OFF TRACK

23

TREVOR

The next night I'm pulling up to Playhouse, which I've learned is Summer's favorite studio in LA. She told me to wait in the car, but I again don't listen because I love watching her dance.

This time the music isn't as intense, but I can still hear it from outside the room but it's a slower song.

A couple of small groups go before Summer's in the center of the room with three other dancers. I can't take my eyes off her as she dances, even though I can barely hear the lyrics of the song I can tell by Summer's face it's an emotional song. She shows off every emotion perfectly while she spins and slides across the floor never missing a step. It's like she's become apart of the music.

A few minutes later the class is ending and Summer's crossing the room to the door but the two girls standing by the stereo call her over.

I watch them tell her something, something that makes her whole body stiffen up. She nods and probably says something but I can't see her face. Then the three girls are hugging and Summer heads towards the door, her face is red but she's smiling.

"What was tha-"

"They just offered me a job," she cuts me off looking up at me. I can see the shock and awe in her eyes as she continues to say, "The girl who teaches the Monday night junior contemporary class is going on tour with some artist. Alexa, the owner, said she's seen me coming here the past three years and loves watching me dance. She said I was her first choice."

"That's amazing! Did you say yes?" This could give her what she really wants, a dance career past college.

"I told them I had to think about it," she admits, calming down a bit.

Is she crazy?

"Why?"

"I have to talk to coach about it and change my availability at work, I have to see if it's even do able with my classes and having time for homework," she explains.

"Summer, this is your dream, isn't it?"

"Can we not talk about this in here?" Her voice is low and serious as she pushes me towards the door and we head outside to the car.

"You have to take the job," I say once we're in the car.

"I can't just say yes, I have to make sure I can do it," she's digging in her bag for something.

"But this could kick off your career."

She freezes and looks over at me, "My career?"

"Yeah, don't you want to be a professional dancer?" I question.

"I do but I can't, and you don't get a say in this," her tone is stern and pointed.

"I'm just trying to be supportive."

"Then support me by letting me think about it," she's digging in her bag again, finally pulling out her phone.

"Answer one question for me, then I'll shut up."

"How about you just shut up?" She's focused on her phone screen.

"You know that's not gonna happen," I say teasingly, then ask, "Why do you like dancing?" My tone is calm and patient, a talent I've learned from watching my father deal with my mom, who can be a bit over dramatic at times.

Summer takes a deep breath, "It's an escape for me, it's calming."

She pauses like she's trying to debate on continuing or not then she sets her phone down in her lap and says, "I started getting really into dancing when my dad left."