The dance team's practice room was much smaller than the formal dining room they used for tryouts, but it was more than big enough for two dancers. Alfred glanced around the room while Arthur set up the music. He wondered what the place had originally been built for. Given the age of Harvard's campus, it had probably been some sort of Victorian curiosity like a billiards room before it was converted into a dance studio.
The light wooden floor was covered with scuff marks, showing the age and long use of the room. Slightly darker baseboards covered the walls, though they had been replaced on one side with cheap floor-length mirrors. After a brief glance in the mirror and a failed attempt to pat down his hair, Alfred set his backpack next to the wall.
"You sure they're not gonna mind us borrowing the practice room?" he asked as he joined Arthur next to the only piece of furniture in the room—a small folding table that held an iPod dock and a cheap set of speakers. He glanced at Arthur's music list, but he didn't recognize any of the artists. They were probably old, obscure, foreign, or all three.
Arthur graced him with a bland shrug. "Whether they mind is beside the point. The room is available for any team member to practice."
Alfred frowned. "Uh… didn't they kick you off the team?"
"I was not kicked off the team," Arthur said, bristling at the comment. "I'm still doing the choreography for the waltz competition."
"Huh." Alfred arched an eyebrow. "So you're good enough to plan out the fancy footwork, but no one wants to partner up with you to show it off." He smirked. "I wonder why that is…"
"Well, I'm hoping it's because they don't recognize talent when they see it," Arthur replied with a challenging glint in his eyes. He turned and took a few steps to the center of the practice room, moving smoothly and gracefully with each step.
Having expected another insult, Alfred was surprised by the possible compliment. Did Arthur really think he was talented or was he just goading Alfred to get him to try harder? Either way, his comment worked. Feeling a little off balance, Alfred followed behind and self-consciously tried to mimic Arthur's nimble steps. He'd never really paid attention to how he moved before because finesse had never mattered when he was spinning his partner wildly through the polka. The polka was all about kinetic energy, not the elegant grace of ballroom dancing. Alfred wasn't sure he was ready for the switch.
"So… the waltz is a lot like polka, right?" he asked, feeling a little nervous to be learning a new dance with an extremely critical instructor. It was like singing in front of Simon Cowell or cooking with Gordon Ramsay or trying to deal with a brat in front of Jo Frost. The caustic comments were fun, but only when they were directed at someone else.
Oblivious to the unflattering mental comparison, Arthur shrugged as he turned to look at Alfred. "Only in the sense that they both rotate around the floor. Not that it matters. Neither of them is much like swing." He paused and narrowed his eyes at Alfred's look of confusion. "You didn't read the rules, did you?"
"What rules?"
Arthur sighed and touched his fingers to his temple. "This year's open competition is Lindy Hop. We pick the music and choreograph a three-minute dance. And by 'we,' I mean 'I.' It's open to everyone who isn't competing for a team, so I expect we'll see a wide range of skill levels."
"We're gonna Lindy?" Alfred perked up. That sounded way better than waltz.
Judging by the look on his face, Arthur didn't share his enthusiasm for the dance. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you'll like it. It's quite bouncy."
"Bouncy is good," Alfred replied cheerfully, bobbing his head approvingly. He tilted his head to the side as another thought occurred to him. "And they're cool with same-sex dance partners?"
"Of course." Arthur arched an eyebrow. "Do you really take me for someone who agrees to a dance competition without checking the rules first?" Unlike you, was the unspoken implication.
Alfred just laughed in response. He could tell already that Arthur was unlike anyone he had ever danced with before. Instead of letting the insults get to him, he would take them as a challenge. Beneath his easy-going veneer, Alfred was always ready for a good competition—even if his competitor was his own dance partner.
With the rules out of the way, Arthur began their first practice by demonstrating the basic step for East Coast Swing. Despite his own lack of familiarity with the dance, he was a good instructor. As Arthur showed off the moves, he explained that East Coast Swing was a version of Lindy Hop specifically designed for beginning dancers. Learning the basic moves would help them perfect the Lindy Hop.
Counting out the beats, Arthur danced three steps to the left in a quick triple step pattern, and then danced three steps to the right in another triple step pattern before ending on a rock step backward. As he demonstrated the moves again, he made sure that each step landed on a beat or a half beat—one and two, three and four, five, six. Arthur even made it a little easier for Alfred to understand by comparing the triple step, triple step combo to the basic polka steps.
Nodding along, Alfred mimicked the basic pattern and danced along with a bounce in his steps. He found the dance a bit easier than he had expected—especially since he didn't have to try so hard to keep his movements smooth and graceful. He continued practicing the basic pattern, taking care to stay on the beat.
Arthur watched him closely and nodded in satisfaction. "You're not as terrible as I feared."
"Wow. Much compliment. So praise," Alfred replied mockingly.
The Englishman's look of tolerable satisfaction morphed into a look of complete disapproval. "At least your dancing is better than your English."
"Dude, it's a meme. You know, the one with the cute dog giving you an annoyed look?"
Arthur stared at him blankly. With his earlier disapproval still on his face, he actually managed a relatively good impression of the doge meme, even though he had clearly never seen it before. Alfred snickered to himself.
