Shaken by this

Anastasia James

For the last two days, my mind has been in a zone. I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been drinking coffee so as not to doze off in every corner I find myself in. It’s definitely not easy to move and adapt a choreography that is already done, but I’m doing my best.

I brought the coffee mug to my mouth for the last time, finishing the contents. As soon as I put it in the sink and turned around, my father came out of his room, still a little sleepy. He looked at me and arched his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re already awake!” He commented.

“Good morning to you too.” I laughed nasally and went across the apartment to get my shoes, which were on the doorstep.

“Yesterday you were up early too.” He narrowed his eyes, pointing at me. I smiled without showing my teeth and bent down to put on my sneakers. I haven't told him yet that I'm going to participate in a championship. “Where have you been going, huh?” I could feel his suspicious look on me, so I sighed.

“Dancing.” I said all at once and stood up, facing him. My father's eyes widened, and then he frowned, suspecting that maybe I was lying. “It's at a dance academy nearby.” I pointed to the door behind me, referring to Rachel’s. “You must know where it’s, since it's on the way to the grocery store.” I shrugged.

My father looked down at the floor, staring at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“So you’re back to ballet?” He looked at me, curious.

“Yes and no.” I grimaced as I imagined myself explaining the real story to him. “But don't worry about prices. I’m not paying anything for this.”

“You swear?” He seemed interested.

“Yes, Dad.” I laughed and hugged him sideways. “I’m going now, okay? See you later.” I kissed his cheek and walked out of the apartment.

I imagine how curious he must have been about my answer, but for now, I believe that's all the information he needs. In time, I can tell him about the championship and even introduce to the guys, but for the moment, just knowing where I go every morning is enough.

I regretted wearing these black leggings as soon as I set foot outside. Today's day was as hot as it could get, and there was barely a cool breeze to ease it, but I tried to ignore the situation and held on until I reached Rachel's.

It took about fifteen minutes, but when I finally stopped in front of the black-fronted townhouse, I took a deep and relieved breath. I looked around and noticed Johnny's car parked right in front, so I figured he had already arrived, so I pulled the glass door and entered the place.

Silence.

Literally no one was there, and no music was blaring, so I looked back to make sure Johnny wasn't in his truck. He wasn't. So I spun on my heels and headed for the practice room. Maybe he was there…

Unfortunately, as soon as I reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of the door, another surprise: it was locked. In other words, I can't even begin to rehearse my part because I don't have the key. I took a deep breath and turned around, determined to wait, sitting on the reception couch. But as soon as I did, I noticed that the door to a room – which normally lives locked – was half-open. I looked around and decided to get closer, after all, Johnny might be in there.

I pushed the door slowly and poked my head inside to see if he was really there. However, to my surprise and confusion, there was nothing but a few dusty cardboard boxes. Frustrated – and driven by curiosity – I entered the room and quickly scanned my eyes. It wasn't as big as the practice room, but it was clear that it had been used quite a bit, after all, the worn floors and the marks from what would have been mirrors were still there.

I walked over to one of the many boxes and looked inside. There were socks, sweatshirts, and… a painting. It was almost hidden, on the side of the box, but it didn’t go unnoticed by my eyes. I pulled it out very carefully and was surprised when I saw what was framed in it. It was nothing less than a certificate from the Anna Gruenwald Academy of Classical Ballet, congratulating Rachel Jones on her graduation. It also had a small picture of a ballerina, but I couldn't see her face very well because the angle and lighting didn't favor it.

I started to reflect a bit and realized that the owner of this certificate could be the same one who created the choreography that I’m adapting. Maybe she gave up on participating, just like the others, because of the outburst that everyone says Matthew had.

Well, I don't blame her, after all, nobody puts up with this guy, but why did she leave the studio for them to use?

“What are you doing here?” I was startled and turned around abruptly when I heard his voice.

Was I surprised? Yes, but not only because of his appearance. Since I have set foot in this place, this is the first time I have seen Matthew wearing something that did not cover him completely. The gray V-neck shirt perfectly shows off his tanned – and very well tattooed – skin. The mandala I saw on his hand the other day was just the tip of the 'iceberg' compared to all those draws covering his two arms.

