So, my next chapter is up…and…well…read it…and…um…review and…review…and I will like…update sooner, so yeah.
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"We have to learn something new…" Jesse says, reading off the list.
We're sitting on the carpet of my dorm planning what we'll be doing for the contest. I've gone numb and am only capable of listening to him talk. "How about we learn how to dance?" he asks. I look at him. He's being serious.
"I don't think so," I manage to say a few seconds later, my voice finding courage.
"Well, what do you prefer then, juggling?" he asks sarcastically.
"Actually, I do," I say, picking up two apples from the fruit basket. "It's not so hard," I say, trying to shift them from hand to hand like I'd seen a clown do one time on television. I drop them both. I pick them up from the floor and try again. I drop them. "It might take some practice," I say. He looks up at me in a frightened sort of way, as though he thinks I might've snapped and gone completely mental.
I hand him two apples. "Well, go on, start practicing," I say. "We do want to win."
"Susannah," he says, giving me a frightened, semi-amused smile. "I don't think this is going to work, and anyway, you're going to ruin the apples," he says, putting his apples back into the fruit basket. I look down at him as though he had just ruined my dream, my life plan.
"I'm not dancing Jesse, it's so degrading," I say. "People are going to laugh at me."
"Do you have a better idea?" he asks me, raising his eyebrows.
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That is how we ended up in here, at Louis Dance Studios, signing up for, cry, Latin dancing. Why do we have to do a Latin dance piece, can't we learn something much more reserved, less touchy, like the hokey pokey?
WHY LATIN DANCING?
Today, as well as our sign up day, is also our first lesson. I hadn't thought of wearing a skirt, since I had no idea, but I managed to borrow a pair of high heels from the dance studio that I can barely walk in. I stumble onto the dance floor with Jesse just as our instructor comes towards us.
"My name is Boris and I vill be helpin' you," our instruction starts off. "OK, no time to vaste, go stend in ze middle," he commands. "Nov, I vant ye to hold 'er like zes, your arm arund 'er, don' be 'frade to touch 'er." He grabs Jesse's hand and puts it around my waist, then grabs the other and slams in down on my shoulder. "Nov you," he says, looking at me. He shoves me into Jesse until my chest is pressed against his--- even though he is much taller than me, the miracle shoes allow me to be almost head-to-head with him---chest. "You haf to be clozer to 'im, don' be 'frade, righ?" he gives me a smile.
"Right," I say.
My heart has gone mad. It has started to beat like crazy. I beg it to calm down otherwise Jesse will hear, but it won't listen; it has never been this close to a human boy before.
"Ok, nov, you mus' tek step back, dan to side…" Boris rattles out while he demonstrates. I try to follow what he does, but I can't move in the shoes and almost topple over backwards. Thankfully Jesse pulls me back up. "No, dis no righ, you look like big fish, you mus' move yer hips, yer hips not trees, they haf motion, you do motion," he says, taking my hips in both his hands and moving them from side to side, trying to reveal to me that my hips do, indeed, have motion.
We try again, I try to move my hips this time but end up tripping over my shoes again.
And again.
And again.
I even step on Jesse a few times. My dancing attempt makes me look as though I really have to go to the washroom.
"Yer posture is no good, you mus' stand straigh', no like chicken, you lady," he says, going into the back room. He comes back with a big piece of wood, which I think might have at one point been used as back support for people with back injuries. He puts the big wooden thing on me, tying it up in the front. "Nov, you haf good posture," he says.
Now, I think I'm going to die.
Jesse tries hard to keep himself from laughing. I hold onto him for dear life, the wooden thing is really heavy and I'm afraid of falling over backwards. "Zere, good, nice an' cloz," Boris says. I've never been so mortified in my life. Both my cheeks start a fire. I try looking away from Jesse's face, down at the floor, but the wood doesn't allow me to move my head.
I don't know even know where I'm moving my feet.
We start doing the steps again and I keep tripping over my feet, making a complete ass out of myself. "OK, nov," Boris says, looking extremely pained by our dancing. He stands back a bit, watching us. I think he's afraid to go near us, probably thinking he'll catch the I-can't-dance-for-my-life virus from us, or something. "You mus' bend 'er back backwards an' do circle motion wit 'er back," he says.
