The Art of Dancing in the Rain (boyxboy)

The Boston Tea Party

     Boston's hair color was an often-used topic of discussion, and it was being disputed at the very moment he saw a young dancer on a street in the slums of SanFrancisco for the first time. His sisters, who were accompanying him, were the ones discussing his hair. Was it red, was it brown, or maybe dirty blonde... then it trailed off. The small group of three's eyes all fell on the dancer. They weren't the only ones who had to stop. There were many fellow viewers surrounded him, mouths open in awe.

     He wasn't like normal street dancers. The obvious choice of dance for those would be hip-hop. This young man was doing a beautiful contemporary dance. He was at the opening of an alley to give him enough room. 

     "Who is he?" Boston whispered to himself. He usually stayed in the more up-ity part of the city, but he figured this guy was probably here often. The odd haired boy was actually just looking for the way to a fancy party that his father was hosting. He wasn't entirely expecting an answer to his question, but he got it.

     "That's Ollie," came the reply from a girl no older than 15 standing in front of them. "Sorry, nobody knows his last name."

     "Interesting..." Boston gave one more thoughtful glint at the boy before checking his watch. They were going to be late. "Come on guys."

     He tugged his sisters away, breaking their trances on the dancer. They had to get to the -what Boston liked to call- tea party. As much as they didn't want to go to the boring thing, they wanted to hear a lecture from their parents even less.

     The three siblings were actually triplets. The two girls, Jazzy and Calypso, are identical and Boston is fraternal. All their names relate to different dances if that shows anything about their family. Their mom was a professional ballet dancer who met their father threw his high seat in the dance world. So high, you could probably call it a thrown. He practically owns all the best dancers you can think of, and more. Some he owns secretly by buying out several companies and not changing their names or telling anyone he owns them. Even if nobody under the highest scale knows he owns them, he still racks in the money. But, he's not all bad, nor all behind the scenes. He is also the one who dishes the dancers out to gigs and gets them famous. Even if you hate the way he seems to run everything everywhere you look, you have to respect his amazing business work and the way he truly births stars. 

     The triplets could all dance before they could walk. All forms of ballroom dance were second nature to them by the time they were just five years old. And what's more, they loved it. They may have had a push start, but it seemed like they would never grow tired of it. That wasn't true. Jazzy was a certified prima ballerina by fifteen. Calypso and her partner Benny all the way from the UK were the best in the country in competitive ballroom by sixteen. As for Boston, well he was an undefeated monster in his field of general competitive dance. He even had a famous contemporary lyrical routine when he was fourteen... There was really nothing else for them to do.

     They all loved dance, but when they hit the top, they had nowhere else to go. Still, they all majored in their family's dearest art in college. That's where they all were at that moment. A now loveless relationship with the thing they cared most about in life. The girl's new goals were to become backup dancers for music artists. Boston's was just to get through school.

     They arrived at the party about ten minutes later. Three pairs of eyes landed on them. Their mother, Lydia, came rushing over to them, her hair in a tight bun and her flowy dress and arm rap swaying out behind her at her motions. 

     "Cutting it a little close don't you think," she whispered to them, as it was exactly 11:00, the time the party was to start. She straightened the wrinkles in Boston's red sweater that was neatly placed over a white button-up.  Then, she moved on to the girls, trying to tame some of the humidity-induced frizzies sticking out of their matching french braids. They were wearing matching red dresses with white belts. The triplets hated having to wear matching clothes, but their parents always insisted that they did for these parties. Something about it making them look very presentable and cute.

     There was only one guest so far, the rest would surely be accompanied by their spouses. Lydia ushered them to the table and had them go ahead and sit down. She went back to the door to greet incoming guests. This would be a boring few hours.