Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton
“Cut the music!” Derrick shouts, falling into a cheap folding chair on the outskirts of the room.
Suddenly the large space is eerily silent as we all collect our breaths—me and the fifteen other dancers that were selected for Nash’s tour included.
“Did he hate it?” Ziggy asks nervously next to me.
I shrug, using the back of my hand to wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. My chest heaves as my lungs try to take in as much air as possible during the long-awaited break.
We’re only a week into rehearsals for the tour and there isn’t a muscle on my body that isn’t sore from all the stress I’ve been putting on it. I thought I was in shape before rehearsals began, but it turns out I was wrong.
Dancing almost every day and still keeping up with strength and cardio workouts don’t hold a candle to seven-hour rehearsal days. I’m utterly exhausted, but in the most exhilarating way.
The energy in the room after we learned all the choreography to the first song they taught us was unreal. I’ll be dancing in a majority of the setlist, only sitting out for five of the songs.
Running a hand through his dreads, Derrick takes a moment to stare at all of us. I don’t know if we were so bad that we’ve left him speechless, or if he’s just trying to come up with some encouraging words.
It’s been a long rehearsal day. It’s been a long week—period. Nash will be joining us here soon to learn his own choreography, and Derrick wants the songs we’ve already learned to be damn near perfect for him. Finally, the man proves we didn’t render him speechless.
“Here For a Good Time is the openingof every single concert,” he says quietly. “We need high energy. You guys need to give it your damn all. We’re running it again from the top. Get in formation.”
It only takes a few seconds for all of us to get to our starting marks before we’re ready to begin. Derrick has proven to be super chill, most of the time, but he doesn’t do well when we linger for too long.
The beat starts thumping out of the speakers, and then the coordinated chaos follows. The opening number is complicated. There are about two minutes that we’re all off stage, a countdown of sorts where Nash will have a voice-over before the music starts. Then, Nash will be on stage alone for a small amount of time before we all come out.
So far, we’ve been practicing from the spots we’ll first take once we’re all out there, waiting to go through all of it until dress rehearsals.
My body moves to the bass as I give everything I’ve got to the number. Listing off the count in my head, I know I’m hitting every eight-count. While I skip across the floor, I place my hand in Ziggy’s.
Ziggy and I, along with three other pairs of dancers, execute the portion of the song that’s a mix between the salsa and hip hop. Ziggy spins me around, catching me when I fall into him. He slides, pulling my body along with him. There are three more beats before his hands find my hips and we perform the rest of our part together.
Halfway through the song, the girls skip to the back of the room. At the front, all the guys stand in a ‘V’ formation—the tip missing where Nash will stand—as they jump and kick to the beat of the song.
The girls are placed in the back, and from there, we mimic the same moves as the guys up front. Except when they grab each other’s shoulders and sway back and forth to the beat, we continue the same movements prior. Toward the end of the song, we run back to what will be the front of the stage. Joining with our partners one last time, we execute one final salsa move before dropping down in front of our partner at the exact time the beat ends.
A slight turn of my head as we wait for Derrick’s thoughts alerts me that at some point in the song, Monica walked in. Our gazes lock and I can’t tell if she’s pleased or not with my performance.
I also never found out if any of the other girls chosen for the tour were given the same proposition as I was. Quite frankly, I don’t care. All the girls seem nice, and I don’t want to question their morals like I do my own each night.
“Much better! That’s the kind of energy I’m talking about.” Derrick claps and looks over to Lizzie, the other choreographer.
She nods her head in agreement, joining in on the clapping.
“Now let’s do it again,” Derrick instructs, already messing with the speaker system to replay the song.
We perform the song three more times, all up to Derrick’s liking, before the day is finally called.
I have a light sheen of sweat on my arms and legs, proof that I was giving the rehearsal my all. Walking over to my belongings, I confirm that no matter how out of breath Ziggy is, he never stops talking.
“Any plans tonight?” he asks, pulling a rag out of his backpack and wiping his forehead.
I squat down, pulling my water bottle from the side pocket of my backpack. “Not really,” I answer, taking a moment to gulp down some water. After I wipe the extra water off my lips, I continue. “My plans include a nice hot bath and hopefully twelve hours of sleep. You?”
He smirks. “Oh, ya know, just a hot date.”
Laughing, I shake my head at him. “I swear, you’re the energizer bunny. The last thing on my mind during this tour will be dating. I barely have time to feed myself and get a decent amount of sleep to add a boyfriend into the mix.”
“Ohhh, but they’re so fun!” he teases, shouldering his backpack and wagging his eyebrows.
I’m about to answer him when the distinct sound of heels hitting against the floor overrides the noise of any small conversation happening.
“Nora!” Monica says, stopping in front of me and Ziggy. She gives him a brief sideways glare, motioning her head to the door in a somewhat-nice way (for her, anyway) to tell him to get lost.
“I’ll see ya later,” Ziggy says, offering me a curious glance over his shoulder before leaving the room.
Monica examines me from head to toe. As she crosses her arms over her chest, her handbag dangles between us, perfectly balanced on her forearm. She scrunches her nose, taking a noticeable step away from me. “You’re disgustingly sweaty.”
Looking down at myself, I shrug. “That’s what all day rehearsals will do.”
She purses her lips in response, not acknowledging the state I’m in any further. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” I wipe the hair from my face, wondering what else she could want from me.
“Not here. Follow.”
Her heels get back to clacking and I have to quickly grab my backpack from the ground so I don’t lose her. My short legs have to up their usual pace to keep up with her. For someone wearing stilettos, she sure is quick.
The door almost slams me in the face when I follow her out, as Monica doesn’t bother to keep the door open for me.
I follow her down the near-empty hallway before she brings me into a small room. It reminds me of the office I first met Nash in a week ago, even though it’s a different studio.
Luckily, there’s a small table in here with four chairs surrounding it. Monica takes one, tapping her fingernails against the wood of the table until I take my own seat.
“Are you ready to get started with Nash?” she asks, her back ramrod straight in her chair.
Rubbing my thumb and middle finger together, I look at her nervously. “Of course,” I finally spit out, my pulse picking up speed.
“Good. He’s going to be joining all of you in rehearsals soon. Your job will really begin, then.”
I nod, trying to fully process what that might mean.
This last week, I’ve been able to push why I’m really on this tour to the back of mind. I’ve been able to enjoy the excitement with the other dancers of making the cut. Nash has been in a dark corner of my mind, though. Now it appears the luxury of forgetting what I’ve agreed to has come and gone.
“There are a lot of people counting on you, Nora. Remember that.”
After taking in a deep breath, I say, “I know. I’ll try my best, I promise.”
Monica lets out a shrill laugh, shaking her head at me. “A little bit of advice for you: don’t make promises you can’t keep. You clearly haven’t met Nash if you think you could promise this egregious plan will work. Nash is a bit…prickly these days.”
I don’t point out that “prickly” would be the perfect adjective I’d use to describe her.
My mouth stays snapped shut for a few moments while my mind races with her words.
It isn’t that I think the plan will work—I actually firmly believe it won’t—but I hate letting people down, so I mean it when I say I’ll try my best.
“Why is he prickly?” I’m shocked the question leaves my mouth, but there’s nothing I can do to take it back. Judging by the look on Monica’s face, she wasn’t quite expecting the question either.
“You’re asking the wrong questions,” she answers, beginning to tap her nails once again.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Grabbing her handbag from one of the empty chairs, she pulls her phone out. “I have to jet to a meeting. Good luck next week. You’ll need it.”
The meeting ends just as soon as it began, and the whole way home I wonder what the hell I was thinking when I signed up to do this.