What? I'm not elastic band; you can't just bend me backwards whenever you feel like it.
I also happen to have wood on my back. Do I look like I can be bended backwards? I don't think so.
Boris seems to feel the same way because in a few seconds the wood comes off.
Still, there's no way you're bending me backwards.
Oh, it's not like Jesse doesn't try.
The first time he does, though, I almost fall over backwards. The second time I trip over his feet but manage to grab onto his shirt and prevent my falling on my face. The third time he tries to lower me down first then bend me backwards, but I end up almost falling sideways.
Boris shoves Jesse aside and grabs me, demonstrating what he means. He forcibly bends my back and twirls it around as though I'm a rag doll; my head flaps behind me like a sheet. He doesn't even look at me as he does it, but stares at Jesse as though he---our instructor---is possessed.
"You hold 'er tight, see?" he says. Jesse nods. We try it again. Jesse bends me more this time and I'm pushed much lower down. I lose my balance and grab onto Jesse's shirt. Jesse gets pulled down with me. My one leg is in the air. I'm falling. The hand of God grabs Jesse, who then manages to pull me back up, and I end up about a quarter of an inch from his face and from his…well his lips. I flush bright red. Jesse pulls back, apologizing, even though it was kind of my fault.
"Ok, zat is enuf fer today," Boris says disgustedly, then turns to me. "You mus' stand on wall four time a day and practice what I show. Good, you can go now," he says, giving us a smile.
I return the shoes.
As we exit the studio, Jesse says, "I'm sure we'll get better, we're just beginning."
"Uh huh," I say, unconvinced. "When it snows in Kenya."
Jesse gives me a piercing stare. "Don't be so pessimistic, Susannah," he says, opening the passenger-side door of his car for me. I get in.
I really need my own car.
Jesse continues to stare at me. "What?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest while slumping into the seat a bit. I look out the window, trying to avoid his gaze.
"You're going to need to get shoes," he says simply. "Preferably not as high as the ones you wore today."
"Yes, I know," I say, continuing to stare out the window. A sheep-shaped cloud whizzes by.
"Do you know that we have to have one of our lessons on tape?" he asks me.
No. I did not.
I sit up straight and look up at Jesse incredulously.
"You mean, people are actually going to see me trying to dance with a board on my back?" I ask him, my eyes widening.
He looks at me, smiling. "Yes, how else would the judges know that we weren't dancers beforehand if we don't show them how bad we were when we just started?"
"I don't care, Jesse. No one, and I mean no one, is going to see me trying to dance looking as though I'm dying to go to the washroom with…with a tree on my back," I retort, my voice rising up the octet.
"It doesn't look so bad," he says, though I can see him looking incredibly doubtful, as though he's trying to convince himself.
I slump back into the chair, fuming. "You know?" I say after a few seconds, "all of this is your fault, you're the one who chose to do this…to…to humiliate me in front of everyone. If it wasn't for you, I'd be learning something more practical, like how to paint walls."
Jesse ignores me. I continue to stare at the clouds. It's really hot in here. I take off my top shirt but it doesn't help. What do you want from me, body? I can't take off my tang-top, so you better deal with it. I open the window and stick out my head. Water…need some water…water, I start humming in my head. I'm heating up like a big piece of metal rotting in the sun.
Jesse sees me melting and says, "Do you want me to open the air conditioner?"
"Yes, that would be nice," I say, closing the window. The cool air rushes at me, bouncing off my skin. It's not helping. I look at the back seat. There's a whole collection of water bottles. I grab one, open the lid, and pour water down my face. Water goes down my shirt. The heat subsides.
Jesse looks at me as though I've just grown another head. "What are you doing?" he asks, raising his eyebrows in the way that says he thinks I'm a complete head case.
"I'm watering myself," I say, "really hot…"
I have stopped heating up. I drink some water.
Jesse just rolls his eyes upwards in a way that says: I will never understand you.
We arrive at my dorm building, or, our dorm building, or whatever. Apparently he lives there too.
I climb up the stairs and we part halfway up.
I open my dorm door and close it, shutting out all the rest of the world with relish. I have blisters on my feet. I'm going to have to get padded shoes.
