taps out an angry dance while she waits at traffic lights. Her ears hurt, but she feels better. Bonus: no one can tell the difference between her screams and the music.
Then, at 11:47 am on her break, it decides to remind her that it is the one-year anniversary of some of her photos. Which include said boyfriend. From around the same time period he began to cheat on her. So she grits her teeth, blocks them both, deletes the post, and goes on with her day. It wouldn't do to dwell over stupid little things in the past. Besides, it wouldn't do to serve customers looking so grumpy. It doesn't stop her from drawing subtle frowny-faces into their coffees, though. By the time her shift lets out, she feels considerably better. It's sunny, she's meeting up with her friends who she hasn't seen in ages, and her boss lets her take a muffin for free when she finished.
At 2:09 pm, as she waits for Nanaba, Nifa and Rico at their usual cafe, against her better judgement and maybe because she just loves to hurt herself, she scrolls through her feed to pass time. The first thing she sees is an article shared by a mutual, who is 'so so SO proud of my man right here.'
Yeah, seeing her awful ex absolutely prosper at his dream when he bashed her for following hers hits hard.
It hits even harder because hers didn't work out.
It's good that Nanaba strolls through the cafe doors at that moment because Petra was about to throw her phone out the window. She catches the devastated expression on her face and slides into the booth quickly, plucking Petra's phone out of her hand. Scanning the article, she clicks her tongue distastefully. "This is terrible journalism. It reads so poorly. Oh dear, it's not even edited properly. Look, the writer didn't even check their sources; he didn't even grow up in Denver. So you can't really believe anything in this."
"Thanks." Petra chuckles weakly. She reaches for her phone, but Nanaba holds it out of her reach, her deft fingers swiping past the article and pressing the see less of this option before handing it back to her. She fixes Petra an encouraging smile. "Chin up. When it rains, it pours."
"Ah. Hope it rains men, then." Petra says, and Nanaba hums the song cheerfully. When Petra keeps her focus on the table, Nanaba nudges her with her foot. "Hey. You're never usually this upset about him. You alright?"
She shrugs. "I will be. Just...I really knew what the article meant because I memorised all those stupid football terms to talk to him."
"That's what's on your mind, Petra?"
"No! Well, not really. It's not important. Obviously." She rests her head in her hands, dejected. All her emotions from the past few weeks threaten to rise up and force itself out into the open, but she pushes them down. That's for late night sleepovers, crying over ice cream and soppy romances and failed dreams. "He's all I've been seeing all day. Him and his girlfriend and his stupid football and his stupid success while I'm here working full time and running my little school of four students. It just rubs it in, you know?"
"You know you're better than him, Pet. He's an asshole."
"I know he is. I just can't believe I tried so damn hard. For him. For everything. And Noah always told me that it wouldn't work out. It wasn't long term. He never believed in me. I didn't even know if he meant our relationship or my career. If he could see me now, he would laugh at me. Say he made the right choice. And to see him doing so well...I don't want him to be right, Nanaba."
"So work harder." Rico says suddenly, cutting Nanaba off. She'd arrived without either of them noticing. She pushes into the booth, elbowing Nanaba and nodding at Petra.
Truthfully, Petra never thought she would get along well with Rico Brzenka. When they met, they clashed; Petra wholeheartedly disagreed with Rico's composed, blunt disposition. Rico, in turn, had considered Petra far too emotional for her own good. But eventually they found a middle ground, and now Petra considers her one of her closest friends. She's the most honest person Petra's ever met, and that's what she values most about her. Especially right now.
"It's been months, Petra. You've always known he was a piece of shit. So? What now? Does seeing him be successful suddenly turn on that drive? Did you not value your own career enough until he comes back and prove that he was always right?"
"Rico," Nanaba hisses.
"I don't think you're over him." Rico says quietly. She tips her chin up to meet Petra's defiant gaze. "No, that's not true. I don't think you want to be embarrassed. Why would you care so much about it? To be affected so much when he's no longer part of your life? There's something you want to get out of being so mad at him."
