Chapter Two
He barely noticed that it was getting dark as he flew towards the beacon of light, hope burning in his heart. Why did that little building seem to remain so far out of his reach…?
The music abruptly stopped, and his heart thudded simultaneously against his ribcage as he looked up, disbelieving at his misfortune. Just a few more meters to that wooden gate, peeling with worn but oddly cheerful (and misplaced) yellow paint, and he would have made it.
After a while, a few people appeared from behind the door, moving leisurely down the steps and out of the gate, their handbags under their arms as their heels clicked on the pebbles on the path. They were mostly women, laughing and chattering; wiping their brows with towels and joking about what sounded like cabbages, husbands and other matters.
Wait. The class might have ended, but I can still go and ask if they have another! Or maybe I'll just get a private tutor so that all I need is one lesson and then I'll be set!
With that thought, he began walking once more, covering the last lap to the building, wondering absentmindedly how much he could afford to spend on this, when he heard the whine of the gate as it swung open. Shocked, he glanced up, and anything he might have reacted with died on his lips as he saw just whom it was standing before him.
It took another good minute before he could even utter a single syllable.
"FOX?!"
And then he noticed that it was a woman. A woman who, by all sane and logical reasoning, had the right to look at him strangely as if he were a deranged madman, as she was doing so now.
She was tall, just slightly shorter than him, with features so identical to the captain of the Shohoku basketball team that if not for the slightly wavy black hair that fell to her shoulders, the pink of her lip gloss, and the silver rings hanging from her ears, he would have confirmed to his horror that surely it was Rukawa Kaede standing there before him.
She was dressed in a pale yellow dress that ended at her knees, stylish white frills hemming the bottom, with a red sweater pulled loosely about her frame. On her feet were beige sandals, and seemingly as a final assurance that this was no ace basketball player, her toenails were painted. Red.
He realized he was still staring after she cleared her throat, and even then had trouble pulling his jaw back up from the ground when a soft, low voice that sounded like Rukawa's penetrated his hearing.
"What do you want?"
God. She even speaks like him.
Resisting the urge to rip the girl's sweater off and check to see if she was the Iceman himself in disguise (for surely he was being overly imaginative here, and would definitely get into trouble for molestation if he even laid a finger on her), he shut his mouth and smiled, if a little weakly, at her. Lined blue eyes, cool and narrowed, looked back unblinkingly at him.
I'm seeing things, I'm seeing things.
"Yes?" the question was more impatient now, and he felt the strings of reality tugging him out of the stupor he had fallen into. Blinking guiltily, he decided that it was the bad lighting, and a very unlikely coincidence. Only a coincidence, nothing more.
He suddenly remembered what he had come for. And flushed.
She crossed her arms tighter in front of her and shivered slightly, frowning at him. "Is. There. Something. You. Want. Sir?"
Hanamichi looked at her helplessly. What am I supposed to say? That I want to—no, need to—learn how to dance? How can I tell anyone that?! I'm a genius! I can figure out things like this by myself!
"I don't have all night, you know."
Turn around and walk away, turn around now, nothing's the matter…
"I need to learn how to dance," he blurted.
She raised an eyebrow at him. His cheeks burned even more as he studied the sidewalk, fighting the urge to run.
The reality of what he was doing suddenly sank in. He, Hanamichi Sakuragi, was at the doorstep of a recreation club in an unfamiliar neighborhood, telling a woman who looked exactly like Rukawa Kaede that he needed to learn how to dance.
Oh my god, oh my god, his mind babbled. Get out of here.
"Well, then. Come on in."
I need to go home, sleep it off, and when I wake up, everything will be fine, this will have been a dream, but then again, I really should do this, and then I won't have to worry about the prom, but I don't even have any money—wait, did she just ask me to go in?
"Do you need a guide to the door, too?" she interrupted quietly, and he would have missed the sarcasm if he had not caught the quick rolling of her eyes before she turned away. That spurred him into action, and he let out a booming laugh. "Of course not!"
She stepped aside and gestured politely enough for him to go first.
*** ***
The smiling middle-aged woman, short, plump, with curly brown hair pinned in a loose bun atop her head, made Hanamichi feel comfortable immediately.
"So, so. You want to learn ballroom dancing?"
He ducked his head, and grinned sheepishly, suddenly shy. "Uh, well—I mean—um, well…yea. I mean, I do."
Mrs. Takuhiro laughed. "It's unusual for teenaged boys to take an interest in something like this, that's all. Now, we offer group classes as well as private lessons. Group classes take place once a week, but we don't have a beginner's class going on right now, I'm afraid. Private lessons will cost you a bit more, about fifty dollars per lesson, but the advantage is that you get to choose when you learn, and what you learn. Does that sound good to you?"
He blinked. "Fifty dollars?"
She chuckled. "Well, it's not as though you won't get enough attention. A private lesson is just you, so the teacher focuses on you a lot more and teaches you a lot more. That's why it costs more."
"Oh." He slouched back into the chair.
"It'll be worth it," she persuaded teasingly. "Or you could just wait for the next group class starting in a month's time?"
A month's time! It'll be too late!
But if I just do this, then I'll go the prom and show them all what I'm capable of! Even Yohei won't be able to out-dance me!
He took a deep breath, then looked up at her and flashed a smile. "No, it's okay! I'll take the private lesson!"
It was only later, after he had filled out the forms and handed out—albeit reluctantly—a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet as a deposit for the first class that he booked for tomorrow, Saturday, that he realized he hadn't asked the studio mistress whom his teacher would be.
"Hmm," Mrs. Takuhiro eyed him. "For a boy of your height, there's really only one suitable person I can think of, and she just happens to be one of the best around. Besides, I think Ruiya's last batch of group classes ended today, and she doesn't have any other private student for at least the next week, so she'll be available."
"Not you?" the doubtfulness in his tone made her laugh again.
"No, not me," she replied, shaking her head slightly, mirth in her voice. "But at least you had a chance to meet Ruiya already, too."
"I did?"
Mrs. Takuhiro patted his back and smiled. "Why, yes! She's the one who brought you here!"
Oh no.
That woman does not like me!
He opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Takuhiro had already stood up and was heading for the door. He rose after her, determined to follow and request a change of teacher, but then he looked past her and saw who was standing in the doorway, lounging against the wall, looking coolly at him, and he bit his tongue.
"Ah, Ruiya! Hanamichi here will be under your charge as of tomorrow."
The girl didn't bat an eyelid. "That's…fine, Mrs. Takuhiro. I'll be leaving now."
The older woman smiled and waved her off. "Go, go. You must be tired after the class. Get some sleep."
Hanamichi tried not to watch as Ruiya turned in one fluid motion, and then strangely enough, seem to pause as if in hesitation. Then he blinked, and the moment was gone, as the young female dancer slipped quietly down the hallway.
*** ***
Stifling a yawn, Rukawa Kaede turned the key and moved quietly into the silent apartment. He dropped his weathered leather bag onto the couch and resisted the urge to follow suit, turning his steps towards the bathroom instead.
Stepping into the cubicle, he bent down and twisted the knob, plugging in the bath with his other hand as the warm water began to fill the tub. He rose and stretched, feeling the kinks in his neck and shoulders straighten out, before turning to the counter. As he reached for the bottle of nail polish remover, one silver earring banged lightly against his cheek.