#scenebreak
The morning after I met the dance crew, I struggled to hang a punching bag in the garage. Mumford and Sons played on the MP3 player that wasn’t an iPod because I was too much of a leader to follow a trend. Someone blocked the light of the rising sun. Dad. He didn’t offer to help. “How the hell did you sneak that past me?” With the sun behind him, he looked like a gangster in the cheap suit and tie Auntie Mac had bought him.
She’d picked it out too, thank God, so while it was cheap, at least it was stylin’. A little tight around the shoulders, but the shoulders in question were huge.
I managed to hook the bag. “You look good in the suit.”
“Please answer the question.”
I climbed down and propped one foot on the ladder channeling the emoticon of cool. All the boxing gear, apart from the bag and a pair of gloves, had been left behind in Austin. “You know how I snuck it past you. I paid Mario to do it for me.”
“Sneaked,” he auto-corrected. “How’d you pay him off?”
“Mario’s getting married in a couple of months. He wanted to surprise Molly so I taught him a few waltz steps.” I gestured at the heavy bag. “Ta-daa.”
It was an argument bound to happen sooner or later, but, hopefully, the revelation about Mario’s last minute nuptials would distract him.
“Take it down.” He spoke quietly, which was freakier than if he ran around yelling.
“No.”
We stared at each other for about a gajillion years before he turned around and walked away. Up until the accident, Dad spent two hours a day, three days a week coaching me. Now, boxing was part of the thing we didn’t talk about.
“Have fun jousting dragons, Dad.” I called his job hunt “jousting dragons” because there were as many jobs to find as there were dragons.
Deep breath.
After setting Mumford and Sons to blast away on repeat, I pulled on the gloves and focused on beating the crap out of the bag. Hitting it hard helped me forget I was lonely and pissed off. It was pure and physical. I lost myself in it: constantly moving and hitting. Always keeping my guard up.
But my mind wandered: Monika’s last words to me? You know, when she dumped me.
“After everything we’ve been through together and everything I’ve done for you, I just don’t know how you can do this to me. I hate you, Ethan Fox! We’re through!”
She’d stalked away and left me in the middle of a busy dance floor that’d fallen silent. About fifty people gawked at me, wondering what I’d do, a circle of vultures waiting to see if I’d break down and cry like a little girl.
“I told her the new make-up made her look like a whore,” I lied. In my head, it was funny.
People had been a bit shocked, but they’d returned to their lessons.
I forced my attention to hitting the heavy bag in front of me. “One, four, three, two, three, three.” It was a training drill. The numbers represented different punches. The drill was meant to clear my head.
Didn’t work.
What had I really told Monika right before her tear-filled parting shot? “I’m sorry, Monika, but Dad lost everything, the gym, the house, the cars. We’re going to Auntie Mac’s because we don’t have anywhere else to go.” I’d worked hard to keep my voice low so all those people in the studio wouldn’t hear. “I can find a way up here on the weekends to practice, but I can’t afford the coaching anymore.”
“What about the costumes? We can’t use last year’s costumes.”
“There’s no way I can afford new costumes now.” I’d forced myself to fake a smile. “You’re the most beautiful girl out there no matter what you’re wearing.”
Scroll back to her response, and maybe, just maybe, my stupid one-liner won’t sound quite so evil.
We’d met when we were eight. I was the only boy in class and she was the top girl, so our coach paired us up for a Fred and Ginger routine. We were so darn cute, her parents begged Dad to pull me out of regular classes so we could stay partners. And so it went. Monika usually got what she wanted. We started dating officially the night she snuck into my hotel room and introduced me to euphemisms at fifteen. It was the weekend we won our first state comp, so two reasons to celebrate, right?
“One, four, three, two, three, three.” I focused on beating the crap out of the bag. My aunt’s garage existed in a completely different universe. I’d never see Monika again. Was that good or bad?
Something spattered across my shoulders and scared holy hell out of me. I spun and blocked, ready with a powerhouse if I needed it.
The girl silhouetted in the garage door several feet away dropped the extra pebbles onto the gravel drive. Monika? No, she cocked her hip in a very recognizable manner. Katy.
I reached for the ear buds before remembering the gloves, so I smacked myself upside the head at the same time I knocked the buds out of my ears.
“Sorry, Foxtrot. I wasn’t sure how else to get your attention.”
“Hey.” It was about all I could manage. No idea how long I’d been at the bag, but it would be a few minutes before I caught my breath.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded. Wow, she was hot in the early morning light.
She looked me up and down. “Turnabout’s fair play, I guess.”