She can't find any words to reply. She's right, as much as Petra will never admit it.
"You've trained hard in so many dance styles. You've won competitions with those dance styles. You have done something with your life. Consider what you've had as a break. Now take it back because you want to." Rico says. She drags Petra's coffee mug over and sips it, dumping in a sachet of sugar. "Seeing you upset is like kicking a puppy, you know." She adds.
Ah, Rico. She'll never admit it, but that's her way of saying I care.
A wry smile creeps across Petra's face. Before long, she's laughing. It's the first time she's felt this refreshed in weeks.
Nanaba whoops. Rico grins from behind Petra's cup. "That's our girl." She says it so quietly, Petra strains to hear her. She reaches across the table and wraps her arms around Rico and Nanaba's necks. "Thank you." She whispers. Rico scowls against her cheek. "Yeah, yeah. Back up now, Ral."
She squeezes them once before letting go, lowering herself down onto her chair. Nanaba's phone vibrates, and she turns to the door. "Look who's finally here!" Nanaba crows as Nifa pushes her way through the crowded cafe, her handmade satchel bouncing against her hip. Nifa sticks her tongue out at her, dropping her stuff down and sliding in next to Petra. "Class let out late." She waves her hand in way of apology, swiping Rico's/Petra's cup and draining it. After a scuffle, it's decided Nifa will pay because she was the last one to arrive. Nanaba contemplates ordering the most expensive drink just to annoy her. Nifa kicks her so hard under the table she yelps, blowing out Rico's ear.
Petra settles back against the chair, content with her best friends.
Nifa pulls her workbook out from her bag, pushing the coffee mugs aside and spreading it on the table. Different patches of fabric are pinned to the page around an amazing design of a summer dress. Petra vouches for the forest green, Rico decides on the grey, (no surprise, it's as cold and clinical as she is) and Nanaba argues firmly for the sky blue. Nifa rolls her eyes at all of them and decides that she'll get an informed opinion on her favourite. Rico links them to her market research survey that she needs feedback for, asking (instructing) them to fill it out. It's full of fancy business terms and graphs and charts that Petra can't even begin to understand but she fills it out the best she can anway. Nanaba shows them pictures of the venue for her upcoming exhibition, pointing to where she's going to hang the different photos and paintings and shows them little mock-ups in her notebook.
Petra shows them a rough video of a little routine she's been working on recently. It's unpolished and sloppy but it's the first dance she's choreographed for herself in ages and she's proud of it. With a little more work, it should be ready to...to...
She frowns. Ready for what? There's no upcoming competitions. No upcoming showcases. There's nothing on the horizon for her career right now. There hasn't been any opportunities for a while now, since she's taken whatever respect she had as a dancer and smashed it.
She shakes her head, expelling the thoughts. She'll remedy it. She'll make her own opportunities.
"Earth to Petra." Nifa clicks her fingers in front of her face. "You zoned out. You alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine."
Three pairs of eyes stare at her quizzically. "I asked you what you're planning on doing now, Petra." Rico says. "A while ago."
Petra pokes her tongue out at her. "The school. That's what my focus is on right now."
The girls exchange looks among themselves. Finally, Rico's the one to speak, pushing her glasses up her nose. "What about after the school?"
There's another unspoken question under there; what happens after it goes down?
But Petra won't let that happen. She won't let her school, her mother's pride and joy, go down.
"I'll pull it back on its feet." Petra says firmly. "You know I will. In fact," She checks her phone time. "I have a lesson soon. You know Holly always pulls up early."
"Ah, right. The little rascals." Nifa slides out of the chair to let her out. Grabbing her bag, Petra waves them goodbye.
"We got you, Pet!" Nanaba calls as she barrels through the cafe door. "Always!"
She thanks whatever entity up there that she ended up with such amazing friends.
