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She wants me where?
When we learned these dances over a year ago, I knew, due to my height, my destiny was closer to the back. It’s not like it left me unseen. My height has always kept me near the back, but it’s never kept me from being a determined dancer.
“Me?” I gulp, breathless.
Haven smiles from her spot at the front of the stage, giving me a comforting nod. Waiting for a moment, I feel everyone’s eyes slowly dial into me.
“Well, are you gonna go or what?” Shannon’s question is sharp and jealous.
At that, I force my feet forward, my head held high. This is an honor, but beneath it, there’s a thread of doubt pulling at my chin.
“Run through it once more. Let’s see how this looks.” Haven waves her hand to the sound crew in the back, signaling a restart of the music. Sandy, her head choreographer, sits back as she takes the reins.
The front feels amazing. Right now, it’s just Haven’s and Sandy’s eyes on me, but imagining a full crowd from this angle sparks my insides.
When the music begins, I put everything I have into this next run-through, watching as Haven’s face morphs from pleased to joyous.
The music stops, and singular claps ring out from chair to chair. Haven, feeling to me, like a crowd of fifty thousand probably feels to her.
“That was perfect, you guys. How’d it feel? Are we okay with the changes?”
Standing from her chair, she moves closer, still a few steps away, studying the stage.
“Felt better before, but you’re the boss,” I hear Shannon mumble under her breath, and my blood runs cold.
This little battle between she and I has been happening since day one. As a veteran, her spot is sacred, but like any sport, keeping it is the real challenge. To me, both of us are on an even playing field. We both booked this tour. If I were her, being here again would give me just the confidence I needed. Not with Shannon. She’s vicious, and when faced with any ounce of competition, usually from me, she isn’t afraid to attack.
Before, I couldn’t have cared less. I thrived on competition. I used to be so damn sure of myself that I welcomed the challenge. Now, I run from it.
Before Haven can confirm any changes, I speak up.
“It felt great, but I think it made more sense before.”
A questioning eyebrow raises on Haven’s face, her head turning just slightly, as if signaling me to keep talking.
“I mean, stylistically speaking, if you want it to look cohesive to the audience, it makes sense to have us in order by height.”
I swear, I hear a gasp come from behind me, but I don’t turn around to confirm.
Haven gives me a scrunch of her nose, pausing as she processes my suggestion—my probably unwanted suggestion.
“Very well, switch it back.”
What?
“Really?” I ask, sounding as confused as I feel.
“Yeah. You’ve got a good eye. I trust your opinion.”
Back in my regular spot, Rika reads off a few announcements before dismissing us, but I’m trapped between an array of suspicious, maybe even supportive, glances from the rest of the dancers.
My disappointment in myself peaked at letting go of that spot. Haven saw something in me, and I earned being there just like everyone else did, but I’m not as stable as I once was under conflict.
Our shows in Chicago felt like they were our first real performances. Like they were just a step above rehearsal, and now that we’re in Miami, the real shows can begin. What I just felt during that run could’ve made it feel even better, but my sanity is more of a priority.
Once we wrap rehearsal, I make it a point to pack up as silently as I can. As I’m throwing my clothes into my duffel with force, I feel anger seeping from within.
I’m so mad at myself.
