The Debut Diaries

Chapter 6: The First Rehearsal

I stare at my bedroom ceiling, replaying the night of the graduation party over and over and over again despite it happening days ago. It's so confusing to me. The way he could saunter into the room and just belong. How did he fit into the family picture better than I could?

Turning over, I reach for my phone, placed flatly on the nightstand beside my bed. The screen flashes bright in my face: 9:45 a.m.

"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter to myself, throwing the bed sheets to the floor and jumping to my feet. I make a beeline to the washroom, almost tripping on the blankets and pillows I mistakenly let decorate the ground.

After a couple minutes of toothbrushing, hair combing, and skincare (because nothing in this world will prevent me from putting on some SPF, not even Tita Mel who will viciously rip my head off for being late to my own rehearsal), I finally run back into my bedroom. For the outfit of the day, I settle on a pair of basic black leggings and an oversized T-shirt from Taylor Swift's last concert in Toronto.

I head downstairs, grabbing a quick protein bar and banana from the awfully quiet kitchen. Nobody is in the house today because of a couple things going on. Like usual, mom is at work. Apparently, she's leading a complicated cardiac surgery today, meaning that I probably won't see her for a while. Dad, on the other hand, is busy dealing with the morning rush at our bakery. Meanwhile, Ate Mae is working full-time at her internship this summer.

Now, I know that Lola Elina would be nagging in my ear if she were here right now. She'd say, "Carmen, late ka na sa rehearsal mo! Nakakahiya sa Tita mo!" (You're late for your rehearsal! That's disrespectful to your aunt!) But the woman is at a church pilgrimage, so it's a Lola-free day. If I get there late, there's no doubt that Tita Mel will pass on this information to Lola Elina and I will surely die anyway.

The house officially becomes empty as I head out, locking the door behind me. I hop into my car and turn on the ignition. It's my mother's old Mercedes, which was gifted to me on my sixteenth birthday as a motivation to get my licence. Fair enough, the 2012 model still works like a charm more than a decade after.

As I back out of the driveway, I accidentally hit the recycling bin by the curb. Frustrated, I step out of the car to place the bin right side up, collecting its components, and pushing it out of hazard's way. At the same moment, one of our neighbours—a senior in his 70s, perhaps—looks over with widened eyes. I give him a sheepish smile before going back into the car and driving away as quickly as I can.

After approximately twenty minutes, consisting of constant red lights and eating my food during those red lights, I finally make it to Tita Mel's dance studio. Unsurprisingly, most of the cars in the parking lot belong to my friends and I am the last one to arrive.

I walk into the studio space and when the large door opens and slams shut, everyone's heads turn to face me. I smile and wave awkwardly, though Tita Mel looks unamused.

Tita Mel is usually one of the "chill" titas. Like, she's pretty easy to talk to and she's not that chismosa. But when it comes to her passion, her craft, her life, basically...she can become pretty... intense. She glares at me and I realize that hitting snooze on my alarm five times this morning was a poor choice on my part.

"So Carmen, would you like to tell us why you're," she glances at the wall clock, "twenty minutes late to your own rehearsal?"

Let's get this straight. Tita Mel has been teaching dance at this studio—her studio—for probably twenty-five years. A certified professional in all styles: lyrical, contemporary, jazz, ballet, and of course, tyranny. Therefore, it doesn't surprise me when she tries to bring hell for this little choreo. Unfortunately, neither me nor any of my friends dance. She's going to have a s'well time.