Chapter 9

Lorenzo had offered to drive me home for my safety. Despite the kind gesture, we rode in awkward silence and I watched out the window as the center of town turned into the slums of Blue Moon where I lived. As we pulled up outside my apartment building, I noticed the patrol car that had been present had disappeared. The cops must have finally gotten bored of doing their jobs.

“Thank you for driving me home,” I said quietly, nodding more to the driver than Lorenzo but he seemed to take all the credit.

“Of course. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for another day of progress,” Lorenzo quipped back. Was that sarcasm? He couldn’t have been joking around like that, we were exclusively business partners. I decided to ignore the comment and the way it made my heart speed up at the thought of being friendly towards my ex and made my way inside.

Upon arriving at my apartment, I noticed an envelope that was easily an inch thick stuffed into the mail slot of my door. I checked my surroundings and inspected the package, looking for any signs of foul play. After being satisfied with my search, I quickly snatched the envelope out of the slot and entered my apartment. I set my bag down and plopped onto the couch, ripping the envelope open. A pile of photos spilled out onto my lap, all of them pictures of me around the city: in front of my apartment, getting into Lorenzo’s car, in front of The Moonlight Theater… Craig Little was still stalking me. The knowledge that the police presence at my house hadn’t deterred him scared me, and it made me feel disgusted and afraid.

I quickly stood up and locked every lock on my door, checked my windows were still properly sealed, and then I drew all the curtains shut. I glanced around the room to make sure nothing looked out of the ordinary,

wondering distantly if Little had somehow broken into my home. But I decided to trust my work, and only then did I feel a bit calmer.

Should I have continued to press the police? Well, it’s not like their presence did much in the first place, but as long as Little thought they were nearby, he wouldn’t dare make a move. After feeling more secure in my apartment, my mind was then free to drift back to all of my other problems. I sighed at the thought of teaching those poor dancers again the next day — they had to have known just as well as I did that this was a hopeless endeavor. Were they seriously that blinded by the opportunity to perform at the lycan luna’s birthday banquet.

I decided that moving my body might help me feel better about the situation, so I rolled up my carpet revealing scuffed hardwood panels underneath, and fished a pair of old ballet shoes from a dusty box over in the depths of my closet. I realized the shoes I had retrieved formerly belonged to my mother, giving me a sense of both nostalgia and pride in what I was doing now at her theater. I strapped the shoes up and moved towards the center of the room.

Despite being a little rusty after years of informal practice, I was still in good shape, and I knew that if I didn’t keep practicing that I would lose all my skill. I felt myself naturally glide onto pointe, and I waltzed around the room as gracefully as I could given my lack of space. As I moved my arms through various motions, I thought about the dancers I’d been dealt.

Teaching them ballet? Clearly that would be impossible. They each had their own strengths, but in every one of their cases, ballet was not one of them. Even if I could somehow download all of my knowledge and technique into their brains, it wouldn’t be enough to make a true impact and secure a good impression from the lycan luna. Black Moon would likely become a laughingstock amongst the other packs, and we would surely make fools of ourselves on stage — something I haven’t done since I was 18 and I stumbled during a performance when I saw Lorenzo in the audience. Thinking of Lorenzo reminded me of the compensation he had offered me in return for this favor. How could I pass up this opportunity to earn so much money, especially after his generous raise he had offered earlier today.

I didn’t want to give up, but I knew I couldn’t just rely on traditional ballet. The only hope I had was the fact that I had indeed been given professional dancers, just not ballerinas. I considered all the styles of dance that were practiced by my group members.

Hip-hop, with its fierce movements that alternated from cracks and pops to fluid grooves. Tango and flamenco, each with a sensual yet elegant poise and fluid arm movements. Tap and its rhythmic flare that somehow challenged and complemented each of the other styles. There had to be a way to combine all of them. If I could only focus on the overlapping qualities of each style as opposed to what made them different, then maybe I’d understand and be happier.

I danced around the room some more, hoping inspiration would strike as I continued to twirl. Then my eyes settled on my curtains and I almost toppled over in the middle of a turn. Looking at the curtains’ patchwork style which sewed together and incorporated made me feel a sense of peace. The different colors seemed good, combined in a way that is unusually beautiful and enticing, yet calming at the same time.

The closer I moved to the curtains the more I felt my vision unfolding in front of me. Dance could be sewn and married together just like the threads in my curtains. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do.