Chapter 2
Finally school ends and I get to leave. I go to my car and there’s something on the hood of it. I walk over and it’s my book. I grab it and there’s a note in it. Forgot this. Try not to trip over anyone again. I have a bruise thanks to you. I have at football practice at six if you want to apologize. –Ryan Hoffman. I smile and get into my car. I drive to our new house, I refuse to call it home. My dad didn’t have time to really look for a house so we moved into an apartment building. I grab my things and climb the steps to my building. I rush up the steps so I can finish unpacking my room and then can fix up the extra room so I can practice dance. I didn’t get to practice before school so I’ll have to stay up late tonight.
I go up the steps and get to the landing and for the second time today collide with someone. I hit the concrete floor hard. “Ouch shit.” I hear that same voice say. I look up.
“Odd how I keep running into you…” I mutter untangling myself from him yet again.
“You really owe me now…..” He says as we stand up. I pull a dollar out of my bag.
“Here.” I say as I turn to walk into my apartment.
“Hey wait.” He says as I walk in. I turn in the doorway and look at him. “I’m Ryan.” He sticks his hand out to me. I shake his hand.
“I’m Rosalynn.” I turn and walk into the apartment.
“So you live here?” He steps into the doorway.
“Obviously…” I step towards the door so he doesn’t think he can come in.
“Well I live next door.” He smiles and steps out. “See ya around Rosalynn.” He steps out and walks into his apartment. I stand in the doorway for a moment and turn and go inside. I go to my room and finish unpacking my things. When I finish I go and put up my barre. Even though I’m stuck in this backwash town I still have to practice.
I change into my dance stuff and I slide a CD into my stereo and start warming up. I hear a knock at the front door. I sigh and walk to the door. “Yes, who is it?” I say before opening it, I lived in New York, you never open the door before asking who it is.
“It’s Ryan.” I open the door.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Can you turn it down, my sisters are trying to sleep.” I nod and close the door. I go back and turn down the music a notch. I keep doing my warm ups when I hear a knock on the wall. I suppress a sigh and turn it down. Oh how I miss my deaf next door neighbor Mrs. Triken. She couldn’t hear anything, even when I would play heavy metal on full blast. I knock back sharply. Is he happy now? Another brisk knock comes through, I’ll take it as a thank you.
I finish my warm up and start the routine my instructor left me to do before I moved. My pointe shoes are an extension of my body as I twirl and jump following the frenzied music. This is one of the hardest routines I’ve ever done. I music becomes faster and faster and I feel my blood pulsing furiously, I’m alive for once. Dancing makes me feel alive, the rest of my life I just try to survive, but dancing this is what everyone else feels like I guess, the feeling of exhilaration, of living.
I dance until the song ends, and take a deep breath, I already miss New York. I miss going to the studio everyday, I miss my instructor, and I miss the hustle of the city. I go to the corner of the room I haven’t unpacked yet and I grab my guitar. I play a few songs to forget for a while. My dad won’t be home for hours, getting his stuff set up at work, and looking for a decent bar in town that will run a tab. I hear someone knock on the wall again. I’m really not in the mood for it so I bang my hand flat on the wall to make the loudest noise possible. Oh how I miss my soundproofed room. You couldn’t hear any outside noise and no one could hear you. Hence the reason Xander used to spend so much time at my house before things changed.
I put the guitar down and start the song again, it has to be prefect. My last turn was a few seconds fast, and my jump once the music picks up was sloppy. There’s always room for improvement. I run through it again and again till the sky is inky black. Wearily I look at the clock, eleven o’ clock. I do my nightly routine, just as my mother taught me and climb into bed.
The next morning I wake up with a start. I’m breathing heavily looking around for the monsters that haunt me in my sleep. I sigh heavily before getting ready to practice. I run for an hour then dance for an hour, that’s my morning work out. I pull on my running shoes and tiptoe through the living room where dad is passed out. After my mom died he refused to sleep in his room, even in an entirely new state and house he refuses. I slide out of the house and lock the door and do my stretches out here. I raise my leg above my head, loving the feeling of my muscles burning my tiredness away.
I rush down the steps and run around the neighborhood, my arms and legs pumping. I run through a tiny park, my music blaring in my ears. I hope I don’t get too lost, knowing my luck I’ll end up on some desolated backwoods road and get picked up by a serial murderer. Soon all my thoughts, my worries, even my music zones out and all I can think of, all I can hear is my heart thumping and my feet hitting the uneven ground. I run until the alarm on my phone breaks through to me, time to head home. I turn and run back the way I came.
This time I notice more things, a basketball court, a soccer field, and a few fountains with benches scattered around them. This is a pretty town but nothing can rival New York. I make it back home and as I’m going up the steps Ryan is coming down. “You run?” He says looking at my sweaty physique.
“Yeah, you?” I say stopping on the landing that he’s on.
“Yeah. How long do you run?”
“An hour every morning.”
“Whoa really?” He says surprised.
“Yeah I do.” I look at my watch. “I gotta go.” I say running up the final flight of steps.
“Where you rushing off to?” He says running after me.
“Dance. I have to practice.” I say turning my key.
“Ok Charleston.” He smiles as I go into my apartment.
