Petra put her shoulder to all thoughts of Jake Jessup—she still remembered his last name, could conjure the image of his driver’s-license photo—and shoved him back into the shadows of her mind. She smiled at her friend, who needed her focus right now. “Show me what you got in this new routine.”
Keisha knew when to give up a cause as lost. She dropped the talk about Petra’s love life, unplugged Petra’s phone from the speakers and plugged her own in. Mary J. Blige’s ‘Work That’ started playing.
“Nice!” Petra said, starting to dance because she couldn’t not.
Keisha strutted to the center of the room and faced the mirror. “This is what I got so far.”
Standing out of her way, Petra watched her friend strut, shuffle, twerk, bop, sway. When she saw the routine repeat, she stepped up alongside her and picked it up. They did the series through to the end of the song.
Petra knew where it needed help. “It’s a great routine, but you need something at the bridge.”
“Exactly. When she hits ‘happy with themselves,’ I need something big, but I’m choking. Everything I try is just ... so ...” She gave a wiggly, abashed shrug. “So TikTok.”
“I hear ya. Um ... how about ...” Snapping her fingers, Petra did the moves leading up to that part. “Right?”
“Yeah, perfect.” Keisha picked up the beat for her.
“Then ...” Petra did the Monastery but brought it all the way down to her knees, lay back between her legs and moved into a toe rise, coming back up to her feet. Then she transitioned directly into the Humpty.
Looking excited, Keisha ran to the corner and started the song again. “From the top!”
It really was a great routine, pulling elements from old-school hip hop and newer moves. When they got to the bridge, they both took the Monastery to the floor but as Petra’s toe rise brought her back to her feet, Keisha did a knee spin to come up, and they both stepped into the Humpty.
That was how collaboration worked, and especially how they collaborated: sometimes all it took was one of them to give a little nudge, and inspiration broke loose for the other.
“That’s it,” Petra said without breaking her step. “That’s excellent! Hard for a tutorial, though.” People getting dance moves from TikTok were usually working at about basic or intermediate levels—unless they were looking to steal the content and call it their own.
“Easier than your toe rise!”
Petra laughed as the song ended. It started up again right away; Keisha obviously had it on repeat. “Okay. Fair.”
“Maybe we’ll add that flair for performance.”
“We?”
Keisha batted her lashes. “Pleeeeease do a vid with me? They always do better numbers when I have you as a partner. I won’t tag you, no matter how many people beg!”
Petra felt herself softening, so she found a way to hedge. Besides, her afternoon was sure to be shitty, and focusing on choreographing a new routine with a good friend was something that made her happy. “How about: I’ll work it with you to get it down, and I’ll decide later if I’m okay being in the vid.”
Keisha’s sly grin said she knew very well she’d get her way. “I’ll take it. From the top?” she asked as she trotted over to start the song from the beginning.
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~oOo~
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“Mr. Maros? Mr. Vermeyeris ready for you.”
“Thanks,” Petra said. She slipped her phone into her bag as father returned the issue ofSports Illustratedto the stack on the low, gleaming table before them. He stood and buttoned his suit coat. He was retired, and he spent a lot of his time lately in pajamas, but he’d been in the stodgy banking industry for decades. He knew how to dress and when to do it. So today he was wearing a sedate charcoal grey three-piece suit. Armani, in summer wool. Just a bit snug now; he’d been heavyset for all of Petra’s memory, but when he’d fallen off the wagon, he’d landed in a few more pounds.
The secretary opened the six-panel walnut door, and Petra followed her father into his attorney’s sedately lush office.
Mr. Vermeyer stood a few feet before his desk, wearing a suit not terribly dissimilar to her father’s, though his fit better. His smile was welcoming but not exactly happy—pitched perfectly to receive a client who was facing a felony charge.
“Alec, hello.” He held out his hand.
Petra’s father took it, and they shared a typical manly shake, the kind she supposed boys were taught showed strength. “Hello, Ken.”