Finding Heart in a Misfit--18

Parker:

I sprang out of bed and began rifling through the clothes on the second shelf of my closet.  "Thank God," I said in relief, holding up my skin-colored tights, black halter leotard with the teal corset stitching, and my short black spandex shorts.  My neon purple sports bra was lying neatly on the floor.  I was unsure if that was
clean, but whatever.  It spared a run-in with my mother.

I got dressed and wrapped a few hair elastics around my wrist.  I grunted, rummaging around my desk.  "Foot undies, foot undies," I chanted, and found them on my chair.
I grabbed my team sweatshirt and threw on a pair of old purple flip flops.  A quick sweep of my room—phone and iPod.  And my dance bag must still be on my hanger in the studio's closet.

I made a mad dash out the door and piled into my car, pulling out of the driveway without hesitation.  It was 6:10 now.  I had woken up at 6:00.  Way to go, Parker. I smiled.  Saturdays were my favorite days.  I danced nonstop from 7:00 to 3:00.  Pure bliss.

It was already really warm outside, so I rolled open the window and slung my hand out, my loose sweatshirt puffing in the wind.  The black beads on my rearview clicked and swung rhythmically from side to side, holding up the diamond pendant Layna had given me after some art class she tried taking.  Sunlight splashed through it, sprinkling every color of the rainbow around the small enclosed space of my Chevy Malibu.

My eyes noticed the mess in the second row, thanks to the rearview.  I grimaced.  Piles of dance clothes, old broken pointe shoes, water bottles, and a beaten old broken deck.

I scanned the street for parking and got out of the car.  There air out here was a little cleaner, being on the very outskirts of the city.  The building was an old mill, the survivor of what used to be many.  It stood next to sleek new offices now.  Surprisingly, it was in amazing shape.  The bricks were even and spotless, new large windows freshly washed and sparkling.

I walked up the sidewalk and through the heavy glass doors.  The spacious lobby was quiet.  I definitely did not fit in with these professional workers.  My flip flops smacked against the sparkling, off white tiles.  A few people looked up.  Found me not worth the time, and looked back down at their laptops or files.  I climbed the side stairs up to the eighth floor, not even out of breath as I ran at a full sprint down the hallway.  I  burst through the door and halted.  Emalia ran up t me and hugged my leg.  "Hi," she said shyly.  Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail.  Everything about her was a bright pink.  Pink skirt, pink leotard, oink tights.  And her old faded ballet shoes were changed to a stiff, pink new pair.

"Hi there," I replied in a warm voice.  "I love your new ballet shoes."  Emalia was one of the students I taught here, and she had a lot of talent at the age of only three.  I hated to play favorites, but she held a spot in my heart.

She smiled.  "Thanks, Miss Parker."  

Her mother called her and she ran off, jumping and leaping along the way.  I smiled and peered into the window cut into the wall.  "I'm here."
My teacher, and the studio owner, Miss Mia looked up from a folder.  "Hey," she greeted, pulling her brown hair back into a bun.  

"Mind if I use the upstairs room?" I asked.

She nodded.  "Go ahead, but I need it by ten.  You can assist today, right?"

I nodded eagerly.  "Yeah.  I don't need to be out of here until, like, four."

I was already drifting towards the closet.  It was spacious, the size of a walk-in closet, but our clutter made up for that.  Ten coat hangers lined the space of all three walls, a mirror nestled in the small space of the fourth wall, next to the door.  Under and above the hooks were names and doodles etched in black Sharpie.  I found my hanger, with my looping handwriting.  'Parker' it read, with the lighting bolts and hearts my friend Dana Marie had drawn.  Her hook was right next to mine.  I kicked Vera's sneakers out of my way.  I slipped on my ragged foot undies hopping out of the dressing room with my iPod between my teeth.

I pushed through the door, and closed it behind me.  It stuck just outside the frame, so I leaned against it.  It finally closed, and the slam echoed in the large, airy room.  The floor-to-ceiling windows covered two walls.  A stereo sat on a window shelf on the back wall, and mirrors made the opposite wall, in the front.  
The white walls were flooded with warm, pink sunlight in the room.  The air was light and warm.  A few flicks of dust floated in and out of the thick shafts of light.  The black marley was right under my calloused feet, after over fifteen years of dance.   This was my home.  I had grown up dancing.

I plugged my iPod into the speakers using the long silver cord, and scrolled through my choices.  I shuffled it.  A lighter song came out from the large speakers mounted on the wall.  I started on one of the rounded, light oak bars, resting my foot on it in front of me.  I exhaled and leaned forward, feeling a pinch in my waist and thighs.  I switched feet after a few minutes in.  I turned, the top of my foot digging into the wood, and arched my back.  I straightened my knee and pointed my toe.  With every adjustment I made, a stab ran through my back.  It was good pain.


Cory:

Cory:
Something kicked my ankle.  I opened my eyes and quickly squinted them shut.  The sunlight was a pure white.  It attacked my eyes, sending my pain to the front of my head.  I shielded my eyes with y hand and attempted to open them again.  That damned thing hit my ankle again.  

"What the hell?" I grumbled, trying to sit up, but slipping on the leather.

White hair glowed in the sun, a few blue streaks barely visible.  It hurts my eyes.  One of Vivian's cheetah print pillows covered Ronnie's face, a muffled cross between a cough and a gag the only noise in the apartment.  He shifted, and his foot hit me for the third time.  I mercilessly kicked him back.

He lazily raised a hand and brought it down on my knee.  "I'm asleep."

"Sure you are."  I tried mimicking his accent.  It sounded pretty genuine if not a little over exaggerated.

I stood up, rubbing my back.  My feet crunched on empty cans.  The cardboard box that had held all the drinks lay on the loveseat, crushed and discarded.  The kitchen tiles were frigid under my feet.  I reached for a cup and poured some water in it.

"Get me some!" Ronnie called.  He still had his head in the pillow, hugging it close.

I grabbed another cup and filled it halfway for him.  I carried the two cups to my room, making sure not to spill. I grabbed the navy blue throw off my bed and placed it on the crook of my arm.

Back in the living room, I slowly lowered myself to the couch and wrapped my blanket around me. The clock had read 1:40 when Ronnie and I had finally collapsed.  Now it was 9:00. Our tense conversation had melted away, and we had stayed up playing countless games until our  
speaking was slurred and our eyes bloodshot.

I reached for the silver remote on the glass coffee table and thumbed at the buttons. News, vacuum infomercial, TV church, acne lotion infomercial. I finally settled on MTV, the station it had been on the previous night. The teen dramas were replaced with a marathon of every new rock video known to man. Thank you. What had ever trashed this channel, making it a soap opera, not a music haven?

Ronnie fumbled for his glass of water and made another coughing-gag. He sipped the water, slowly, bit by bit. "I have, like, a Red Bull hangover," he finally spoke clearly.  He cuddled the pillow behind his head. His eyelids looked heavy, and they seemed to almost slam shut.

A new video started up. Two guys were talking in the audio, one lone guitar getting louder and louder behind them. The screen was white, following only a thin Black line, which looked like a microphone cord.  The camera zoomed in to Andy Sixx, grinning wickedly in pure white.  
As he breathes and started in on his first words, Ronnie popped up, the pillow falling with a fluff to his lap. "Oh dude, turn it up. I like this song!"

I pressed the button once, increasing the volume by only one bar.  Vivian would come crashing in and complain it was too loud. And Sam was still sleeping, which was a rare event I didn't want to disturb.  Ronnie didn't seem to notice. I pulled my legs up and watched too.

"Stay right here, we can change your plight. Storming through this, despite what's right."