The faded letters of CRC DANCE welcome Petra as she pulls into the empty parking lot, as familiar to her as the back of her hand. Underneath the sign, there used to be smaller, curled script saying Cara Ral-Conner Dance, but it had long been worn away by rain and disrepair.
She slides her key into the lock and jiggles it open- that needs to be repaired too- and steps into the reception, breathing in the smell of lacquered wood and resin and hairspray. If she strains her ears she can almost hear the laughter, the moving feet of a whole gaggle of little girls, her mother's calm voice ringing over the music. It's been a long time since the studio was filled with that many students. They all seemed to leave with her mother.
The laughter is still there though, occasionally and in small doses, but it still brightens her day. The many elegant dancers on the wall seem to wink at her as she heads towards the main studio. There used to be two others, with multiple lessons going on at once, but as the school slowly slid downhill with less and less students to accommodate them, they grew into storerooms for years worth of costumes and props. And a few old pieces of furniture and boxes of junk Petra didn't need when she moved into her new apartment.
She sets her bag down by the door, plugging her phone into the speaker and setting it to her dance playlist. Her students and their parents should be here soon for their jazz class. While she waits, she dusts down the mirrors and scrubs the bar until it shines. Maybe it's her imagination, but the whole place seems to brighten.
"Miss Petra!" Little Holly's voice carries from the reception to the studio. Petra grins to herself as Holly sprints inside, her mother following closely behind. She throws herself onto Petra's legs, wrapping her arms around her waist.
"Hello, little fairy!" Petra laughs. She detaches herself to hug Holly's mother, Allison.
Allison whispers in her ear. "How are you doing, dear?"
Allison Stienfield had been a long-time parent helper to CRC Dance, long before her mother passed. Petra remembers taking classes with Holly's older sister and helping teach her brother. After her mother passed, Allison still kept bringing Holly to lessons, supporting and trusting in Petra; it was for Petra's sake as much as it was for Holly's. She's been a constant in Petra's life since she can remember, the one little normal part that is always there for her to lean on, and she is one of the people Petra is most thankful for in her life.
Always looking out for her. Petra smiles and tells her she's doing alright to ease her worries. Holly kicks off her trainors and pull on her jazz shoes, hanging off the bar excitedly. "When are we starting, Miss Petra?"
"Soon, Holly. The other girls should be coming now. Why don't you start with some of the bar exercises?"
"Okay!" She swings herself around onto the right side while Allison insists that Petra catch her up with her life.
The reception door creaks open again and the laughter of a few other little girls and their mothers spills into the studio. Seeing their bright smiles, pinned hair and shiny shoes used to fill Petra with so much energy, but she feels drained. Uninspired. Whatever excited mood her friends had put her in, it's gone now, replaced by a heavy lead ball that drags her enthusiasm to the dust.
She tries hard to not let it show. She keeps her voice light, her movements free, and tries hard to run them through different exercises they haven't tried before. Work hard. Work hard for what you want.
These girls deserve the best she can give, but her best is lackluster, subpar, ordinary.
Where has the enthusiasm and passion gone?
She feels so awful about the quality of the lesson that she refuses payment when she's done. She'll survive this week. Their protests fall on deaf ears as she all but shoves them out the door, unable to stand the pity in their eyes. Allison and Holly follow out last. Allison pats Holly's head and murmurs for her to wait in the car for a few minutes. She waits until she sees Holly climb inside the car to speak.
"Petra," Allison starts, and Petra inwardly cringes at the pity in her tone. "Sweetheart. I wanted to talk to you about the school."
She doesn't reply. She has nothing to say.
"I know it's been hard for you. You grew up here. This is your home," She pauses delicately. "And you've been trying so hard to keep it on its feet."
Not hard enough, Petra thinks bitterly, if today's lesson is anything to go by.
"Petra. I don't think this school is what you want to do with your life. I know you. I know when you're excited to do something. That spirit? It's not in your teaching."
