The first day of Just Jive goes on. When we’re not all learning the routine, Richa and I stay on the opposite side of the room to Maryam, Tiffany and Scarlett. Undeterred by Richa’s earlier snap, the trio still sidle over at break times to try to make friends with Richa. Tiffany tells Richa she likes her hair and Scarlett admires her leotard. Maryam tells Richa she has the perfect shoes, all soft and flat on the bottom, which is why she spins so well. Every time she gets a compliment Richa says thank you, but she doesn’t chat, all friendly and relaxed, like she did the first time she met them. They always ignore me, just like they do at school.
After a time, the three girls take Richa’s advice, dancing in front of us, right next to Call-Me-Felicity. Tiffany tells Richa at lunch how much easier it makes learning and how right she was, even though Tiffany barely improves at all throughout the day.
It’s off-putting knowing the three of them are there, waiting like cats by a mouse hole, ready for the right moment to pounce. I just want to dance and not think about the girls from my class. Luckily, it seems that Richa wants to do the same.
Call-Me-Felicity spends most of the day trying to get the room cooler and teach Tiffany some basic steps. Amazingly, despite not really having the proper teaching, by the end of the day the dance routine is about ready to show to the parents and carers who arrive to collect us.
As usual, I can’t perform and, while everyone else dances to ‘Carwash’ by Rose Royce, I stand next to Ryan, watching as if I’m there to collect a dancer rather than to dance myself.
Richa is really good, easily the best in the class. A lot of the other kids are following her. Maryam and Scarlett just about manage to get through the song. They miss a few turns and kicks, but it’s not a bad effort for their first try at a proper dance class.
Tiffany, on the other hand, sticks out like a sore thumb. She’s clunky and stiff, totally out of sync, and a least two beats behind everyone else. Even though it makes me cringe to watch her so far out of her comfort zone, there’s something completely mesmerising about it. It’s amazing to think that someone who excels at football can be so monumentally bad at something else.
Tiffany’s hair is wet through, bunched up in tiny coils, like noodles. The sweat is dripping off her nose and her T-shirt has huge, dark patches under her arms and down her back. Her skin glistens with sweat and her face is the picture of humiliation. She looks ready to give up on the whole thing and run away from the routine in tears.
I snatch a glance at her mum and dad who are standing close to me and Ryan. Her mum looks uncomfortable, wincing at every bad move Tiffany makes, but her dad is grinning broadly and nodding along in time to the music. Seeing him swaying his head happily from side-to-side, I think it must’ve been him who pushed Tiffany to come.
I know what it’s like to be terrible at something, to stick out. Everyone here can see how bad Tiffany is at dancing, just like they know that I can’t talk. These aren’t secrets you can hide, not when you’re on display.
The song finishes and the children and parents are pulled together like magnets.
‘You did so good,’ Tiffany’s dad says. ‘You’ll be better tomorrow.’
‘Dad, I’m terrible,’ Tiffany says, her voice finally wobbling. ‘I hate it. Don’t make me come back.’
‘You were good,’ he protests. ‘I’ll buy you the right things.’ He looks about at the other dancers. ‘Those little twirly skirt things and some proper shoes.’
‘No, Dad. You said I only had to do one day. I did what you wanted. I tried it out, but I hate it. I only want to play football. I don’t like dancing.’
‘But … but…’ stutters Tiffany’s dad. ‘Maybe you should try gymnastics instead?’
‘I don’t want to do gymnastics. I want to play football.’
‘Jim,’ says Tiffany’s mum, putting a hand on her husband’s arm. ‘We agreed for her to give it a go. She’s done a whole day and she didn’t want to come.’ She turns to her daughter. ‘You tried Tiffany, that’s all we can ask. If it’s not for you then it’s not for you. Not everyone can dance like—’ She turns to look at Richa who is sitting on the bench, changing into her sandals. ‘Well, like that girl. She’s really good.’
‘Tiffany will be just as good as her,’ insists her dad. ‘She just needs more practice. And the right shoes.’
‘Dad, if you want to get me shoes, buy me some Predator football boots. They’re the boss.’
Her mum laughs. ‘You can lead a horse to water, Jim…’
Jim, Tiffany’s dad, sighs again. ‘Alright. I know when I’m beat. Summer football camp it is then.’
Tiffany does her best turn all day, spinning round with a grin to face Maryam and Scarlett. ‘You’re on your own,’ she calls over to them. ‘Your best bet is to get that girl, Richa, to help you,’ she jabs a thumb over to the benches. ‘I’m out of here.’
Tiffany won’t be coming back to Just Jive, but it’s still not over. I know that Richa can only be a temporary friend. Maryam and Scarlett will keep trying until they eventually steal her away from me. Our friendship is something special but easily lost, like the DogGirl card from Gaggle Gangs Collectables. It’s the rarest and I’ve never found one, but if I did, I bet it would fall out of my pocket.
I watch as Richa skips her way over to us, wishing I could skip towards her too, meeting her in the middle of the room. In my imagination we would dance together, no matter who was watching us, spinning around and around holding each other’s hands.
‘You busted some serious moves out there, girl,’ Ryan tells her.
‘Thank you,’ says Richa, but she grins at me, not my brother.
My heart beats in my throat as I try to smile back but instead I look down at my temporary friend’s feet.