A Rehearsal for Love Read online

  I was dedicated to this; a decision I had made right before I withdrew from my classes at the community college though I hadn’t exactly told Mama that part of the deal. But it was the only way I could confidently propose my idea to Blaise; that I wanted him to train me individually. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d be able to whip me into shape as long as I gave him the time to do it, and that certainly wasn’t gonna happen with school in the way. School that I didn’t care about… like at all.

  Of course there was a lingering thought in the back of my head that Mama would curse me out in a couple different languages when she found out the truth. But I was confident that by the time that blow-up came around, I will have already scored a few auditions, even made some money from it, so that she could see how realistic it was to actually make a career out of dancing professionally.

  If Blaise could do it, so could I.

  Sure he had trained at some of the best facilities in the nation. Sure he had an undeniable, natural talent that anyone could see from a mile away. Sure he had been dancing professionally for almost ten years. But his moves weren’t anything I couldn’t mimic. In fact, I had already been watching his videos on YouTube since the day I ran into him.

  Well… before then.

  But now I had really buckled down, studying his every move of every performance I could find. While most people would’ve been watching the videos for the actual artist, my eyes were on him. He was my artist. Every four count, every facial expression; it was honestly some of the most enthralling shit I had ever watched.

  Which was exactly why I couldn’t be late.

  I sat the last box down on the floor for easy access, then I grabbed my duffle bag and jogged out of the door before Mama could ask me to do something else. I had to continue my jog down the stairs, and then down the block until I made it to the studio that looked absolutely gorgeous as a finished product. I had walked past it a few times, peeking inside when it was still a work in progress.

  But now…

  Now it was perfect.

  “Malia! Hey! File in. We’re getting ready to start!”

  I hadn’t even gotten a chance to acknowledge Blaise before he was already whisking past me on his way to the front of the room. But instead of marveling at the fact that this was really happening - that I was really in a dance class being lead by Blaise Anthony - I sat my duffle bag down and pulled off my running shoes, trading them out for my combat boots while I listened to his introduction.

  He let us know who he was, as if we all didn’t already know. He rattled off a few of his major accomplishments, as if we all didn’t already know. Then he gave a rundown of how the class would go.

  “We’re gonna run through the choreography for two songs. Both hip-hop,” he announced with a wink in my direction that made a wave of heat run over my skin. “Then we’ll do some freestyling, let ya’ll have some fun and show off a little bit. Cool?”

  The whole group cheered in response as they stood up from their cross-legged seats on the harlequin floor.

  I knew I had to make a statement if I expected my proposition to go over well, so I made my way to the front of the room as everyone settled in with just enough dancing space between them. Once Blaise noticed my position, he let off the biggest of smiles as if he was actually happy to see me there. But once class got started, the choreography being taught at a much faster pace than what I was use to, I suddenly wished I would’ve stayed my ass in the back.

  By the time we did a final run-through of the second step in small groups, I was drenched in sweat and I still hadn’t gotten it completely right. I was sure the people behind me were giving me all types of side eyes as they watched me fuck up over and over again. And even though I tried to reason with myself that the sole purpose of me being here was to get better, I still felt a little embarrassed for being so rusty.

  Blaise gave us a short break to get water before he called us back in for what was considered the “fun part”; freestyling. And even though I wasn’t feeling like my most confident self by this point, I knew I would have to take the plunge regardless. I needed him to see me, needed him to be impressed so that he would be willing to take me on as a client.

  So once he asked who wanted to go first, I literally jumped at the opportunity.

  There were a few cheers from the other dancers as Blaise asked, “Alright, Ms. Malia. What are you gonna dance to?”

  My teeth made their way to the corner of my bottom lip, a nervous habit of mine, as I shrugged. “Umm…. I don’t know. Whatever. Surprise me.”

  His eyebrow piqued, his hand under his chin as he thought for a moment before heading to the sound system. My heart was already pounding as I waited to hear the first beat drop. And once it did, there was no turning back.

  I listened to the first couple beats, quickly recognizing the song as Chris Brown’s, Back To Sleep.

  “Oh, this’ll be easy,” I thought to myself before I let the music take me, slow and steady while still hitting each and every thump of the beat with a pop somewhere in my body. My feet were gliding across the floor as I pulled my hair from the bun it was in and gave it a sexy little shake. And then I… oh shit.

  Blaise was mirroring my every move!

  When I slid left, he slid left. When I snaked right, he snaked right; his body right behind mine as we ticked and grinded down to the ground. Then I slid away on my knee, sweeping my leg under me so that I could pop back up with a pose. But he was already there, waiting for my final move while he did a little freestyling of his own.

  The other dancers were going nuts as the song thankfully faded out before I could kill myself trying to out-dance him. I was using the bottom of my t-shirt to wipe the new layer of sweat I had worked up when Blaise whispered in my ear, “Good shit, Malia.” Then he moved right along, inviting the next dancer up for a turn.

