“What if I told you there were people in your life who wanted to hurt you? What if I told you that the people who you trust implicitly could turn around and stab you right in the back when you’re not even watching?”
I hold my breath, closing my eyes while exhaling to deepen my stretch. Well, I would tell them to fucking do it already, I’m tired.
“You know, I think I walked through life with that mindset. I didn’t trust people because I was afraid that they would eventually let me down, right? Only that’s where I failed miserably. That’s what I want to talk about on tomorrow’s podcast, so make sure you tune in and listen to me once again talk shit for an hour.”
I pull my earbuds out and toss them into my gym bag that sits against the mirrored wall.
The door opens and closes and a wide smile stretches across my lips when I see Lila and Tristen walking into the room, dressed head to toe for dance. When I first got the idea to start a dance academy, it came from the roots of Lila and Tristen. I’d walk past the local basketball court every day to get to central town and I’d stop and watch them both move. They didn’t just dance, they created another world, and their movements were their language. Lila was hotheaded and Tristen was placid, but they both complemented each other. Eventually, I had an idea. Both could never afford college, and I was pretty sure Tristen had already dropped out of high school. They had potential, but no audience. I was sick of seeing talent that didn’t have a platform. So, I made one.
“Aw, Mercat. You need to go home, girlfriend,” Tristen scolds playfully, his eyes falling up and down my body.
Tristen is electric, opinionated, and painfully loyal.
“Lies,” I jest, collecting my towel and tossing it over my shoulder after wiping the sweat from my face. “I’m exactly where I should be, and you know it.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” Lila teases, smiling smugly at me. “Why aren’t you at home riding that sexy man?”
I roll my eyes, well acquainted with Lila and her comments. “Because he has gone back to work.”
Lila tosses a water bottle at Tristen, who snatches it without looking. Both are acutely aware of one another. Like some sort of twin instinct. That’s a thing, right? When twins are just—one. Tristen says it’s not true, but Lila says it is.
Tristen waves his hands up and down my body. “Look, Mama M, I’m all for you working that tight little booty of yours into a sweat, but it’s Friday night and you should be out, girl!”
I sigh, falling onto the floor to remove my leg warmers while grabbing my bottle from my bag. “I am going out!” I say defensively, though I actually wasn’t.
My bathtub is waiting for me at home, just begging to be filled with hot water, sprinkled with salts, and doused with oils. Peace. Serenity. Peace. I won’t tell him that, though, because like always… I gotta make face.
“Good!” Lila glares behind her thick fake lashes while flicking her leg up onto the beam to stretch. “Because your friends are there to distract you while your man is away, mmkay, bestie?”
Lila and Tristen are fifteen, but you wouldn’t think it. They’re years above their age, and again, that wasn’t by their choice.
“Fine!” I slip my feet into my slides and toss my bag over my shoulder, making my way to the door. “You both make sure you don’t stress out Hailey.”
They joke behind me that they’ll get her stoned before messing with her as I head through the main foyer. The walls aren’t filled with graduates yet, since the school is less than four years old, but one day I hope to have every inch covered and framed with underprivileged kids graduating with their degrees. Lila and Tristen obviously aren’t there yet, but the academy is what they’ll be attending once they graduate high school. It gives them both hope to keep going.
I breeze past the front desk, where IKAREM DANCE ACADEMY is carved with calligraphy over burnt wood.
“Have a great night, Hailey! Kick those two out when you want to head home.”
Hailey waves me off without looking up from whatever book she’s reading this week. “It’s fine, Meraki. Once I go home, I’ll have chores to do, so I’d rather stay here until I finish my book.”
I’m still laughing when I hit the cool bite of winter air and I take out my knitted crop jersey from the inside of my gym bag and toss it over my head. Pushing my AirPods into my ears, I flick through the profile of the random podcast woman from earlier, wanting to start from her first season. If I find something I like, I need to go from the start. It’s my way of having things in order. I never wanted this.