DANCE OR DIE: Two Guys, One Girl. No Voice. No Choice.

by A. E. Murphy

  What the fuck kind of pep talk is this?

  He points at me. “Same goes for you. They are yours to protect. Their bodies are yours, nobody else’s. If something happens to their bodies while you are handling them, it is on you.”

  I give him a salute and watch as he manhandles Carter into position in front of me. Then he pulls Presley to the side, creating a triangle.

  “Hold each other’s arms.”

  Man, this fucking sucks.

  I raise my hands, and after a moment of bitter longing shared between us, we grip each other’s forearms and await instruction.

  “Promise each other that everything you want to do to each other out there, stays out there.”

  I laugh humorlessly. “You expect me to take them at their word?” My eyes don’t leave Carter’s.

  “You were right when you said trust is everything. Trust is everything. You’ve got to have faith in each other.” He slaps both of them on the back as he circles like a painful game of duck, duck, goose. Then he yanks on my ponytail gently. “Promise each other.”

  I glare at Presley and say, “I promise I won’t hurt your body during dance class.”

  “I promise I won’t hurt yours during dance class,” Presley responds and Carter mutters his confirmation.

  “Good. That’ll do.”

  We all separate once more and I go back to stretching, purely so I have something to do.

  “Now, let’s show each other what we can do.” He nods at the boys. “You go first.”

  “I’m not dancing for her,” Presley grumbles.

  I roll my eyes. “You’re such a child.”

  “My dad still isn’t working because of you!”

  “Then maybe he should have been better at his job!”

  Presley takes three strides in my direction. “Talk about my dad again.”

  “ENOUGH!” Hammond booms, looking between us both. “Presley, Carter… dance.”

  Presley, with his expression still twisted, shakes his head. “You know what? Forget it. I’m not doing this. Give the spot to Lame and Lamer… I’m done.” He turns on his heel and heads towards the door he just entered through. “It’s not like I’ll be able to go to college anyway because of that fucking whore.”

  “Whiney little pussy-ass bitch,” I call after him.

  Carter chases his friend, protesting and telling him to come back. Their voices fade when the doors close.

  Hammond curses under his breath and props his hands on his hips. He worries his lip as we both stare at the door they just exited through.

  “What happened between you all to make them hate you this much?”

  “I kind of ran away from my foster blocks and they put out a missing person thing. The cops were supposed to just locate me so my foster block could talk me round but Officer Myers decided to tackle me to the ground, fuck up my face, handcuff me and twist my arms up my back until they felt like they were going to snap.”

  His head whips round as I’m speaking and his jaw hits the dance floor. “You’re kidding?”

  I shake my head. “He got suspended I think. I don’t know much else about it.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it, it was a long time coming. That man is a violent asshole and always has been. But you didn’t hear it from me.” He rubs his face with his hands. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree in Presley’s case. Shame. That kid was going places.”

  We fall into an awkward, sad silence.

  Then I go to leave but he gives me an incredulous look. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I—”

  “Just because they aren’t here doesn’t mean you’re not being trained.” He moves to the speaker on a shelf by the door and presses play, tweaking the volume so it’s not too loud. “Show me what you’ve got. Do you have anything choreographed? I mean, I loved your raw dancing but I want to see what you can do that’s practiced.”

  “I have one thing, I guess,” I murmur, scuffing my sneaker on the ground. “But it requires a certain song.”

  “What song?” he asks, pulling out his phone and stopping the current playlist.

  “Ilomilo, Billie Eilish.”

  “Don’t think I’ve heard that one,” he mutters and searches for it. “Found it I think.”

  I move to the middle of the room, feeling stupid and vulnerable. I’ve never danced for anyone before like this. I mean, I did a little bit for Alice the other day but it was just simple shuffling, I was just fooling around.

  I blow out a breath. “I feel stupid.”

  “Don’t feel stupid, feel the music. Show me what you’ve got.”

  He presses play and for the first few seconds I freeze, feeling my hands shake and my heart stutter.

  “Can we dim the lights, maybe?” I look at the bright white strip lights overhead. “Is that possible?”

  He stops the song and moves to the many switches on the wall, twisting them until there’s only a low glow illuminating the space. “Ready now?”

  I nod and the music starts again.

  Shaking my limbs and my head, I start when she starts to sing.

  “I told you not to worry…”

  When I first did this dance, I imagined myself to be a broken puppet without strings, one minute fluid and falling, the next being jerked around. My body reenacts the dance I know, improvising slightly here and there. I forget that I’m being watched, I forget my nerves, my body takes over.

  The music plays its quirky and unique beat and my body moves and jerks to it, like I have hinges not joints, like I’m metal, not flesh, but then I’m water, slick and fast flowing, only to be contained back in a tin can again.

  I keep going and going, closing my eyes and losing everything about me as I pour out my feelings into this one dance.

  Then the music stops and there’s only silence.

  I open my eyes, my breathing heavy but otherwise okay.