"That's...temporary. It's just a setback. I'll be the same soon, Allison-"
"You haven't been the same for years. Even before Cara passed." Sighing, she reaches out and grabs Petra by the shoulders. "I think you need to start thinking about closing the school down."
The words pierce her through her heart like hot knives. In the back of her mind, she always knew it was the most sensible option. She could sell the studio for a good price. After her mother died, the lease was transferred to Petra and her father. Her father would be disappointed, but he'd understand. And Petra...the money she could make from selling it would be enough to get herself onto her feet. She could afford to take a university course. Go to college. She could safely stow it away in the bank for her first proper house or an investment. A good fallback plan.
An image in her mind. An old memory. Her mom, ushering in students into their living room. She'd cleared out the space by shoving all the furniture into the garage. She'd advertised by printing out posters at the library and tacking them up over town. She'd played the music out of their broken little CD player. After the first few months, she'd saved enough to hire a church hall, once a week.
She'd sweated and cried for what she had now. She'd been so ecstatic to finally be able to afford a run-down, empty store building. Petra spent hours painting with her parents. Scrubbing mirrors until they shone. Polishing floors, stitching costumes. Dancing every day and night. Her mom, laughing, crying, praising her when she won her first competition.
This dusty studio was her mom's proudest achievement. If she could see it now, she would weep.
Petra had already disappointed her memory when she ruined her dancing career. She will not let herself ruin this for her too.
"No." Petra says firmly. "Allison, you know as well as I do that this was her dream. I'm not going to let it fail by not bringing my best. I'll bring it back."
"If it's not what you want to do-"
"It is."
As she says the words, something in her pulls back. Running a dance school seemed so much easier when she was younger. Now she knows it's much more than choreographing dances and teaching classes and applying stage makeup. It's countless hours spent over account ledgers. Negotiating prices. Organizing costume hire for dozens of students for recitals. Calling in assessors for exams. Hiring different teachers. The list goes on and on. Her mom made it so much simpler. That all costs money she doesn't have.
She wants to dance. She wants to dance and choreograph, and choreographing for little girl's recitals doesn't invigorate her like it used to. But that's not an option for her anymore; she always knew a career like that wouldn't be long term, so she'll settle for the next best thing.
"It is." She repeats, trying to make herself believe it. "I'll save up everything I can to invest in this school again. I'll make it proud. It'll take me a while, but I know I can. I'll make this a school that you'll be proud to bring Holly too."
"Oh, sweetheart." Allison's face crumples. She folds her arms around Petra, pulling her in for a hug. "I know you can. I'm so proud of who you've become."
As she pulls back, there's tears in her eyes. "Petra," She starts, and Petra knows that voice.
"We're moving out of the city. Grant got a new promotion. Holly and I won't be able to come to lessons anymore."
"I'm happy for you!" Petra says. She really is, but there are tears in her eyes. Allison wipes them away.
"I'm sorry, dear."
"No, no! Don't be. It's- it's good! Congratulations!"
It's a tearful goodbye. Petra drags Holly out of the car to hug her, her arms so tight she's worried that Holly can't breathe. She hugs them over and over again, whispering so many thanks to Allison for all she's done over the years and giving Holly little dance tips for when she starts lessons in her new home. She stands and waves in the car park long after their car has driven away, and sits in her own for even longer, her forehead pressed against the wheel.
Eventually, she finds it in herself to pull out and get home. Like the studio, Allison was a constant in her life. She tries hard not to think about the studio disappearing too.
The next morning, she just wants to stay in bed and flop around her apartment all day, but she has a full shift at work so she pulls herself up with a sigh. Her feet drag more than usual, her hair needs to be washed, and she hasn't opened her bedroom curtains in weeks.
God. She needs to get herself together.
She makes sure to tidy everything up as best she can, leaving the dishes to soak and gathering up all the old take-out boxes. She'll cook her own dinner tonight, she decides. It's small, but it's a start.
Per her daily routine, she checks her email, messages and texts. Checking her email is always slightly sour, but it has to be done. Rico always shoots over whatever assignment she's been working on for feedback.