Oh yeah, I was shirtless and sweaty. Normally, no big deal. Dancer. Boxer. Google “ethan fox shirtless” with your safesearch on and you’ll find pix of me. But with Katy right there in my garage? Utterly different story.
By the way, without safesearch, you’ll get an entirely different Ethan Fox.
I dove for snarky. “You stopped by for an eyeful?” Using my teeth, I ripped open the Velcro closures on my gloves. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
I slipped into my discarded t-shirt. “Dad figured I’d be training all across the country this year, so I do school online.” Had I managed to make that nonchalant? He’d paid in full before we went broke.
She hesitated, closed her eyes and shook her head microscopically. “You’re from a completely different planet.”
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
She opened her eyes. “We had a dance gig this morning. The Starbucks’ grand opening.”
“Starbucks?”
She smirked. “It’s a big deal around here.”
Wow. I encircled the bag with one arm and leaned my head against it, trying for disarming cuteness while I let her get around to her reason for stopping by.
She raised one perfect eyebrow. “So. . . a boxing ballroom dancer?”
I shrugged. People get around to the point a lot faster if you let them talk.
“I’m sorry about the ballroom crack in front of the crew,” she said, “but you took me by surprise. I figured it’d be a few days before you found the studio.” She wandered around the garage, touching things and picking them up. It was cute. “I’m a tango dancer. Third gen. The whole dance crew thing is kinda new to me, but I’m the best dancer in town.” Her tone wasn’t egotistical, just stating a fact.
“Head cheerleader?” I asked.
She made a face as if she’d just sucked the mother of all lemons. “I said dancer.”
So it was like that. I avoided smiling.
Cheerleaders and studio dancers? No love lost. Trust me.
“Anyway. . . your aunt told me about you because my mom owns the only dance studio in town and she knew you’d make your way there eventually.” She picked up a piece of newspaper, smoothed it out and folded it. “I saw your website and stuff.” She glanced up. “It’s not stalker or anything. I just thought maybe I could offer you a proposition.”
Proposition? Now she had my complete interest.
She laughed. “I have a boyfriend, Foxtrot.” She held the class ring up with one thumb. “I want to offer you a job.”
“Coaching the team?”
She gave me the same face she’d made about cheerlea
ders. “I saw your coaching videos. You dance great, but your teaching sucks. I want you to show me choreography and I’ll teach the team. While you’ve been running around the world dancing like a star, my mom’s been training me how to teach.”
“I’ll do it.”
“What? Just like that? No ego about how you’re all world-famous and must know more than me about everything?”
“We need the money.” Couldn’t let her figure out the obvious reason why I’d rather work with her alone than with the whole crew. “Dad isn’t going to find a job here any time soon. While it’s great that we have a roof over our heads, sharing a bathroom with your dad isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Too many hair care products?”
My turn to make a face. “Dude, he’s a boxing coach. He thinks gel is something you use for a pulled muscle. I so get another Mexican joke, now.”
Her face wandered from confused to amused. “Fine, but there isn’t enough money for you to move out. I’ll give you what I’m getting, but that’s all I have.”
“It’s more than I’m making now.” Score. Distracted her with the money angle.
The honk of a car horn startled me.
Katy spun around. “Shit, he’s already done tearing down the stage?” She turned back to me. “If anyone asks, I walked here because you lost your wallet when I dropped you on your ass yesterday.” She moved away slowly. “It’s Corey, and I don’t want the team to know you’re coaching me.”
“Corey?”
She lifted the ring again. “Boyfriend.” She lowered her voice. “And while the rose was pretty, please don’t do stuff like that, Foxtrot. I have a boyfriend.”
“What rose?”
She blinked a few times. “The rose I found on my car this morning. Very sweet, but if we’re going to work together—”
“Wasn’t me. Perhaps Boyfriend?”
She chuckled. “We’ve been going out for a year. The roses dried up months ago.” She settled into that hip thrust I liked so much. “It really wasn’t you?”
“I don’t know where you live.”
Ha! She was disappointed. She liked thinking it was me, even if she had to tell me not to do it anymore.
Complicated.
Nice.
Boyfriend honked again. Katy jumped. “Whatever. Studio, ten o’clock tonight and I dropped off your wallet, right?”
I pulled it out of a pocket and waggled it in the air for all to see. “Thanks for the wallet, Katy,” I said louder than necessary. “Sure am glad you found it. I was sick worried.”
She tossed me a smirk before dashing down the drive to the waiting car. She didn’t wave as they drove off, but I like to think she wanted to. She also didn’t kiss Boyfriend hello, so that was nice.
He drove a new Dodge Challenger, which meant he had money but was compensating for a tiny dick. Good news and bad all rolled up in a shiny red package.
I missed my Roadster.