  “Fucking hell,” Carter mumbles, having come in at some point during the dance. His brown eyes are on me and he looks perplexed and awestruck. It’s the first time since meeting him I’ve found him attractive. Nobody has ever looked at me this way before. Nobody my age anyway.

  “Believe me now?” Hammond asks and Carter looks away. “Where’s Presley?”

  “He’s not coming.”

  Hammond sighs heavily and then shrugs his shoulder. “He’ll be back. Until then, both of you are going to work together.”

  I look at Carter who approaches me with determination in his stride. “You better not fuck this up for me,” he says, “it’s my only chance of getting out of Louisiana.”

  “Mine too,” I reply and we both look at Hammond who raises his hands.

  “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you make it big time. Okay?”

  “Then suffering her will be worth it,” Carter replies and I snort.

  “Shall I start baaaaing at you?” I ask sardonically. “Because you’re turning more and more into a sheep the more I get to know you.”

  “Don’t push me, little psycho.”

  “Then don’t form an opinion of me based on the fact your lover doesn’t like me for some stupid fucking reason.”

  “I’ve formed an opinion of you based on the fact you killed your fucking cousin when you were twelve.”

  Even Hammond freezes at that one.

  “That’s not…” I mutter, feeling my eyes burn with anger. “How did you—” It clicks into place and I seethe, “Presley. Son of a cop. Son of a fucking bitch.”

  Red mists across my vision and I storm out of the dance studio.

  I know he can’t be far because they are never far from each other.

  My feet are heavy on the ground as I race down the hall. I hear Hammond call my name.

  I spot Presley leaning against the side of a vending machine, talking to another student likely skipping class. She’s flipping her hair over her shoulder, an obvious display of flirting.

  His eyes widen when he see
s me and he doesn’t have time to react, I bring my fist up and throw it forward. I feel it connect with his jaw and he staggers to the left.

  The girl gasps and steps away, hands raised as she backs up, no longer in a flirtatious mood.

  “What the fuck?” Presley grits, rubbing his red jaw as I shake out my hand.

  “You’re telling people I killed my cousin?”

  He spits blood on the ground by my feet. “They deserve to know the monster they go to school with.”

  I guffaw, ready to hit him again but I stop myself and bare my teeth.

  “Did you check to see how I was released at fourteen when they found the actual killer and they confessed to the crime?”

  His smirk slowly fades.

  “He was killed by the School Sigil Searer,” I hiss, “I got sent down for two years, for a crime I never committed and still, to this fucking day, despite the fact it has never been public record, I’m being punished for it.”

  “I didn’t know,” he says, looking away. At least he seems ashamed of himself. “I’ll tell people it’s not true.”

  “Do you have any idea the kind of damage you could have done? Not just to me but to Stanley and Lane who are completely innocent in all this.”

  “I figured they knew and were helping you anyway.”

  “It wasn’t anyone’s fucking business to know, Presley.” I step towards him, shaking with rage. “If you ever talk about me again to anyone, I’ll do more than punch you in the mouth.”

  I hear him spit out more blood as I move past him, heading for the exit of the school, and for the rest of the day, I don’t go back.

  “I didn’t kill my cousin,” I say, coming face-to-face with Stanley who is as usual, covered in grease and paint.

  He looks at the clock on the wall and puts the wrench in his hand onto the tray beside him before standing to full height. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

  “That’s not really the important issue right now, is it, Stanley?” I snap and he wipes his hands on a cloth, remaining silent as I start to pace. “Look, I don’t know why I’m with you and Lane, I don’t know what you want, but so far you’ve been good to me and I don’t want my shitty past biting you both in the ass.”

  “We can hand—”

  “So I’m going to go home, pack my bag and leave.”

  He blinks twice, his face blank but his eyes vibrant with something I can’t place.

  “But I need cash. And I know you already gave me a hundred, and I promise I’ll pay you back. But if I stay, everybody is going to think you have a murderer living under your roof.” I can’t remember the last time I ranted like this to anyone. I don’t know why I’m doing it now. “So please, give me like five hundred dollars or whatever you have and I’ll go and you and Lane can get your home back and maybe you’ll get a sweet little five-year-old who you can love, and hug, and take to the fair and play with.”

  He doesn’t speak so I stop pacing and look at him. He’s not thumbing through his wallet. He’s not moving at all. He’s just watching and waiting.

  “Did you know I got sent down for murder? Did you know that?”

  “I did.”

  “But you know I’m innocent, right?”

  “I do.”

  “And you know I was institutionalized for being crazy.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you know that I wasn’t discharged lawfully but because my release was demanded?”

  “Yep. By me.”

  His words catch me off guard and I sag, all ranted out. “By you? Why?”

  His phone rings, breaking our eye contact. “It’s Lane. She probably just got the call that you’re not at school.” He puts it to his ear and immediately says, “She’s with me.” He looks at me warily. “I think she just needs reassurance that she’s not going anywhere.”

  His words make me still.

  “I love you too,” he says to Lane and hangs up the phone. “You busy?” he jests, smiling at me.

  I cross my arms over my chest and look at him flatly.

