Balletomane

Eat, Sleep, Dance, Repeat

Mr. Robertson wasn't that strict of a teacher, but he wasn't carefree either. He taught well, with authority and self-confidence, yet still managed to relate and have fun with his students. It was safe too say he was a favorite, liked by everyone he taught. He could somehow balance out his student's affections and his duty as an instructor, which he excelled at. Mr. R lead his class to state-wide competitions to return home with gold. They could go nation-wide if they wanted, which most everyone did, but he didn't allow most inexperienced teams to go unless he felt they were capable of the stress and pressure. Tai was a respectable man, however, that valued his classes and held his students close to heart. Their health was most important compared to the fame he could gain as an amazing dance teacher. Tai Robertson truly was a modest, humble, selfless person.

A successful man like him with such a good natured personality would, rationally, be married or at least dating. But no, he was as single as the nasty old professor in hallway B. Not that he hadn't gotten any chances at dating, plenty of girls have asked him out. It was just that he never accepted, just politely turned them down. Once in a while one of his students or colleagues would think on the subject for a minute or two before simply letting it go. Maybe he didn't like those specific girls? Maybe he had a secret crush he was devoted too? Or, maybe he was just reluctant to get attached, and wanted to focus on his job? But, it wasn't something worth pondering, so people just shrugged it off.

Except Katie.

"I'm telling you, we've got to set him up on a date!"
"He would never agree."
"We'd make him agree! Or set up an elaborate plan for him to meet up with-"
"With who?"
Katie jumped, the little blonde hairs standing proud as the breathy words were spoken just behind her. She spun on one foot and folded her arms behind her back, looking around the room to avoid her teacher's eyes. She lifted one hand to rub her neck, trying to free the feeling from her skin. The girl she was talking too earlier had already spun away in an attempt to spare herself of a conversation about Mr. R's love life with him himself.

"Awww, nothing, just talking about a- uh, festival- no, play! A play about these two people for, ummm..." Her blue-grey darting eyes finally rested on a object- or, person to be exact- that could distract her from her instructor's firm gaze. She fell into a mesmerized trance as the boy she was watching leaped from floorboard too floorboard, his lips set in a firm, consecrated line. Mr. R's assistant instructor, Laura Solo, pestered him from his side, ordering to point his toes, straighten his legs, etc. Katie watched, attentive to the leading details of his figure, from the smooth bulge of his calfs to the bounce of his curls as he tripped. He was elegant, if you read between the lines of his stumbles.

"For an actor, you aren't very good at lying," Mr. Robertson pointed out, breaking Katie out of her thoughts. The girl's head snapped up in surprise, smiling sheepishly. After a few moments of silence between the two, with Ms. Solo's scolding and the soft padding of footsteps the only things audible, Mr. R broke out into a smirk and rested a hand on his hip. "I wouldn't spend any time on my love life when you should be focusing on your own," he chuckled, swiveling around on his heel. Katie took a moment to register his words before gasping and faking hurt. "You question my dating life, sir?" She called after him, hand on heart. "No, I just am not blind to where you are looking," He called over his shoulder, already off to work with another student. Katie was left in the dust with the faintest trace of pink flushing her face and an unmistakable glance toward the young dancer not far across the room. Who just happened to have overheard.

_______________________________

The dance studio lay empty except for a single silhouette, going through motions to a routine. A soft tune trickled from the speakers, the lights dim. A single spotlight was on in the area the man was practicing, highlighting his figure in the barren room next to the barre. He counted faintly, like a metronome against the French song playing. "One two three four ONE. two three four..." He emphasized the counting on places he struggled with, yet never lost count of the beat. With a flourish, he dipped, then swung his left foot around and pointed his right, leaping through the air in a spin. The man landed, attempting too keep his rotation going but ultimately failing and losing balance. His ankle bent, sending him sprawling across the floor with a loud, echoing thump. The music continued, obvious to the performer's slip up.