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Monday. First day of week. Whole week to go. Lot's of Mr. Borcowitz to see. Lot's more fish to feed and papers to organize. Not that I hadn't been it doing it before, but somehow this reminds me that I still have a week or so to go.
After English I go into Sociology. Mr. Borcowitz says he wants to talk to me. He asks me why I wasn't organizing papers on Saturday, and, oops, hadn't come in early the next morning to do it. I told him that I came home really late on Saturday because I was helping to organize the Cancer Awareness Parade and was real tired in the morning and only woke up at three in the afternoon, so I just decided to stay double time---no I didn't---to organize the papers instead of going there twice. He said that that wasn't an excuse and told me to go sit down. I did as told, thankful that I didn't get another week.
I decide to listen really carefully today. Mr. B starts talking. Five minutes into his lecture he stops.
"Miss Simon?" Mr. B says. I look up from my paper, which I'm using in order to write down the stuff he says. "What is the role of a family?"
"Well, theoretically the role of a family is to provide stability, support and a sense of security, to encourage learning and serve as a communication circle. It is supposed to allow an individual to find their identity---"
"An amateur answer, one that is lacking in theory," Mr. B says, cutting me off, and then points to some guy who looks like he hasn't gotten a week's sleep.
"Um…they do things with each other…and…are there," the guy says, screwing up his face in concentration. I didn't know thinking could be so painful.
"You mean family members are always there for each other?" Mr. B asks. The guys nods and goes off to sleep. Mr. B continues, "yes, that's right, families try to provide a supportive hand when…" and begins a major lecture.
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I bought shoes. They're sitting in a little box in the corner. They're nice shoes, golden, with a one and a half inch heel, an open middle and a cone-shaped cut-out at the front that lets you stick out your toes.
We have dance four times a week. On Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.
I go to the corner, take them out and parade myself around the room. They're nice. It took me half an hour to pick them so they better be. I try to practice the move Boris was showing us the other day when I hear someone knocking. I try to pretend I'm not home. The knocking doesn't go away.
I open the door. It's some kid I don't know. He's about six feet tall, tanned, with curly brown hair and sea-blue eyes. He says, "Is Dana here?" I say, "no." He says, "Right then, do you know when she'll be back?" I say, "no." He says, "All right then, thanks, can you tell her that I'll come back later?" I nod. He says, "bye."
Then he leaves.
This guy isn't the same as the one I saw the other day who supposedly asked Dana out. What is this? How does Dana, who spends all her time studying, get two guys, while I can't even get one? Well, yes, I do have a date, but why can't I get someone decent? Like, someone who doesn't kill people.
When Dana comes back I ask her about it, leaving out the part about me dating a psychopath. She says the guy who came today is in her class; they're doing a project together.
I told her he'd be back later.
She walks to the door, saying it would be much easier if she just went down to his dorm now, and leaves. She comes back late.
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"No, you do wron' again," Boris says. "You mus' first move foot back, dan to side, not opposite." I'm getting really fed up. My feet are aching, my back is complaining, and my head hurts. Boris says I move like a duck. I say why doesn't he try dancing in high heels. That shuts him up for awhile.
"Suze, you beautiful girl, but you mus' do what I say, you can't invent new, is not dance," Boris says patiently.
"I'm trying," I tell him, forcing a smile. He moves away from me, horrified. I guess I'm real scary when I smile.
I accidentally step on Jesse again.
I think I'm really getting the hang of walking in high heels, I mean, I only stepped on Jesse about ten times, which is way better than two days before, when I stepped on him fifteen times.
After dance class I go over to Jesse's dorm so we can figure out what we should do for the next couple of things on the contest list.
"Ok," Jesse says, "do something nice for your community."
"I could volunteer somewhere," I suggest.
"How about we organize a fund raiser?" Jesse says, ignoring me.
"I guess that could work too," I say, dejected. "Fund raiser for what?" I ask.
"For sick children," he says. I nod. Good, let him do all the thinking. "We could make brochures and…" he goes on. I tune him out.
He says that we're going to be taping ourselves tomorrow. I pretend to be amused.
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Today all the guys were drooling because Ms. Palor wore a low cut blouse. Ms. Palor was teaching us about Freud and his theory of defense mechanisms.