  “Come on, let’s teach you how to drive.”

  “You’re just going to ignore everything I just said?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You know… you’re rewarding my bad behavior here.”

  He chuckles and repeats, “Pretty much.” Then he leads me to his parked vehicle outside of the garage with a hand on my shoulder. It’s the first time I’ve let him touch me and haven’t felt threatened by it.

  “Can we talk?” Lane asks as I finish cleaning the dishes from breakfast.

  Damn. I was hoping for a drama-free morning before dealing with Carter and Presley. I knew she and Stanley wanted to talk, I could tell as they kept sharing looks at breakfast time. “Am I in trouble?”

  “No, no, not at all, you’ve been such a help.” Lane tightens her brown ponytail and smiles kindly.

  “Then…?” I prompt, looking at my foster blocks. “What’s wrong?”

  Stanley comes to stand beside Lane as he washes his hands at the sink and I dry mine on a kitchen towel.

  “We keep hearing your alarm go off every hour on the hour, every night,” Stanley says calmly and my spine stiffens.

  “So?”

  “I guess we’re just wondering why your alarm is going off every hour or so until you get up for school.”

  I look into his familiar dark blue eyes but when I can’t conjure an excuse I look away. “I’m going to be late.”

  “It’s not healthy, you’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t sleep well,” Lane tries.

  “My body, my choice,” I snap, feeling cornered.

  “We don’t want to see you hurt. Especially now that you’ve joined dance club. You need your rest.”

  My lips part. “How did you know that?”

  “I do your laundry; I found the uniform. Why didn’t you just tell us?”

  I raise my hands and let them slap my thighs. “I thought you’d think it was stupid or something.”

  “Why would we think that?”

  “I don’t know.” I edge towards the door, feeling mildly uncomfortable. “Can I go now?”

  Stanley nods. “Let me just grab my—”

  “No need, Alice is coming for me.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Lane says, sounding so happy and looking it too.

  Stanley looks surprisingly upset. What’s that all about? Still he manages a weak sounding, “Have fun.” Sensing his mood change too, Lane pats his arm.

  I puff out my cheeks, feeling a gnawing guilt churning my inside. I’m getting attached. I can’t get attached. They’ll be rid of me soon.

  I walk into the studio and throw my gym bag onto the ground under the table by the boys’ bags. The boys who are already here and warming up. They both look at my reflection in the mirror as I approach and say nothing as I take point beside them and start to stretch.

  “Morning,” Hammond calls as he crosses the room. He presses play on his phone and comes to stand behind us. “Let’s get the warm-ups out of the way so we can start with the real stuff.”

  The door opens again and a few other students enter, taking space against the far wall. They start doing stretches too.

  “Don’t look at them, they won’t get in the way.”

  “It’s Lame and Lamer,” Presley hisses at Carter who flips the two guys in the middle of the group of six his middle finger.

  “No amount of practicing is going to help you get better than me, Lamer!” Carter yells.

  “Shut the fuck up, Crapper,” Michael retorts, flipping him the bird. I laugh under my breath and roll my eyes playfully when he winks at me and blows me a flirtatious kiss. “Should have joined us, new kid, Carter and Presley dance like my grandma.”

  “I love the fighting spirit,” Hammond encourages, smiling at his star pupil. “Okay. Warm up. Do stretches.”

  I watch both Presley and Carter flex their bodies, do the splits, and stretch each other’s limbs out together without issue or embarr
assment. They have such strong bodies. Both are wearing wife-beaters that cling to their athletically muscular chests, and both are wearing joggers that hang dangerously from their hips. I can’t stop looking at them, especially their arms and chests. There’s just something to be said about rounded chests, tight with strong muscle without looking bulky.

  I move to the wooden railing and handle myself until Hammond joins me.

  “You can’t do this yourself. If you want to stretch properly, you need a partner.”

  “I’ve got it,” I say softly but he touches me anyway. Normally I’d react, but this is his way and if I’m really going to do the whole adult thing when I’m eighteen and alone, then I need future prospects. Hammond seems to think he can help with that.

  He pulls on my arms, my back, my shoulders, and then makes us all do squats.

  “Your face is red,” Carter tells me, smirking at my reflection in the mirror as we go up and down. “Can’t hack it?”

  I contemplate kicking his leg out from under him but I remember my promise yesterday to cause their bodies no harm in this room.

  Speaking of causing harm…

  “How’s your jaw, Presley?”

  Presley clicks his neck side to side and starts to stretch his biceps. We follow suit.

  “Still better than your social life.” He runs his middle finger along the faint bruise. “You’re lucky I’m not the kind of guy who hits a girl back when she hits me.”

  “Nah, you just shove them around in a circle of friends like a pussy.” I smile condescendingly. “Scared to face me alone, Presley?”

  He stops, turns, and trails his fingertips up my bare bicep. “If you want me alone, Mallory, all you’ve got to do is ask.”

  I shrug his hand off as he leans around me to look at my ass. “Though I might have to put a bag over your head so I can at least pretend there’s a pretty face on your tight little body.”