A Nerd, a Tough Kid and the Wonder of Dance

Chapter 4: the dance class

But I did; got there thirty minutes earlier than last week and walked in.

Jena saw me immediately and gave me the big smile. The teacher, Mrs Reinke, saw me as well and nodded at some chairs along the wall. I sat down obediently.

I started picking up on things quickly. Jena looked just like the other girls: black leotard, ballet shoes, hair pulled back off his face into a tight bun. They all looked very much the same. And, Jena was being treated the same, by the teacher and the others. Just one of the girls.

Except, to my eye, Jena was clearly the best of the class - her coordination, smoothness of movement, her poise. Who would have thought that the nerdy kid from school could look that good.

I was sitting there pondering these matters as I watched the girls going about their business. It occurred to me absently that the exercise routines we did for martial arts were a lot like dances, but with an aggressive/fighting theme. And it was dawning on me, as I observed her dancing, that I was thinking of Jena as a girl. This was weird.

The lesson ended and Jena came skipping over to me. "Oh, I'm so glad you came, Garth. It was really good of you . . ."

"No probs. It was quite interesting actually."

Jena introduced me to Mrs Reinke, the teacher and then we left. We walked most of the way home together, parting at our respective turnoffs.

Without really thinking about it, I went along early again the next Saturday. This time when the lesson finished and Jena had come over to me, Mrs Reinke also came across; her face was stern. "Jena, I can tell that you aren't being diligent enough with your exercises at home. My dear girl, you must work harder. You are wasting your gifts."

She turned and practically glared at me, "Help her, Garth. Help her to stay focussed. Help her to achieve her potential."

She strode off while I'm thinking, 'What is this? The teacher seems to think that Jena is actually a girl.'

Jena leaned forward, whispering in my ear, "I keep disappointing her. I just can't seem to do the amount of work . . ."

Suddenly I felt that I was on the same wavelength as Mrs Reinke. I was into sports; I believed in training hard to produce your best; and I felt angry - what?

I took hold of Jena's shoulders and pushed her back, "Because, you're slack, Jena. Now go and get changed. Hurry up."

"Oh," she gulped and ran to the change room.

She was hardly more than two minutes. "I just put my t-shirt and shorts on over the top . . ."

"Good. Come on." I grabbed her hand and practically dragged her outside and down the street.

Getting angry was dumb. I'd learnt from my years of martial arts training that you didn't let anger control you. You had to control it, use it, channel it for your own purposes.

I stopped, keeping hold of her hand and tried to be calmer, but I could still hear the anger in my voice, "Jena, you're a good dancer, even I can see that. Your teacher thinks you're good. She thinks you could be better, maybe up with the best. You've just got to do the work . . . oh, come on."

She had just stood there with her eyes cast down while I was giving her the spray. Damn it, I was going about this the wrong way.

Be firm and positive, not angry, you clown, I told myself.

When I felt that I had myself properly under control, I stopped again. Trying to make up for my outburst, I put my arms around her. She fell against my chest, her slim arms encircling my waist. She only came up to my chin.

"Jena, I'm sorry for telling you off. I've no right to."

I could feel her trembling against my chest.

"Jen, when you dance you're transformed, you look happy. Tell me, do you want to go on with it? Is dancing the most important thing for you?"

"Not the most important," she murmured quietly.

"Oh, what is . . . sorry again. I'm prying. But you do want to keep doing it, don't you?"

"Definitely."

"Then let's get you organised."

We were at the turnoffs; there was a little park on one corner. "Let's meet tomorrow morning in that park. Bring your exercise sheets, pad, pen, etc and we'll work out a schedule for you."

"You'll help me, Garth?"

"Of course I will. Say ten o'clock. Now git."

Oh, lord, that beautiful smile again, then she was skipping off down the road; just a pretty young girl going home. Girl???