Her laptop takes a minute to load, and then her inbox lights up the page. There's a new email at the top, from an unfamiliar sender. It takes her a second to register the subject; DANCING WITH THE STARS INTEREST.
Her heart stills slightly. Don't get ahead of yourself. It could be anything. Hesitantly, she opens it.
Dear Miss Petra Ral,
My name is Celeste Fisher. I am one of the executive producers for this year's season of Dancing With The Stars.
We have been looking for suitable dance partners for this year's celebrity cast. Our dance partners are award-winning, accomplished ballroom dancers who can be relied on to craft eye-catching routines to be televised. After careful consideration and countless shortlists, we would love to invite you to be a dance partner for this year's season.
Please note that this job requires great commitment, availability and reliability.
If you would like to accept, I would love to meet you in person. If you are not interested, please let me know as soon as possible.
I look forward to hear your reply.
Kind regards,
Celeste Fisher
Goldgate Studios
She blinks. Once. Twice. Her eyes scans over the email again, searching for the part where it says in big letters GOT YOU! There's none. Quickly, before she passes out from shock, she puts through the email and name through her search bar. Sure enough, Celeste Fisher pops up on a pretty impressive list of television credentials, including the past few seasons of Dancing With The Stars.
No. Way.
She inhales deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth.
And screams.
Hanji Zoe sits in a very plush, luxurious waiting room. The couches probably cost thousands each, and should most definitely not be used for propping muddy shoes up, but she figures that any complaints Robert has can be countered with that they're going to make enough to buy him new ones.
Also, he's kept her waiting for a while. She deserves to rest her tired feet.
"Hanji, how are you? Good, good. That's good to hear." Robert Dune bursts in, his eyes on the sheaf of papers in his hands, a folder tucked under his arm. Hanji snorts. Robert Dune, long time manager of No-Name, has no time for useless words. Always busy.
"So- oi, get your dirty feet off my couch!"
Well, unless it concerns his money.
He shoves her legs off onto the floor, grimacing at her shoes touching the pristine fluffy carpet. It's leagues better than the couch, though, so he soldiers on. Maybe to get her out of his room as soon as possible. "I called you in today because I've got a very exciting opportunity for you."
"Oh?" Hanji leans her head in her hands, staring at him curiously. "What exciting opportunity could you have for little old me? The others aren't here, so I'm assuming it's meant to be a secret. Are you giving me my own solo already?"
"God, no. What would that be, an album long bassist track? Wouldn't sell anything." He spreads the sheaf of papers on the little cherrywood coffee table. "We got an offer. You know Dancing With The Stars?"
"Vaguely."
"Well, get better acquainted on it. They called me up wanting to know if any of you would be interested in being a celebrity dance partner. Do you know the publicity this would get you guys? Right before your first headlining tour, too! It's brilliant." He puffs himself up and adjusts his expensive jacket like he personally fought for this moment. Hanji frowns, pulling out a paper. "The season dates end just before we open. And it's intense rehearsal, every day. We can't rehearse for the tour and do this at the same time."
"Sure you can! You'll just need extra coffee. You're young with lots of energy. You'll be fine."
They clearly have very different versions of young, Hanji thinks in all of her nearing-thirty-glory.
A thought tugs at her mind. "Do they want me, or a member?"
Robert frowns, rifling through the various papers and scanning over one in particular. "Just asks for a member. I thought you would be the one who would be most up to it. You think Levi would want to dance?" He chuckles to himself.
Another thought occurs. A slow smile spreads across Hanji's face. Robert gulps nervously at her expression as she grabs the contract where it asks for the information of the participating celebrity.
"There we go." She slams down the full contract. She scribbles one thing in the celebrity terms and conditions column before she hands it off to Robert.
"Hanji, I am going to fucking kill you."
He really would have, if his hands closing around her throat was any indication. It's only Mike and Erwin holding him back that's keeping her alive right now. She leaps out of his reach and ducks behind Mike's drum kit.
