As Long as You're with Me

EPISODE 06: Déjà vu

RAMIL

COACH TOM PAUSES the clip of me dancing and points at the lower half of the screen. "Perfect footwork here; however, your hips looked a bit rigid when 'ya turn around the pole. See?"

I lean forward to the laptop and nod. It's already 8:30 on a Sunday night and we were still in the dance studio I rented where Jax and I are residing. It wasn't cheap, but it was worth its price.

Two walls parallel from one another were lined with perfect floor-to-ceiling mirrors, specially made for practice. The wooden flooring was polished and squeaky. The lights can be manipulated into any variety of colors and intensity. There were speakers suspend on each corner of the studio, with a table, two chairs, and amplifiers and plugs on one side.

There was also a pole hole in the middle of the room where dancers can insert the steel. (Of course the pole was an additional charge, but our Affluenza producer/director David Dankworth will be paying for all of these anyway).

Coach reverses the video and makes a comparison. "Okay, going back... here. Observe how the beat of the song changes to a slower rhythm. Your hips took time, yeah? I want that same grace even when the music turns intense. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach," I said, straightening my back when he steps away from the device.

Coach Tom is a huge guy—the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome with full lips and noticeable green eyes. His hair was braided back, one ear was pierced, and a small portion of his arm had a tattoo of a phoenix. He was wearing comfy sweatpants and a pair of dark rubber shoes. Gray tank top hugged his torso, exposing his well-defined arms, especially the way he's packing his things now inside his duffel bag.

Coach was known for being strict and direct when it comes to lessons—distraction is a no-no—but during breaks he's laid back and cool. He's a professional who knows how to blend in with us students.

I chugged my water bottle straight, savoring the sweet taste of thirst being quenched.

"Amma be sending David the clips tomorrow so he can watch your progress," Coach says as he puts on his travel jacket and zips it up to his neck. "I'll head out now, Ramil. I promised my fiancée I'll be back by 9." He looks up the wall clock. "You still have thirty more minutes to practice. Use the time before you lock up."

David paid good money for this session; I might as well use the studio 'til my time's up. I shut the laptop down and opened my phone to reconnect it to the speakers and play a song I can dance to.

"By the way, I'll not be seeing 'ya this Sunday," Coach adds and shrugs the bag's strap onto his shoulder. "That's actually one of the reasons why I insisted meeting 'ya tonight."

My stomach dropped. Has he given up on me already? "Are you... kicking me out of the class?"

He stares at me for a good minute before bursting out with laughter. My anxiety didn't mix well with this growing confusion.

"Nah, not that; I was just messing with 'ya. I'm not supposed to tell 'ya, but you're my favorite student so why the hell not?"

"Wait, I am?"

"Yeah. And if 'ya tell that to the other guys in the class, they're gonna freak so it's just us, got it?"

I nodded eagerly, but still puzzled.

"Good. But ey! Don't get it too much your head, kid. You don't wanna end up like those bland celebrities who think they're the best now. You're down-to-earth and teachable that's why I like 'ya best."