A melody with a meaning hidden in its notes creates a story, whether it is read or sung. In the curious case of Electra Sparks and Brayden Haynes, the shift of an airplane sparks unspoken lyrics to an aria at the beginning of their tuneful journey...
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“I think surprises make life more interesting.” - John Major
♬Song♬ Try by Colbie Caillat
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Electra's POV
The room watched in awe as Matt took a crack at the moonwalk, his movements flowed with rhythm and a mixture of adorableness made it even cuter. He mastered it like a pro, and added a toothy grin of enthusiasm. One could tell that the talent trickled in his genes as he ended off the banging performance with a passionate Michael Jackson scream.
A roaring applause reverberated throughout the room, as Matt bowed in appreciation, “Thank you all.”
“Alright dreamers, let’s get this class started,” the auburn-haired dance instructor, named Jordan, announced, clapping his hands together in jocundity.
He explained that we were to be dressed according to the dance style chosen per week. This week our attire would match our hip-hop contemporary theme.
“Let’s test your hip-hop knowledge, Matt over there will be the DJ,” he pointed at my little pal, whom in turn gave a small wave.
“I will point to anyone randomly and you have to name a hip-hop dance move, which everyone will do, then I move on and we choreograph that into a dance,” he elaborated as we all spaced out into two rows; the distance between everyone was quite more than an arm length, which gave enough passage for each to groove.
“Hit it!”
“Hitting it!” an eager Matt riposted.
As soon as One Kiss by Dua Lipa & Calvin Harris began playing, the instructions were given, “Let’s go, girl with purple highlights, you’re up!”
She stood next to me, “Running Man,” was the move she blurted out, looking puzzled at her own reply. In the interim, I removed my hands from the cosy pockets of my tracksuit pants, which I changed into before arriving at class.
Everyone turned to the left, positioning him or herself, meanwhile Jordan made hand gestures, five, six, seven and eight, which signalled the beginning of our dance.
My ears listened attentively and focused on the beat and tempo of the music. I began and lifted my knee and arms, in actual running position as my hands closed into fists. We pushed down, back simultaneously with our left legs, and repeated the steps several times in succession.
As we continued, his finger landed on me, “SpongeBob.”
In that split second, Matt’s t-shirt had helped me tremendously. “Seriously?” A mutter came from the back as the finger gestures followed, with four counts.
