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Teddy
“YOU NEED TO FEEL THE romance of this dance,” Madame Cachelle says, readjusting my grip on Taryn’s waist. “Look into her eyes because you two are in love.”
I snort. I can’t help it.
Hurt flashes across Taryn’s face.
“I...I’ve never been in love,” I say quickly, to show Taryn it’s nothing personal. I mean, the last thing I want to do is hurt her. But then I wonder if this is something I should be saying on the second week of dancing on this program, of dancing with Taryn. We still don’t really know each other. We may seem similar so far, but people are like onions—there are layers and layers to one’s personality, who they are.
Madame rolls her eyes. “Then, my gem, we will have to teach you what love is. This is a school for a romantic dance company, and ballets, especially classical ballets, focus around love. Taryn, come on, I bet you can help Teddy here. Sometimes, love just comes easier to girls as they do not have as many raging hormones battling in various parts of their body.” She shakes her head. “Men, only thinking about one thing.”
“Seems kind of sexist,” Ivelisse mutters. She’s got big, haunting eyes and a mesmerizing kind of beauty—one that has power to it.
“Taryn, look into Teddy's eyes with love and make him feel it,” Madame instructs.
If anything, Taryn looks scared as she stares up at me now. Her eyes are so wide and the muscles around her mouth have tightened. Her shoulders have lifted up a little, like she’s tensing. I can almost feel her trembling. Is that what love is? I frown to myself.
“Relax,” Madame tells her. “Soften your shoulders and extend your lines. And smile, give him a coy look.”
“Coy?” Taryn’s voice is a whisper.
“You know, when you’re trying to seduce your boyfriend but you’re pretending you’re not,” Madame says.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Taryn says.
There’s a hoot of laughter from Peter who’s nearby, dancing with Alma.
“What do you mean you’ve never had a boyfriend?” Peter looks at Taryn incredulously, and the sudden closed look she gets makes my heart lurch.
Madame tells him to shh and concentrate on the combinations she gave him to practice with Alma, but he’s not listening to her. He just stares at Taryn, who’s getting redder and redder on the spot.
“Well, I... I’ve just concentrated on ballet,” she says.
“And quite right too.” Madame looks flustered. “All right, everyone, let’s—"
“So, you’re still a virgin?” Peter laughs.
There are sniggers from around the room, and Freya outright laughs. I hear someone mutter, “What a freak,” and fury ignites within me.
Taryn looks like she’s about to cry.
I clear my throat. “Well, I’ve never had a girlfriend.” I glare at Freya then face Peter again. “It’s not that odd.”
“Okay, everyone.” Madame’s voice is strained. “If we can all just—”
“What are the both of you? Gay?” Peter laughs and says it all like he hasn’t already had this conversation with me. I frown. Just what is his problem?
“Homophobe,” Ivelisse mutters. She looks Peter dead in the eye, then mutters in Spanish.
Madame zeroes in on Peter in no time, condemning his homophobia and saying there’s no place for that kind of language in this school. She tells him to step outside. Peter just shrugs and laughs as he leaves. Madame follows him. Even once the door is closed, her sharp words to him ring through the studio, among us, because all of us have stopped dancing now. We hear her tell him he’ll be meeting with the academy’s board later.
I find myself looking at Taryn. She’s staring at the ground and then she crouches to adjust the toe pad in her right pointe shoe. Objectively, I can see she is ‘fit,’ just as Peter said. She’s well-proportioned and her muscles are toned. She’s got a symmetrical face and her hair is glossy, pulled back into a tight bun. Her pale skin is free of blemishes; there are just a few freckles on her face that make her look kind of adorable.
But adorable isn’t the word I’m guessing Peter and his mates would use to describe her.
Again, last night, I heard them talking about which girls they wanted to do. They asked me, and I’d just shrugged and managed to avoid giving an answer. But it made me wonder again why I don’t seem to feel what they apparently do.
My mother's always asking me when I'm going to bring a girl home for her to meet. Apparently, it's weird that at sixteen I haven't already done so. I’m sure that when I kissed Tanya during Year Ten and my friends told Mum, that she was expecting a relationship to form. But it didn’t. I just... the kissing was nice enough, but it didn’t set off the feelings I thought it was going to. It didn’t make me want to do anything else. Nothing ever has.
I wonder if I could take Taryn home to meet Mum one day, if Taryn is the sort of girl Mum would want to meet. But I still can't imagine wanting to do anything beyond kissing with Taryn—and not just with the sex, but also the whole dating thing, too. The idea of going to a cinema or whatever, of romancing her, just doesn't feel like me. I’ve never really understood the whole idea of doing conventional romantic things, like dating, but I don't understand why the idea of taking her out to dinner romantically makes me feel something I'm sure is dread. And it’s not just about my discomfort around food—because I know I could order a salad with lean chicken—no, it’s more about the idea of a date. And not in a nervous way either, like how my cousin said he gets before dates, but it’s in an I-don't-want-to-do-this-at-all way because it wouldn't feel right, would feel like I was leading her on, and then guilt would be curdling in my soul. Or maybe that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. Maybe everyone is faking this. Maybe I just have to do it and get used to it.
“What?” Taryn says, her voice guarded, like she's holding it close, ready to use it as a weapon. She’s standing tall now, her arms folded across her chest.
I realize I’ve been staring at her. “Nothing. Sorry,” I say, because I can't tell her how I've been—and still am—wondering why the other guys feel something I don't.