  I was pretty sure I had already caught my breath, but my heart was still racing as I thought about how close we had just been. Well… how close he had been to me.

  And that’s when it hit me.

  I just danced with Blaise Anthony

  Thee Blaise Anthony.

  Regardless of how Mama would feel about it, this was already the best decision I had ever made.

  Blaise

  I gave high fives and half hugs to most of the class attendees as they left the studio, but I noticed there was one in particular missing.

  One of the most impressive dancers in the bunch.

  Malia had surprised the shit outta me with her skills, getting even grittier than most as she hit every beat like it owed her money. While most dancers danced within an inch of their lives, Malia gave her life - sacrificed the fuck out of it - with each and every run-through we did. Even in the freestyle, it was me struggling to keep up as she did everything she could to show off.

  That, in itself, was quite the feat.

  I made my way back into the main dance room and found her sitting on the floor, panting to catch her breath.

  “Malia. Malia, you alright?” I asked, concerned that she was dealing with some sort of health issue, though I didn’t remember seeing anything on her registration form.

  She peeked up to me with glossy eyes as she answered between breaths, “I’m fine. Just gotta… get it... right.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about until I heard the faint sounds of one of the songs I had taught choreography to playing from her phone. Her panting must’ve been a result of her trying to perfect the routine.

  I admired her dedication, so much so that I told her, “Here. Let me help you.” Offering her my hand so that I could help her up from the floor. But she just… looked at it.

  “Something wrong?” I asked, tempted to take a peek of my own to see if it was dirty.

  She shook her head. “No. No… I just... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t even still be here. Class is over. You don’t have to help me.” Then she popped up from the floor on her own, completely disregarding my outstretched hand as she reached ba
ck down to grab her duffle bag.

  “Malia, it’s cool. Seriously. You can stay as long as you need to. But if you’re gonna be here, the least I can do is help you.”

  “But that’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to help me, because I shouldn’t have to still be here, because I should’ve gotten it right the first time. It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

  She tried to walk away, but something in me told me to stop her. So I did, landing a gentle hand on her wrist.

  “Hey.” She turned around and I could tell she was really on the verge of tears this time. But that wasn’t enough to stop me from explaining, “It’s okay if you don’t get it right every time as long as you look good doing it. And let me tell you, you looked damn good out there today.”

  Her eyes went to her feet as she bit her bottom lip before she pushed out a weak, “Thank you.”

  “Now put your bag down and let me show you how it’s done, pretty.”

  I was grateful to see her crack a smile, which was actually more of a smirk as she said, “I prefer Malia.”

  I wanted to respond with something slick, but I let it slide since she was actually listening to me, setting her duffle bag on the floor and pulling her damp t-shirt over her head which left her in just a sports bra and leggings. And instead of doing what I really wanted to do - just stare at her cute ass - I made my way over to the sound system and cued up the song we had used earlier.

  Through the mirror I watched Malia as she stretched from side to side, bending over to touch her toes before rolling back up. I had been around female dancers practically all of my life, had danced with some of the best of ‘em too. But there was something about Malia that made me see things differently; find dance… attractive, and sexy, and…

  “You know… I think it’s that third eight-count that I keep getting caught up on. Something about the footwork that just loses me.”

  I shook off my initial thoughts so that I could fast-forward the music to a few counts before the exact part she was talking about, giving me just enough time to make it back over to where she was standing.

  “It’s easy, Malia. Left foot, turn, switch, glide right, cross back…”

  “See! I’m already lost. Show me again.”

  I didn’t waste time going back and rewinding the music, instead just doing the same thing in slow motion.

  “Your feet should be moving with every beat. And they’re quick, which I’m sure is the reason you keep getting mixed up. Try it.”

  She sighed before she faced herself in the mirror, counting through each of the moves in slow motion.

  “There you go. Now try to do it faster this time,” I told her as I demonstrated myself.

  She looked at me like she was impressed then listened to the beat for a few ticks before she did it herself.

  “Yeahhhh, Malia! That was it!” I said proudly, as I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. But I instantly recognized my mistake as I forced myself to ignore the twinge of warmth I felt just from touching her bare shoulder. Thankfully, Malia was so happy about getting the move right that she was completely oblivious.

  I pulled my arm away, heading back to the sound system as I told her, “Now you just gotta do it from the top with the whole routine.”

  “Ugh, do I have to? I’m exhausted,” she said as she took a swig from her water bottle then picked up her t-shirt to wipe her face.

  “You don’t have to. But if you’re anything like me, you’ll worry yourself sick about leaving the studio without getting the whole thing right.”

  That got her attention.

  “On second thought, one more time sounds like a good idea.”

  I smiled as I started the song from the beginning, watching from behind as Malia got in the zone before hitting the choreography with almost as much precision as I did when I created it. By the time the song was over, she was wearing the cutest little smile, undeniably proud of herself for nailing it.

  “See. You feel better now?”

  She didn’t turn around, instead spoke to me through the mirror. “Yeah, thanks to you.”

