Farewell Party p11


“Who.” His voice sounded dead.

“Your partners. They looked almost in tears by the end of the songs. Is this what you did?” I asked, feeling the warmth of anger rise in me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just do what I’m trained to do,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“You’re trained to teach them dancing, not to make them cry,” I continued, pleased at seeing his snarl grow in intensity. “I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants to dance with you anymore. You’re uncompromising, unpleasant, and everything you say is negative. You weren’t like this yesterday, so what happened?” He didn’t answer. “Why can’t you just let it go? It was weird, but that’s it, nothing else. It didn’t mean anything, so pull yourself together and get back to how you were before so we can have a nice dance lesson.”

He was so angry with me now his cheeks were resonating a pinkish hue, his lips going from a snarl to a hard line and back again. That same smell from earlier was lifting up to my nose, and then it changed into something sweet like peppermint and other things I couldn’t resist. I tried to blow it away. I didn’t care how good his cologne smelled, he couldn’t act like this. Except… what had he been doing? My mind felt bogged down and I couldn’t focus my thoughts. His hands gripped me tighter as my stance became less stable and I leaned forward towards that mysterious glorious scent again.

Just then, the song cut short of the ending and the instructor had a hand firmly on his shoulder. His grip on me remained a second longer before loosening and I regained my previous anger after a minute. Ripping myself from him, I stormed off toward the bleachers, pushing away the disturbing confusion of what had just occurred. Why had I been so mad? It took me a few more seconds to recall everything that had happened.

Sue, who had been skipping happily over to me, stopped at my expression. “What’s wrong?”

Him,” I said, shooting daggers back at Connelly as the rest of the dancers were gathered around him, his hands clenching and unclenching. They looked like they were having a discussion and Alister glanced dangerously between us and Connelly. “C’mon,” I said, turning on my heel and leading the way out the doors.

“What’d he do?” she asked insistently as she almost ran to keep up with me into the parking lot.

“He’s horrible!” I was almost seething as I described what happened.

“Wow, that is bad,” she agreed and I nodded vehemently. “But, when I saw you at the end of the last song, you were leaning into him. Why were you doing that if you were mad at him? You didn’t look mad.”


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