I do not own Dirty Dancing.

Chapter Two

POV Penny

The Evening

"One, two, three, four, stomp those Grapes, and stomp some more!" I shout to the room, teaching the Merengue basic, "One, two, three, four, listen to the music! One, two, three, four, dry your caboose, and shake it loose! One, two, three, four, stomp those Grapes!"

Cheerfully, I prance around the room in excitement, watching my pupils. One of them was a teenage girl with curly hair, maybe two years younger than me at most. The Houseman girl, I remember, her Father had introduced his family at the beginning of the lesson. She looked completely lost, eyes searching for some hint of what to do inside her cloud of confusion.

Pulling my thoughts back to the rest of the room, I call out another direction, "Now, come on, men, follow me into a Round Robin! Ladies, the inner circle!" I shout, joining the head of the line of men.

I have to keep from laughing when I see how robotic their motions are, clumsy, slow, and off beat. They didn't understand that you didn't just dance with your feet, but with your whole body. I break away from the men to advise the woman, and in an encouraging tone, say, "Aww, come on, ladies! God wouldn't have given you maracas if he didn't want you to shake 'em!" Laughing, I shook my torso to the music.

"Okay now, ladies!" I exclaimed, gripping the hemline of my res dress. "When I say stop, you're gonna find the man of your dreams," I wait a few seconds, and... "Stop!" I shout, cutting through the line of women to take Doctor Houseman's hand, and pulled him into the frame. When I see that Baby almost ended up with her Father, and because of me ended up dancing with Mrs. Schumacher, I feel a little apologetic, but I don't let it phase me while I smiled up at Doctor Houseman, saying, "Now remember, he's the boss on the dance floor, if nowhere else,"

That evening, I found Johnny at the doors to the ballroom, in his traditional black tux. The only variety with that tux came in the tie, be it a bowtie, like tonight, or traditional. Remembering the disappointment of our last performance, I complain, "I hope we at least get to finish this time. And I wish he'd let us play some fun music. Not this stuffy old orchestral music,"

"Didn't the Rockettes dance to classical music?"

"We got to have fun too," I mutter, to which Johnny laughed as he lead me to the center of the ballroom.

"Just be glad they don't make us Polka," He said under his breath, making me laugh, having heard this line before, about how Polka shouldn't have even qualified as music, not even to begin with dancing to it. "God, that stuff makes my ears bleed," He complained, eliciting another laugh from me. Johnny waved a hand in the air, not very high, but far enough up that Tito could see it.

I twirled the second the music came on my motions fluid as I change effortlessly into a forwards dip and another turn. In less than a second, Johnny threw my hands into the air and dipped me back. Each step was precise, natural as a reflex.

Next came the Swivel Step, followed by two Underarm Turns, one for each of us. Johnny and I loop around the area, and I turn again. Soon after that were the matched arm styling, one of my favorite parts, and then we charge down opposite ends of the cleared floor, meeting in the center. We turn in synchrony, coming back into the frame.

At his cue, there is another Underarm Turn, and a kick that rivaled my fellow Rockettes while he dipped me back. While holding the frame, we do the splits, rising up on our toes and into a Spot Turn, then several more turns leading into our Copa. I turn again and again, then Johnny turns twice. Together we side step across the floor, his hand on my hip. I kick high into the air, Johnny copying my motions less than a beat behind me, even as I raise up on my toes, his motions followed identically behind mine.

Then came the Sombrero, my hand on his shoulder, three steps back, two foreword, two back, and then into the basic. In constant motion, I twirl with Johnny.

Then it all slowed to a crawl, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders, foot swirling in the air sensually. All of a sudden my leg is on top of his shoulder, arm holding me steady when every muscle in my torso relaxed, falling back into a dip. Johnny dragged me across the floor, motions swift.

When I sit up, all the blood rushed from my head, and I felt dizzy, but I must keep going. I have to. Johnny dropped my leg and spun me out, doing nothing to help my dizziness. Smiling coyly, I ran for him, skipping into his arms, to be tossed into the air with a feeling of rapture, even while he caught me, and bent so my torso was parallel to the floor. The crowd gasped and cheered, but I cared nothing for them, not when the first thing I see after the lift is Max Kellerman telling us to quit showing off.

So I stop. I walk away from Johnny and take a partner from the crowd. Because what else was there for me to do?

"This is stupid," Johnny complained under his breath while we watched the Houseman girl get sawed in half by the Magician. Last year, I'd had to do it. Trust me, I was none too excited to be stuck watching these cliche, cheap parlor tricks.

"Just shut up and watch," I muttered fiercely, "Maybe then we can get out of here faster," The crowd laughed like this was funny, and it always was until you were the one in the box. All I could do right now was pity the girl for our shared misfortune.

"This'll only hurt for a minute," The Magician told her, beaming at his latest captive, "You've got Blue Cross, right?" In a flash, he and Stan pulled the two boxes apart. "Is that good for you?" He asked the girl covertly. The audience broke into applause, the box was latched together again, and the humiliated victim released.

Before she could flee from the stage, Stan caught her with the white chicken, and passed it to her, "And for being such a good sport, here you go," Stan laughed sardonically as the girl recoiled and hurried offstage, unlikely to agree to such a thing again.

Back in my cabin, end of the day. Like any other. I was dead on my feet, and said appendages ached with every step, begging to just collapse on my bed and not even bother to change. The only odd thing today had been Johnny dancing with the Houseman girl, something oddly out of character for him. Whenever Johnny was given a choice, he avoided guests like the plague.

And then I saw the white stick on my nightstand.

I'd left it there this evening, before going to the party. I hadn't had the time to look before meeting Johnny. My whole life's balance hung on what this little white stick said, weather or not I was pregnant. I'd completely forgotten about it with the events of tonight.

I swallowed, my fear enveloping me. Taking the stick in my hand, I turn it over, terrified of the result.

Positive.