“Aren't you going to answer?” He insisted, forcing me to look up again.

“I-I…”

I blinked a few times, trying to put my thoughts in order. I tried to justify myself, but stopped talking when he stomped hard towards me and snatched the painting out of my hands.

“You're too pigheaded.” He snorted, putting the painting away in another box.

“The door to the practice room is locked. I thought Johnny might be here with the keys.”

I shrugged, watching him. Matthew seems to have a very strong attachment to these things, for the care he took in guarding that painting, honestly. I doubt he treats any human being like that.

“In here?” He turned to me. “From the boxes, right?” He laughed and crossed his arms.

“I really came after Johnny.” I rolled my eyes.” I only looked at it because it caught my eye.” I shrugged. He was silent, analyzing my face, probably trying to find any trace of a lie.

“Don't ever go near those boxes again.” He said coldly, looking me in the eye.

I raised my eyebrows in disbelief at his attitude. Is he a maniac, or does he just have obsessive-compulsive disorder? Come on! Look at the storm he's making for nothing! I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and faced him again.

“Sorry for going through your precious boxes.” I raised my arms in surrender. “I'm going to leave you two alone.” I forced a smile and rolled my eyes, turning my back on Matt. I was about to leave the room when I heard his voice.

“You're finding this funny, aren't you?” He laughed breathlessly, so I turned around, confused.

“What are you talking about?” I frowned.

“I know, Anastasia.” He pointed at me, with narrowed eyes. “Don't think that I've accepted this bullshit role-playing to take orders or to satisfy your desires. I'm just swallowing all this for Johnny. He's been through a lot to make this dream come true, and I didn't think it was fair to give up halfway through.”

“You can stop right there.” I raised my right hand to him, displeased with what I was hearing. “First, I’m only “giving orders”, I made quotation marks with my fingers. “Because you didn't want to take responsibility.” I stared at him. “If you’re so sorry, do the honors. I don't care about that.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Matt laughed breathlessly, looking at me in disbelief. I took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “Just another spoiled brat who wants to have fun with something that's important to someone else, right?”

“What?” I raised my eyebrows. He can't be serious. “Do you know how hard I'm trying to…”

“To what? To gain recognition? Because nobody here is interested in fame.” He laughed in derision. “This championship is important, Anastasia. If you don't want to ruin everything, get out of here.”

I was speechless. Is this what he sees in me? Honestly, I thought of a thousand and one ways to answer him, but I concluded that there was no point.

“You know what?” I sighed. “You’re right.” I nodded. “I'm just a spoiled brat who wants to have fun. But I won't come out as the villain of the story, because at least I “didn't understand” the real value of the championship.” I made quotation marks with my hands again. “Now, you…” I laughed out loud. “Shame on you for knowing everything and making so little of your own team.” I smiled straight and watched him clench his fists. “You know, now I understand why Rachel quit. You’re insufferable and you’re always…”

“Shut up.” He cuts me off. “You'll never measure up to her, so don't talk like you know anything.”

“I'm leaving.” I shook my head negatively. “Good luck finding a dancer who understands.” I said and turned away, stepping hard out of the room.

My heart was beating fast, almost bursting out of my mouth, but I held on until I reached the door. I wanted to scream and cry, because I have a big defect of getting so angry that I’ll say a few good things, and then cry in the bedroom, sorry for what I said.

Matthew is a big, arrogant, heartless jerk. Even if he crawls at my feet, begging me to come back, I won't. Unfortunately, Johnny and Steph will end up being hurt by this, but I can't swallow it.

I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I didn't even see Johnny walking towards me. The only reason I didn't bump into him was because he stopped and stretched out his arms, immobilizing me in the same place. His gaze on me was so intense, as if he was reading my soul, that I couldn't maintain eye contact for long. I stared at my feet and broke free from his touch, leaving Rachel's without even looking back.

The warm breeze found my face, causing the lone tear that had run down it to dry immediately. I wiped my right hand over my cheek and took a deep breath, taking one last look at Rachel's, before making my way back home.

I won’t be shaken by this.