“What did you call me?” I turn and stand in the doorway.
“Charleston, you know it’s a type of dance.” He smiles and runs down the steps. I watch as he runs out onto the sidewalk and out of my line of sight. I turn and go into my apartment to practice. Practice, practice, practice. That’s the only way to be good at anything.
I go up the steps and get to the landing and for the second time today collide with someone. I hit the concrete floor hard. “Ouch shit.” I hear that same voice say. I look up.
“Odd how I keep running into you…” I mutter untangling myself from him yet again.
“You really owe me now…..” He says as we stand up. I pull a dollar out of my bag.
“Here.” I say as I turn to walk into my apartment.
“Hey wait.” He says as I walk in. I turn in the doorway and look at him. “I’m Ryan.” He sticks his hand out to me. I shake his hand.
“I’m Rosalynn.” I turn and walk into the apartment.
“So you live here?” He steps into the doorway.
“Obviously…” I step towards the door so he doesn’t think he can come in.
“Well I live next door.” He smiles and steps out. “See ya around Rosalynn.” He steps out and walks into his apartment. I stand in the doorway for a moment and turn and go inside. I go to my room and finish unpacking my things. When I finish I go and put up my barre. Even though I’m stuck in this backwash town I still have to practice.
I change into my dance stuff and I slide a CD into my stereo and start warming up. I hear a knock at the front door. I sigh and walk to the door. “Yes, who is it?” I say before opening it, I lived in New York, you never open the door before asking who it is.
“It’s Ryan.” I open the door.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Can you turn it down, my sisters are trying to sleep.” I nod and close the door. I go back and turn down the music a notch. I keep doing my warm ups when I hear a knock on the wall. I suppress a sigh and turn it down. Oh how I miss my deaf next door neighbor Mrs. Triken. She couldn’t hear anything, even when I would play heavy metal on full blast. I knock back sharply. Is he happy now? Another brisk knock comes through, I’ll take it as a thank you.
I finish my warm up and start the routine my instructor left me to do before I moved. My pointe shoes are an extension of my body as I twirl and jump following the frenzied music. This is one of the hardest routines I’ve ever done. I music becomes faster and faster and I feel my blood pulsing furiously, I’m alive for once. Dancing makes me feel alive, the rest of my life I just try to survive, but dancing this is what everyone else feels like I guess, the feeling of exhilaration, of living.
I dance until the song ends, and take a deep breath, I already miss New York. I miss going to the studio everyday, I miss my instructor, and I miss the hustle of the city. I go to the corner of the room I haven’t unpacked yet and I grab my guitar. I play a few songs to forget for a while. My dad won’t be home for hours, getting his stuff set up at work, and looking for a decent bar in town that will run a tab. I hear someone knock on the wall again. I’m really not in the mood for it so I bang my hand flat on the wall to make the loudest noise possible. Oh how I miss my soundproofed room. You couldn’t hear any outside noise and no one could hear you. Hence the reason Xander used to spend so much time at my house before things changed.
I put the guitar down and start the song again, it has to be prefect. My last turn was a few seconds fast, and my jump once the music picks up was sloppy. There’s always room for improvement. I run through it again and again till the sky is inky black. Wearily I look at the clock, eleven o’ clock. I do my nightly routine, just as my mother taught me and climb into bed.
The next morning I wake up with a start. I’m breathing heavily looking around for the monsters that haunt me in my sleep. I sigh heavily before getting ready to practice. I run for an hour then dance for an hour, that’s my morning work out. I pull on my running shoes and tiptoe through the living room where dad is passed out. After my mom died he refused to sleep in his room, even in an entirely new state and house he refuses. I slide out of the house and lock the door and do my stretches out here. I raise my leg above my head, loving the feeling of my muscles burning my tiredness away.
I rush down the steps and run around the neighborhood, my arms and legs pumping. I run through a tiny park, my music blaring in my ears. I hope I don’t get too lost, knowing my luck I’ll end up on some desolated backwoods road and get picked up by a serial murderer. Soon all my thoughts, my worries, even my music zones out and all I can think of, all I can hear is my heart thumping and my feet hitting the uneven ground. I run until the alarm on my phone breaks through to me, time to head home. I turn and run back the way I came.
This time I notice more things, a basketball court, a soccer field, and a few fountains with benches scattered around them. This is a pretty town but nothing can rival New York. I make it back home and as I’m going up the steps Ryan is coming down. “You run?” He says looking at my sweaty physique.
“Yeah, you?” I say stopping on the landing that he’s on.
“Yeah. How long do you run?”
“An hour every morning.”
“Whoa really?” He says surprised.
“Yeah I do.” I look at my watch. “I gotta go.” I say running up the final flight of steps.
“Where you rushing off to?” He says running after me.
“Dance. I have to practice.” I say turning my key.
“Ok Charleston.” He smiles as I go into my apartment.
“What did you call me?” I turn and stand in the doorway.
“Charleston, you know it’s a type of dance.” He smiles and runs down the steps. I watch as he runs out onto the sidewalk and out of my line of sight. I turn and go into my apartment to practice. Practice, practice, practice. That’s the only way to be good at anything.