Chapter Two

Author's Note: Although there are actual places used in this story, all characters and situations are fictional.

 

Chapter Two:

                The second I came down on my ankle wrong, I knew it was bad. Instead of the simple burst of pain, the blooming warmth of bruised tissue that signified a sprain, I felt the tear. In my mind I could hear it. I sat very still on the shiny polished wood of the dance floor, in the middle of my very first dance class of college. The instructor had only asked me to show a jump, but I had to prove myself, so I did more.

                The instructor, a lithe woman in her fifties who insisted we refer to her as Helene, rushed over to me. She dragged one of the guys in the class with her, and without asking me if I was okay with being manhandled, she had him scoop me up into his arms. Despite the gentle way he cradled me, I felt a pulsating rush of anger. All I wanted to do was shove him away.

                When he placed me in the hard plastic chair on the edge of the room, he backed away slowly like he knew what I had been thinking. Helene knelt down beside me, and began rotating my ankle. I yelped in pain, and pulled away too quickly. Hot waves of agony radiated up my leg. The whole room was closing in on me, the edges of my vision getting black. I fought back against it, though. There was no way I was going to allow all these people see me weak.

                “I think you need to go to Health Services,” Helene said. “I will have Brett escort you.”

                My jaw came unhinged as I gaped at her in disbelief. “I’m fine,” I said. “I—I’ll just sit out for a few minutes.”

                Helene frowned at me in a way that made me feel like a child. The disapproval in her gaze was so strong that I could feel it as it washed over me. She pressed her lips together, and turned back to the class. When she started barking orders again, I exhaled a sharp breath of relief.

                “That took balls.”

                I looked up more annoyed than startled. The guy who had picked me up, Brett, Helene had called him, was standing next to me. With a rough sigh, I said, “What did?”

                “Standing up to Helene.”

                When I realized that Brett wasn’t going anywhere, I sighed again. “I didn’t do anything so special.” My grandmother always told me that being humble was a virtue. I’d never really been sure what that meant since my parents weren’t really church-y type people, but I had gotten into a habit of mimicking my grandma. When I was older, I had decided that I liked the idea of being virtuous, at least when the mood struck me.

                “Don’t do that,” Brett said.

                “Do what?” I asked, my mouth puckering into a frown.

                “Deflect a compliment. I hate it when girls do that.”

                My frown deepened. I felt like this guy that I had just met could see right through me. I had just wanted to get him to stop talking, while still seeming like the decent person I was. But all I’d seemed to do was draw him into a deeper conversation.

                “Why do you think I care what you do or do not like?” I asked, my voice tight. I crossed my arms over my chest, and looked at him in challenge.

                Brett shrugged. “I don’t care if you care or not. I just think if someone gives you a compliment, you should accept it.”

                We lapsed into silence again, and I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “You don’t look much like a dancer.”

                Brett choked out a quick laugh, and said, “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

                “Well, are you?” I asked.

                “I’m in a dance class, so doesn’t that make me a dancer?”

                “Weak logic,” I said, though if I was feeling more charitable I would have conceded that most dancers I knew didn’t look like stereotypical dancers.

                He laughed again, and I squirmed at the thought that I actually really liked his laugh. “Actually I’m on the football team. You might have heard about us. We’re pretty good. Actually we’re projected to have a perfect season this year.”

                “What do they use you for? A practice dummy?”

                “Ouch.” Brett’s grin widened. “I’m a running back. I don’t start or anything. I’m only a sophomore. I’ll probably start next year. Or at least that’s my plan. You should come watch a practice some time, since it looks like you’re going to be sitting out for a while.”

                I ground my teeth together. Clearly he wasn’t a dancer because he didn’t understand the magnitude of my injury. If this was as bad as I thought it was, then this would end my dance career. I couldn’t even let my mind go there, and entertain the possibility. Suddenly panic slammed in to me, my chest constricting so tightly that I could barely breathe. If I had any chance of getting better and continuing on the path that I had always dreamed of, I needed to get to a doctor immediately. I hated that Helene had been right, but I could swallow my pride enough that I could admit that I was wrong.

                Brett was still babbling about practice and the football team, but I interrupted him. “Can you help me to Health Services?”

                “Uh, sure,” he said.

                With a grim set to my jaw I allowed him to help me up. As we hobbled out of the dance studio, I wondered when the next time I would be back—if ever.