  I brushed her off with a wave of my hand. “Ah, don’t give me that much credit. You have the X factor, Malia. I see it in you. You just gotta see it in yourself.”

  It was clear as day that Malia had hella talent, it was just the confidence that was missing. I saw it in spurts, like when she volunteered to freestyle first or when she learned the choreography from the front of the class. But just as often as I saw her confidence, I also saw her doubt though I didn’t understand why considering how talented she was.

  She went back to her water bottle, finishing it off before she reached down and picked up her shirt to give her face a few dabs. “I’m gonna be so sore in the morning,” she said with a laugh as she reached inside of her bag for a fresh shirt.

  “Epsom salt. Complete game changer.”

  “Oh, trust me. I’m well aware. I haven’t danced this hard in a long time, but I still know how to rehab myself.”

  I didn’t wanna be nosey, but she kept dropping little nuggets that piqued my interest. Like…, “You haven’t danced this hard in a long time? Why’s that?”

  She made herself busy changing from her boots to a pair of tennis shoes as she answered, “Well, it’s been awhile since a workshop came to town. And since the bigger dance studios in the city are so expensive, I do most of my dancing at home. But I’m sure you know that dancing by yourself doesn’t exactly bring out the same intensity as dancing in front of someone else.”

  It was definitely a special skill to be able to dance with full energy and no audience. But I respected the hell out of her for trying to anyways; for not letting her circumstances stand in the way of her development.

  I didn’t want to be an opportunist by any means, but I couldn’t help telling her, “Well I hope you enroll here at the studio. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  She popped up from the ground, biting her bottom lip the same way she had done in class before she said, “I actually wanted to ask if you’d… I don’t know. Maybe give me some personal lessons?”

  I’d be damned if my mind didn’t go straight to the gutter. But I quickly straightened up, clearing my throat so that I could speak with a clear conscious.

  “Personal lessons? We don’t… I don’t… exactly offer that as a service here.”

  There was no missing the hint of defeat on her face as she said, “Of course you don’t. You’re Blaise Anthony. I’m sure you have much better things to do with your time.”

  “Nah, not like that. I just… I guess I never thought about it. I mean, I can’t make any promises schedule-wise, but I wouldn’t mind helping you out when I have some free time.”

  That seemed to light her spirits right back up.

  “Seriously?!” she asked with excited eyes. And by this point, I probably couldn’t have said no if I wanted to.

  So I didn’t.

  “Yeah. You’re really good, Malia. And if my one step away from retirement ass can help you get to the next level, then I’m down for the cause.”

  That made her laugh as she adjusted her duffle bag on her shoulder before heading towards the exit.

  “One step from retirement, huh? You really think you’re ready to let it all go?”

  Though it sounded a little far-fetched out loud, I was still able to confidently answer, “It would take a hell of an opportunity for me to change my mind. Like… Michael Jackson coming back from the dead or some shit.”

  She laughed again, a sound I was already growing incredibly fond of, as I pushed the door open for her to step out.

  “Well I appreciate this, Blaise. I’ll umm… see you next week?”

  She posed it as a question, but it didn’t even sound optional to me. So I simply told her, “Cool. Looking forward to it.”

  She ran a hand across the back of her neck, nibbling on her lip again before she turned to walk away. And I watched her until she eventually disappeared across the
street, continuing to stare down the block even after she was already out of sight.

  I couldn’t put my finger on what it was about her that had me so intrigued. But I could only shake my head with a silly grin as I headed back inside and tried to figure it out.

  Malia

  “Sex you back to sle…. HEY Mama!”

  I gave her a little kiss on the cheek before I danced my way past her to the fridge. Then I continued to hum the melody of Chris Brown’s song that was stuck in my head the whole walk home as I refilled my water bottle.

  “Hey you. What’s got you in such a good mood?” She asked, as she watched me skeptically.

  I kept my voice low and leveled, nonchalant as I answered, “You know they put in that new dance studio a few blocks down, and I… went to take a class there this morning.”

  I refused to look at her face, but I instantly cringed when I heard her say, “A class? Malia, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. There’s no reason for you to keep studying dance when you’re no longer a dancer. If I would’ve known you were gonna hold onto that dream for this long, I would’ve never gotten you started in the first place!”

  I bit my tongue hard; so hard that I was already tasting the saltiness of my blood. I took a long swig from my water bottle, washing some of the flavor away, before I finally replied, “It was just a class.”

  “Just a class, my ass. One class turns into two. Two turns into a month of classes. And before you know it, you’ll be dropping out of school to do that silly shit.”

  Too late.

  Telling her the truth now would’ve only made matters worse. So instead I told her, “Whatever, ma. I gotta get dressed so I can go to work.”

  “Work? It’s already noon. I thought you worked the morning shift on Saturdays?”

  Sometimes I hated how much she knew my business.

  “I switched shifts with one of my co-workers so I could go to the class,” I explained, already regretting my honesty once I saw the way it seemed to fire her right back up.