"…displacement is the redirection of energy from a forbidden object to a more socially acceptable one. For example, an attraction to a married person may be displaced to some other activity, like playing a musical instrument…"
Example of displacement: Josh, who has a tendency to kill people, tries to displace that tempting activity to playing basketball instead, which is a more socially acceptable activity.
"…divided into three, the id, the ego, and the superego…most of the ego is visible…id is the pleasure principle…the superego is society's values…
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"No, you mus' go to side, not to imaginary derection," Boris says.
"I would if Jesse actually did something," I retort.
"So, now everything is my fault," Jesse says.
"Of course it is," I say. "You're not even holding me properly."
The camera rolls, catching not our dancing, but our dramatization.
We try again. The board pulls me backwards and I lose my balance. I try to grab onto something, I decide that Jesse's head will do. Jesse doesn't seem to think so and tries to unhook my fingers from around his head. I substitute, grabbing his shirt instead, but my fingers slip and I fall. I land on my ass for the seventh time now.
"You see, if he held me properly, I wouldn't be losing my balance," I say, frustrated.
"Well, if you weren't always stepping on my feet, maybe I would," Jesse retorts defensively.
"Well, maybe if you had smaller feet I wouldn't be stepping on them," I shout.
"Well, maybe if you could coordinate your movements I wouldn't need to have smaller feet."
"Well, maybe if…maybe if…" I run out of things to say. "Maybe if I had a nicer partner, I might actually try harder to coordinate my movements so I wouldn't have to step on his big feet and lose my balance," I say in one breath. "I mean, out of all people, why did I have to be partnered with you?" I say disgustedly. Jesse doesn't seem to know either because he doesn't say anything, which is good. I like silence.
Throughout the rest of our lesson I concentrate on trying to not step on him, or fall.
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"So, who's Josh?" Dana asks me as I walk into our dorm.
"What do you mean?" I ask her.
"A Josh came to our dorm, he wanted to give you this," she says, handing me my portable map.
"Oh," I say, completely unaware that I'd dropped it.
"Well?" she says. "Who is he?"
Sneaky Dana.
"Why are you so curious? He's just some guy," I say, giving her the same treatment I'd received when asking about her guy-date-friend.
"Did he ask you out?" She asks curiously, an amused expression on her face.
"Maybe," I say evasively.
"Did you maybe say yes?" she asks smilingly.
"I maybe said yes," I reply, turning sideways to look at her. "What about you and your mystery guy? What's going on in that department?"
"Oh nothing, I hadn't seen him for a while," she says. I have no way of knowing if this is true or not, but I have no evidence proving otherwise.
"Maybe he couldn't live without you and jumped off a bridge," I say jokingly. Dana smiles.
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Gabrielle comes to visit me on Friday. I tell her that I'm progressing on the convincing-that-Josh-is-guilty-of-killing-her-and-finding-evidence thing when I hear someone knocking on the door. Gabrielle dematerializes as I open it.
"Hi," Jesse says, looking around curiously.
I don't say anything.
"To whom were you talking to just now?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.
"My friend," I reply. He looks around again, raising his eyebrows and giving me a quizzical look. "Well, she just left," I say curtly, in reply to his confused expression.
"Oh, and I suppose she exited through the secret door in the washroom," he says jokingly.
"Ha ha," I say dryly. I look around and, "she went out the window," comes out off the top of my head. Well what? I couldn't think of anything else, plus that would be the only alternate route to take.
"Yes, of course," Jesse says, as though he thinks it's a valid and an everyday normal answer, like, who doesn't exit through windows? He cocks his head to one side, examining me. You could see he thinks that I'm just a little unhinged, or, like that song, unwell. Maybe he assumes that the pressure of everything is finally getting to me.
"Well…she's a mountain climber," I add quickly. "She says it's good practice," I say, my voice squeaking. What does he think, that I'm imagining her? That she doesn't exist? Well…in a way she really doesn't…but…
"OK," he says, looking a bit frightened. "I…are we going?"
Out of momentary stupidity I go, "Where?" Even though I am fully dressed in my skirt and dance shoes.
"To dance class," he says, looking at me as though questioning my sanity.
"Ok, right," I say, walking out of my dorm and closing the door behind me.
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