Chapter 19 "How are you doing, honey?" I crouch down, directing the question at a nine-year-old on the verge of crying. "You okay?" Sasha looks up at me with huge brown eyes that appear even bigger through the lenses of her baby blue glasses. "I'm the only one in class who can't do that barrel jump, Miss Ally. It's embarrassing." Her bottom lip wobbles like she's about to burst into tears, and I quickly look around to check that nobody is watching us before I pull her into a hug. I remember dance classes at her age, where everything starts to pick up as you learn to master more skills, and I wouldn't have wanted anyone to see the teacher hugging me back then, or for any of my peers to know I was upset-and Sasha probably feels the same way. Luckily, right now the other girls are all filing out of the room, chatting and laughing, and nobody is paying us any attention. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about," I tell Sasha gently. "You're a great dancer, and you've got the rest of the routine down pretty darned perfectly. You've just gotta keep your chin up, keep trying." "But what if I still can't?" "You can." I pull back from her far enough so I can meet her eyes. "Do you want to hear how I know that?" Sasha nods her head, and I smile and tap my chest with my index finger. "I know that because it's already in here. You have the desire and the motivation in your heart to make it happen-you've just gotta keep on fighting through the hard days where it feels impossible. When it feels like you're going to fail, you just keep on trying. And just like that, it will happen." "Really?" Sasha pulls off her glasses to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Really," I promise, and I'm rewarded with a big smile. "Thank you, Miss Ally." "Anytime, sweetheart. I'm proud of you," I say, and I mean it. It fills my heart to see Sasha walking over to greet her dad with her head held high. There's confidence in her steps, like she's filled with a new sense of determination to succeed. I smile to myself as I watch them leave together, before I turn away and start cleaning the mats we used for our end of class stretching session. My phone pings with a text, and I slide open a new message in our "Loft 3B" group text chain that Fisher insisted we start. Fisher Ally, we're headed out to the arena here in a minute, so I just wanted to check if you're still coming tonight? Ally I wouldn't be anywhere else. Just finished up my last lesson for the day, I'll start walking home from work soon to change and then Uber over to the arena. Good luck to all of you! The boys are playing at home tonight, and I'm going to go to the game with Andie, who invited me to sit with her and her girls. I'm excited to watch the guys play again...they had a game in LA a couple of days ago, and I watched it on TV. I found myself missing them. The loft felt strangely empty without all their banter and laughter and noise. Fisher Ally I'm not even going to ask. I'll see you guys after the game. Penn I wanted to have a bit of a party at our place after, but that chick downstairs might officially lose her pucking mind if we make too much noise. Fisher Ha, did you even autocorrect puck to puck in your phone?! Fisher I mean puck Fisher Puck Fisher Puck! Noah You okay there, Fisher? Fisher Which one of you puckers changed my phone settings? Penn That would be me. You're welcome. And seeing as we all know what you were trying to say, that's four stickers for the chart. Fisher Puck you. Noah Make that five. Noah And tonight, maybe we can make more cookies instead of throwing a party? Penn I could go for some cookies while we watch the new episode of Matchmaker Mansion. Fisher Not gonna lie, even though I hate you all right now, cookies and reality TV sounds good to me, too. Fisher Wait, what the hell is happening to us? We're gonna have to surrender our man cards soon. Noah Don't gender stereotype, Archibald. I laugh out loud at this. I lived with girls all through college, and living with boys-specifically these boys-has been a surprisingly fun change of pace so far. For one, they're cleaner than I expected. And they really get into my favorite shows and compliment my baking. Plus, it was really sweet of them all to come running with me the other morning when I didn't want to run a new route alone early in the morning... Although I had to go stand in a cold shower after witnessing Noah whip his shirt off to wipe the sweat from his brow. That man is too hot for his own good. In fact, I don't know why I keep referring to him as one of the "boys"-Noah Downsby is one hundred percent all man. Dangerously so. "Hey, Allegra!" The peppy voice startles me from my thoughts of Noah's sexy bare chest and broad shoulders. I look up from where I'm scrubbing down mats to see my fellow instructor Cora standing in front of me. She blinks in surprise when she sees my face. "You look hot. Like, hot as in gorgeous, obviously, but also hot as in kinda like you have a fever. You okay?" "Hey, Cora." I stand up and put the last mat away. "I'm fine, just...exerted from class," I lie. "Didn't hear you come in. Are you teaching a late class or something?" She shakes her head, grinning. "Nope, I just swung by to grab my headphones, accidentally left them here." "I think I saw them in the back office," I tell her with a smile. "So, what are your plans for the evening, then?" She gasps dramatically. "My plans for tonight are the same as they're going to be every evening for the next month!" "New boyfriend?" I guess with a smirk. "Uh, no." Her eyes flash indignantly. "Way better than a man." She fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket and holds it out to me. "Look what was announced today!" I take her phone from her. It's open on Backstage-a popular casting website that most dancers who don't have an agent use to find auditions. I scan the casting call on the screen in front of me, and as I read, anticipation gathers in my stomach. "No way." "Way." Cora's practically jumping up and down with excitement. "Can you believe it? Expressions is opening in our city!" A few short months ago, this would have been my dream opportunity. Expressions is a wildly successful contemporary dance production that started off Broadway in New York and then exploded on social media-mostly due to the powerful expressive performances and choreography that tell raw, relatable stories. According to this casting call, they are soon opening a satellite production in San Francisco and will host open auditions for their first show on the west coast. It's a big deal. I bet every dancer in this city and hundreds of miles beyond will be auditioning. "What are you going to perform?" I ask curiously. Cora wraps her arms around her body like she's hugging herself. "Well, the ad says they want original choreography that delivers a story about yourself, as well as showcasing your specialty, so I was thinking of doing a piece to 'Confident' by Demi Lovato...something modern with a bit of a hip hop flair." "I love it." I nod in approval. Cora's level of self love and self confidence is inspiring and I'm sure it will shine through on stage with that song. "What about you?" "Me?" "For your audition." She wrinkles her brow. "I assume you're auditioning...right?" "Oh, um." I lift a shoulder. "Probably not, no." As I'm saying the word 'no,' memories begin to move through me-but surprisingly, they're not the awful memories of Tyler's heavy weight on top of me that make me want to clam up into my shell and never come out of it. This time, the first memory that jumps to mind is Noah, arms around my waist as we danced to that cheesy nineties love song in the loft. How safe I felt. Comfortable. Myself again. "What?" Cora squawks. "Why?" I swallow, heart pounding. "I mean, maybe. Maybe I will." She narrows her eyes at me. "You better, girl. You're good. Like, really good. In fact, I'd bet you have a great shot at a part." "No more of a shot than you," I reply. "Maybe we could both get a part!" Cora smiles. "Anyhow, I'd better jet. I have big plans with a choreography notebook for the evening." "Have fun," I call as she blows me a kiss and walks towards the door with a skip in her step, smiling the whole time-even though it's started to rain outside. I get why she's so happy. The chance to land a role in Expressions is a contemporary dancer's equivalent to, well, a hockey player making it to the final round of the NHL playoffs, I guess. Dear lord, less than a month of living with hockey players and I'm already thinking in hockey speak. I look outside the studio and see the rain is steadily picking up pace. I should have driven to work today instead of walking. I'm going to have to call an Uber home and then another to the game. Good thing Fisher is cutting me a deal on rent. On the bright side, though, this means I have a little bit of extra time. And for that reason, I walk over to plug my phone into the studio's speaker system. The last time I danced-like really danced-was a few weeks ago, back at USG. It was my solo contemporary piece I was working on for one of my classes, and it was going horribly-probably because I wouldn't let myself feel anything at all as I danced to it, and in turn, my performance was forced. Robotic. And I don't know if it's Cora's enthusiasm, or the fact that the thought of dancing again didn't immediately fill me with sickening reminders of Tyler. Tonight, I feel ready to try again-in the safety of my own company, with nobody watching or judging...to let myself lean into my art and feel it again. Take a piece of my own advice for little Sasha and keep fighting for what I love. Even if it's just for myself. The studio is empty since the next class doesn't start for another twenty minutes, and I have plenty of time to get to the game. On a whim, while I'm feeling confident, I open Spotify. I stare down at one of my playlists, thinking hypothetically about if I was auditioning for Expressions. What story would I want to tell? I skip over a bunch of the sexy, sultry tracks until I land on "Unstoppable" by Sia. Perfect. I smile. Press play. And then, I let go. Turn my mind off and allow myself to feel the music coursing through me, the empowering words of the song guiding me as I move. It's all improvisation-no choreography for now, just messy and wild and reckless, like I'm throwing paint at a wall and seeing what sticks-but nothing has ever felt so natural to me. I've missed this desperately. I get so carried away that when the song ends, I'm breathless and sweaty. A few loose hairs have escaped my bun and are stuck to my forehead. I exhale hard, bent over with my hands on my thighs, a feeling of pure satisfaction pumping through my veins. A slow, steady clap cuts through the labored sounds of my own breath, and I jolt my head up to see Noah filling the doorway of the dance studio. He's dressed in his impeccably tailored navy-blue gameday suit, his hair glistening and damp from the rain, and he's staring at me with pure admiration on his face. He claps once more and then stops and walks toward me. "How long have you been standing there?" I demand. He gives me a crooked smile. "Long enough." Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!