RED PARALLEL

Chapter 62: A Guy That Happens To Dance

Busting steps out of random.

Is not hard.

Mirroring anyone's fast steps.

Is not hard.

Following. Slow. Coach. Steps.

It's hard. It's boring. It's annoying. It's neerrrrve wracking.

"Traviz, slow down, please, you're racing the tempo-"

"But I'm following the song!"

"Yes, but follow us, first. Let's do it slow tempo, so you guys can fix some-"

"Ugh..."

Ridiculous.

First, he didn't need that baby abc boring how-to-do steps. Coach showed the whole sequence and he caught everything at once, so why wasting time doing what he already knew? Second. He didn't like the fact he should dance the same shit as the fifteen other people in the classroom. Third. Rachel had her schedule changed and it was awful just to think of the hours they were spending being separated.

Fourth. It was a crime to pick a song and just... Slow. Down. Its. Tempo. It was like drinking warm b-soda. Not cool, not right. C'mon, if the dope musician made a song in that specific rhythm and speed and stuff and it was nice, why people should screw up and piss on it? They were supposed to dance with the real speed in the end, anyway, so why doing that shit?

"It's like, 'oh, Imma put this b-soda from the fridge to the oven and drink it hot, then Imma freeze it and drink it again, ain't that nice?'"

People laughed at his revolted joke. Luckily, he had some fellas who'd agree with him, once in a while. He was not alone. But the coach pointed out:

"We go slow to be in sync when we're fast, Traviz."

"No, we don't need to go slow! Guys, everybody got the moves already, right? So let's just do it!" Traviz called the class. Jake, Dean, and Pablo nodded. The rest nodded without nodding. "Coach, please."

"Boy."

"... I mean, the song ain't that fast, it's kinda like a swish sex, you know what I mean?"

The reaction was funnier than the funny - was that funny? - thing he said. Most dudes laughed and stared at each other, like who the hell is this bloke, Jake nodded serious, Dean stared at himself in the mirror, trying to process the quick sexual thought, and Pablo threw himself on the floor, roaring with laughter. The girls shared glances and hid their smiles, but without success, because Traviz noticed it.

But the best part was the coach.

"Yes, I think about sex, too," he said. "You got a point. Dance is also a sexual virtue, you know."

"I think I like that," Traviz said, simplistic. "I think about sex during ninety percent of the songs."

Which was true. Sex and dance were two things that would go along together, like nice brothers. If Traviz was dancing, he'd think about sex; if Traviz was fucking, he'd think about dance. Complementary vital shits. Dope boosters. Swag important. The coach stared at the students and sighed.

"Aaalright. Let's see how you guys sex in sync."

"Wooo..."

Bingo. People danced sex. They had a blast. But each person would sex differently, in their own 'swish' pace, despite following the rhythm of the real tempo song. Now it was the coach's turn to laugh.

"You guys look like a bunch of worms..."

"Coach!" Traviz braked, offended. "That ain't nice! We're serious here!" he grinned around, folks enjoying their worming swag.