Honey Child

2

Skylar

Ryan flashed her phone with the crowd cheering me on as I danced in the circle. A chopped version of a Sean Paul song sent fire through my body. It came easy to me. Was it corny, yes but I was feeling the music too much.

I had been prepared to dance the night away at The Coyote Ugly. No longer dressed in black I appeared like everyone else. It was Thursday night, known as the night reserved for dancers only. No leaning against the walls, sitting down, or being on your phone. The only way to stay inside was to engage with others.

"You kill it every time." Ryan fanned me as we stood by the bathrooms.

"It's just a little fun that's all."

Ryan rolled her eyes, "Your face lights up when you dance, Sky."

The tempo of the music changed bringing me to my feet again. Ignoring Ryan's push for me to talk to her I smiled instead, "Let's get back to dancing please."

"Okay, I see what you're doing best." She wiggled her finger at me.

About three drinks later, I was stumbling with Ryan onto the wet pavement. The soles of my shoes pressed into the gravel as Ryan leaned against me. I grabbed her keys trying to find the car. Tons of bystanders stood on the pavement waiting on their Uber, rides or paying the rose man to impress someone new. 

"Skylar!"

Ryan and I turned at the sound of my name. A smile instantly burned into my cheeks noticing my old friend, Zaire. He approached me crushing me in a warm hug, "How you been?"

I pushed his long locs away from his face tuning into the dimples etched into his dark skin, "Surviving. You? How was graduation?"

My stomach turned as I asked the question. That was supposed to be me dressed in a cap and gown like my peers three years ago. Zaire's smile fell a bit, "You should've been there. You know that right?"

I shrugged trying to keep the energy clear, "What are you doing now?"

Zaire rubbed his hands together and I could tell he was ready to burst at the seams to tell me, "I live in LA now choreographing professionally."

My smile was fake but I was happy for him deep down, "That's great. I'm so proud of you."

Zaire nodded, "I have a gig in Chicago in a few months, I'd love to bring you on as co-choreographer."

I shook my head, "I don't think that's allowed."

I couldn't agree to something like that. I wasn't ready. It wasn't me. That was meant for someone who had the skills and the talent. I just didn't possess those things anymore. 

He kissed his teeth, "I'm my own boss. They'll let me do whatever I want."

"Yo' Zaire, we about to bounce." The stranger from the barbershop stood in front of me with his hand on Zaire's shoulder. 

He stopped talking when he noticed me with his friend, "Hello."

I tried to smile, "I'll catch you later Zaire. Don't forget to hit me up. My number is still the same. Just look me up."

"Don't go disappearing again, Sky."

I pulled Ryan with me trying to cross into the parking lot. "Wait. Excuse me!"

"Yeah?" The handsome stranger from the barbershop seemed to be following me everywhere. 

"Can I get your number?" 

Zaire laughed, "I thought we were bouncing, Malachi?"

So that's what his name was. Malachi. My eyes trailed up and down his body stopping at his exposed arm tattoos, "For?"

"Yeah, what for?" Ryan crossed her arms mimicking me. 

"You got something going on. I wanna know what it is." 

He must have been nervous because those words did nothing for me. "You think you can charm your way into some panties?"

"No. Who said anything about that?" He told me confidently. 

"Right, who said anything about that?" Ryan uncrossed her arms looking towards me. Whose side was she on? Not mine.

"Try harder, Malachi."

~

"That's it! Straighten your leg a bit, don't forget to point your toes!" My voice rumbled through the dance hall as the tiny girls tried to practice a simple eight-count routine. 

They groaned at my statements but continued with their routine. I stood in front of them watching to make sure they were perfect. 

The seven and eight-year-olds contorted their bodies and spun on their toes. I clapped keeping a smile on my face, "Good! Keep going!"

"Ms, Sky are we almost done? My leg hurts."

I checked the time on my watch, "Only a few more minutes left. Should we do some improv to loosen you all up?"

The girls cheered and immediately dropped their posture. I wanted to roll my eyes but I knew they had worked hard enough. Children like them deserved a break. 

I stood in the empty room admiring myself in the mirror. The girls had left hours ago yet I was still here admiring the ceiling-to-floor mirrors. Soft classical music still played in the background. I tugged off my sweatshirt and stretched my arms. The white camisole revealed my toned arms.

"One, two, three," I whispered counting trying to center myself.

My toes pointed and I began a plié and then moved my arms above my head. With no pain in my legs, I stretched them forward and arched my back posing perfectly. Staying light as a feather, I tip-toed around the room.

As I neared the end of the room I positioned myself for a fouette. I stood tall on my baby pink pointe shoe ready to spin until the pain started. It was sharp at first, cutting into my calf and then burned into my thigh. 

I hissed flattening my foot, "Shit."

The record playing in the back scratched as the needle reached the end of the plastic. I approached the mirror with watery eyes. I was drenched in sweat and shame. I couldn't even do a fucking routine. How the hell was I supposed to go to Chicago and perform like this?

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