"Moving on, we'll start without music first," Arthur declared as he offered his hand to Alfred. "And take off your shoes. I don't want you stepping on my feet."
Alfred kicked off his sneakers. He sent them flying across the room and grinned as they left scuff marks on the baseboards, earning him yet another look of disapproval. If only he could turn Arthur's sighs and annoyed looks into money, he would never have to worry about tuition payments ever again.
They moved into the closed dancing hold at the same time, bumping into each other's hands and arms as both tried to take the leading position. Alfred ended up with his right hand behind Arthur's shoulder blade and his other hand floating pointlessly in the air.
"Excuse me. What makes you think you're leading?" Arthur demanded. "I'm the only one of us who actually knows the dance."
"So you should do the harder moves!" Alfred retorted, feeling a surge of irritation. It was tricky enough learning a new dance without also having to reorient his position.
"Following isn't hard. You just do the same thing but backwards."
"Well, if it's so easy, you should try it."
They spent another moment glaring at each other as neither budged position. It looked like their dance partnership would collapse before they even had a chance to start. They would never win the competition if they couldn't even decide on a follow and a lead.
Alfred took a deep breath and tried to explain why having him lead was the only logical choice. "I'm taller than you," he pointed out.
"By about two centimeters!"
"And I can also do this." Alfred placed his hands on either side of Arthur's waist and lifted the lean Englishman off the floor. As Arthur sputtered indignantly, Alfred spun him a quarter turn and deposited him lightly on his feet. "Can you do that?"
"I could if you weren't so fat," Arthur retorted.
"Hey, I'm not fat!" Alfred protested. "Does this look like fat to you?" He lifted up his shirt to show off his lean stomach muscles. Sure, they had a tendency to get a little pudgy over the winter, but he had spent weeks getting them back into shape for spring.
His demonstration worked. Arthur stared at his abs a moment longer than necessary and took his own deep breath. "Alright, fine. I'll let you lead for this practice, but we're splitting the lead for the actual competition."
"Great!" Alfred celebrated by lifting Arthur into the air again and spinning him around in a full turn. He did it mostly to show that he could.
"Stop that!" Arthur snapped.
"You don't like being spun. You don't like being lifted. Is there anything you like?"
"I have nothing against spins or lifts when they're moves I've choreographed," Arthur replied, as he begrudgingly shifted into a closed position with his left hand on Alfred's shoulder and his right hand holding Alfred's hand. "But you're just doing it to be annoying."
"I can't help it. You're so easy to annoy!" Alfred teased.
Arthur gave him an unimpressed look and promptly began back-leading him into the basic steps of East Coast Swing. Alfred struggled to catch up and spent the next few moments thinking about his feet instead of trying to irritate his dance partner. After a few tries, he eventually got the pattern and they moved into a bouncy, gently rotating basic step.
As Alfred grew more confident in the beat, he began to see the allure of swing. Sure, it didn't require quite as much energy as polka, but it was still a fun dance.
"And now for the music," Arthur announced as they drew closer to the small folding table. He led himself out of closed position in a graceful swing and, still holding onto Alfred's hand, reached out with his other hand to hit play. Still moving with the beat, Arthur returned to the closed position as the sound of an old brass band filled the room.
Alfred snickered. "Wow, is this from the 50s?"
"1940, actually," Arthur calmly replied. "And I refuse to accept criticism from someone whose favorite dance is the polka."
Unable to come up with a good retort in time, Alfred settled for keeping time with the music and focusing on his dance steps. Despite the song's old-timey feel, he liked bouncing to the beat. For his part, Arthur seemed content to step smoothly and sedately. They probably looked like an odd pair—one bouncing along and the other gently gliding.
As the brassy swing music continued to play, Arthur showed him a few more moves—spins and turns and Charleston kicks. After just a few more songs, Alfred was already building up a sweat, while Arthur still looked fresh and pristine.
"You're not tired already, are you?" Arthur asked with a smirk.
"Of course not!" Alfred insisted.
They danced for another forty minutes as Arthur showed him progressively more difficult moves, including the basic Lindy Hop steps. Unlike East Coast Swing, it followed an eight-count pattern with a rock step, triple step, rock step, triple step. The six counts and eight counts got mixed up in Alfred's head as he struggled to keep track of his footing.
Arthur snapped at him when he missed the beat, throwing him off beat and making him lose track of the music completely.
As yet another fast-paced swing song finally ended, Alfred let go of Arthur's hand and sagged against the wall. He caught his breath as he used the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Alright, I'm done. I've lost all ability to can."
"So soon?" Arthur smirked as he turned off the music. "Well, don't feel too bad. My previous partner only lasted ten minutes. And the one before that burst into tears."
Alfred frowned. "At your comments or at the dancing?"
"Both probably. Here's some advice: don't bounce around quite so much and you'll be fine." Arthur packed away his iPod and turned to leave. "See you on Thursday," he said calmly as he left Alfred alone in the practice room.
Feeling like he had run half a marathon, Alfred slowly walked over to his shoes. He sagged to the floor and pulled them back on. As he waited another minute for his heart rate to return to normal, he wondered what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.
