The Love We Deny ✔️ [COMPLETED]

Chapter 4 - Results

When I was younger, I loved this stadium because of the uniform. I mean, their small-size uniform combined with their body was just a sight for sore eyes, and I remember thinking, 'I want to be just like that when I'm older.' The more I got older and the more I felt attracted to this organization, I found out that it went far beyond the sexy uniform. The girls would go on trips to veteran clinics, they would travel the world to meet army troops, they often worked for charities to help make the community better. I wanted all of it. I wanted to be part of a company that would allow me to do this.

The only thing standing in my way now was my name being called. Just two words that would bring me one step closer to my dream. I felt my throat tighten as the tears threatened to come when the coach opened her mouth again.

"Kathanya Belova." The speaker resonated in the room. I was stunned, I had hoped for this, I had prayed for it, but I had never thought it would come true. Tears of joy ran down my face as I stood up and fell into the arms of Marketa and Alisson. Naomi rolled her eyes, but I was too thrilled to even care. I didn't even hear the last name that was called.

"Ladies, welcome to finals," Coach said with a bright smile.

"Son of a bitch!" I cursed as I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and slipped on a robe. The walls of my room had been vibrating for the past hour due to the loud bass music coming from the neighbor's place. Again.

This time I wouldn't care how long it took, the disrespectful, inconsiderate, rude, and dangerous prick was going to open his fucking door and listen to me. It was three in the morning, for God's sake, and I had the most important day of the year coming up tomorrow.

I walked out my door and banged on his door like I had done yesterday. Surprisingly, the door opened nearly immediately. In front of me stood a guy who looked like a college frat boy, except he didn't look like he had showered in a week, his brown hair was greasy and his hands were holding an open box of pizza. I felt nauseous when I saw him checking me out openly, spending an extra amount of time on my curves.

I loved my body, I had worked hard for it. I was lucky to be both curvy and skinny if you know what I mean, but watching him dissect my form made me want to scream and scratch his eyes out. I guess I could add perv to the list of descriptions for this neighbor. Could it get any worse?

"I have an important day tomorrow. Can you please lower the music so that I can sleep?" I asked, trying to sound polite despite having to scream above the music to be heard.

What happened next put me on edge like never before. The man looked at me up and down once more before laughing and slamming the door in my face. You have got to be kidding me! I continued banging for about ten minutes before deciding it was no use and going back to bed. Not that I was going to get any sleep at this point. I couldn't believe people like this even existed.

I must have fallen asleep because at six in the morning I was woken up by the dreadful sound of my alarm. I groaned internally. I was exhausted. I got ready, making sure to take a cold shower to hopefully jolt my body awake, now if only my mind could follow. I took the time to pour myself a good cup of coffee, God knows I needed it. I sipped it quietly while running my solo in my head.

My college dance team and I had choreographed the solo I would perform today. I had been practicing it for a year now to make sure each move was precise and showed exactly what it needed to, whether it was passion, technique, or fluidity.

I spent the morning in the small studio. I saw Sylvia and we chatted for a bit about her children and grandchildren. Apparently, her daughter had decided to come to surprise her with her two kids for the summer. Sylvia had been both excited and completely unprepared, which made her start running around like a headless chicken. I couldn't stop laughing at the way she recounted the story. I headed home afterward to gather my things and have a quick lunch.

When I finally made my way to the stadium in the afternoon for the finals, my nerves were through the roof. I couldn't remember the last time I had been this nervous. It wasn't hard to notice that the atmosphere was completely different from the day before. Not a single girl here was slacking off. Some were practicing their solo one last time in a corner of the room, while others had their headphones on to get into their own space.

I noticed Marketa and Alisson talking near the back and immediately went to see them.

"Hey girls!" I said, happy to see friendly faces.

"Hey Kat! Are you ready for this?" Her smile was wide, and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"No?" I said nervously. "You?"

"No, but I mean fake it till you make it, right?" she said while Marketa gave me a bone-crushing hug. "We trained for this moment, we got this. Just leave it all on the floor like I saw you do yesterday," she added.

Both Marketa and Alisson had incredible dance technique and power when dancing on the field. I knew the judges had taken notice of this as well. I couldn't imagine them not making the team.

We continued chatting for a while about the final performance and my start at their café called Coffee Addict. I was going to go check it out with them after the finals were over, so I knew where it was once I started. I would be starting on Monday in two days and was excited. I didn't have much experience as a barista, but the girls said not to worry about it and that they would teach me all the tricks. It was reassuring to be around people who believed in you.

"Well look who miraculously made it to finals," the nasal voice from yesterday rang through my ears, interrupting our conversation.

"Aren't you tired of failing yourself?" Marketa retorted immediately.

"You don't know what you're talking about. I just can't wait to see this little one fall on her ass today," she added, gesturing to me.

"Fat chance," I countered, already feeling this conversation draining my energy.

"Sure is," she said, looking me up and down. Had she just tried to weight-shame me?

Just as I was about to give her a real piece of my mind, we were ushered into the main room where a makeshift stage had been set up. I wiped my hands on my legs, hoping to get rid of the moisture that had accumulated. The room was huge, I could see the spotlights shining on the stage where the coach was standing ready to welcome all of us to this final day of the tryout.

"Number ninety-eight, Kathanya Belova," the speakers sounded. Time had flown by. It was my time to shine, and well, try not to make a complete fool of myself.

I stood from my chair on shaky legs. This was it. This was the moment I had been practicing all night yesterday and this morning again. I took my spot in the middle of the dance floor and felt the warmth of the spotlight on my skin. I closed my eyes and waited for the music to fill the room.

I heard the first beat of the music and stepped forward on my right leg, only to come up blank. I couldn't remember any of the choreography. It's like my mind had chosen the most important time of the audition to take a nap. I tried to disguise it and kept on moving, but soon realized that my memory hole was going to last. So, I did the next best thing I could. I knew this song by heart from the number of times I had danced to it. With a quickening heartbeat, I improvised. I let the song fill my body and I danced to the beat. I alternated between faster-paced movements and slower ones to show the technique I knew and added some twirls and jumps. Most of the song was a blank as I simply let the music carry me, not letting my mind think too much before moving.

By the time the music ended, I was slightly breathless from the passion and emotions I had put into this piece. Everyone clapped and I stood up to regain my seat. My eyes met Marketa's, who gave me an encouraging thumbs-up.

I watched as more and more girls took the stage and delivered a stunning performance. Some chose to dance contemporary, while others had a more hip-hop vibe to their choreography. Marketa and Al had both been captivating. They had managed to combine both of these elements into one dance. If they didn't make it then I was sure I wouldn't either. I wish I could dance like they did.

With each passing minute, my level of uneasiness increased. Everyone dancing in the final was good, hell they were really good. Many were professional dancers who decided to switch teams or try something new. It was difficult to imagine that I had the skills to compete with them, especially when the entire piece had been improvised.

Soon enough the coach gave a speech about how amazing everyone was and dismissed us. This was it, now we just needed to go home and pray we got a phone call.