Oh, even Mike's expensive, thousand dollar drum kit won't stop him from tearing her apart. He breaks free of their hands and charges straight for her. The jittery stagehands jump out of his way, and there's a strangled noise of her bass being tuned wrong and an amp tipping over. That's all background noise though. The only thing on his mind right now is the sweet, sweet feel of choking her into the floor.
"Levi!" Erwin shouts. "Calm down!"
His giant hands pull Levi back again, and he grins. "How would we play tonight if you murdered our bassist?"
"We'd turn on the backing track and make do." Levi growls. "How the fuck could you sign me up for a dance show without telling me?"
"Don't worry, Levi!" Hanji calls out from under Mike's cymbal. "I made sure to specify that they need to get you a dance partner who's shorter than you!"
Red tinges his vision again and he lunges for her. "If you think I'll spend months dancing while we need to be rehearsing, you're even crazier than I thought!"
"Levi! Look, Robert will be here soon. You can tell him to pull you out."
Yes. Yes, he's right. His anger diminishes slightly. "That's the smartest thing you've said all morning, Erwin." He relaxes his clenched fists, and goes over to where Hanji crouches, aiming a foot at her face. "Although I'm still going to beat the shit out of you, four-eyes."
"How original." Hanji rolls out from under the kit, avoiding his kick. Mike shoves both of them out of the way, grabbing his drumsticks. "Get to work, both of you." He says gruffly. Mike hardly ever speaks unless he needs to, or unless something is pissing him off. Levi's not even sure who's getting on his nerves this time.
Erwin nods in agreement. "You want to ruin the gig, Levi?"
Levi glares at the tall keyboard player. "Count yourself lucky that I'm pissed at Hanji, or I would've knocked your lights out by now."
"Charmed."
Gritting his teeth, he slings his guitar around his neck. He'll slit all their throats while they sleep tonight. Until then, he'll focus all his rage into his music. And when Robert arrives, he'll get this shit sorted.
The four piece band meticulously tune and warm up their instruments, ready for tonight's gig. Erwin and Mike murmer to each other, and Hanji stresses poor Moblit by misplacing the cables for her bass. Levi organises his gear himself, wiping down the neck and body to his guitar so hard he might wear a hole through the instrument.
Robert finally strolls onto the stage from the wings, speaking into his cellphone. "Yes. Yes, I told you, don't you listen? It's sorted and organised. Right. Alright, see ya." He jams his phone into his fancy suit pockets, beaming at them all. "Good evening, No-Name! Good to see you. Warming up, I see? Good. Make tonight a knock-out performance, you hear?"
"Robert, I don't know what bullshit Hanji's told you but you need to pull me out of that fucking dance show right now-"
"Oh." Robert blinks. "The show. It's already been finalised."
"You're kidding."
"I was just on the phone with one of the producers. The cast list is set and finalised. There's no backing out." Robert explains. It takes all of Levi's willpower not to use the extra guitar string to garrotte him.
"No." He says flatly. "There's no way I'm doing it. We have our first tour coming up for fucks sake. That's what we need to be rehearsing for."
"Actually," Erwin says, coming up behind Levi and resting a hand on his shoulder. "You wrote most of the songs for the set list yourself. You know them inside and out. We've been playing those songs since we banded."
"Not the new ones." He scowls, shrugging his hand off.
"Oh, come on." Robert interjects. There's more than enough time to practice four new songs. Levi, imagine the publicity this would bring you."
Publicity. Levi plays music for himself, and himself only. Publicity stunts were bullshit and had no place in his music. They never did, in the first place. But that was before he could've imagined making a living out of it. As much as he hates to admit it, he no longer plays just for himself. He plays for the band. He plays for their fans. He plays music for people who need it.
He grits his teeth. Thanks to Hanji, he's got no choice. So be it.
"Fine." Levi says finally. "Fine. I'll do it. But if I'm eliminated early, that's not my fucking problem."