Break

“Let’s do a quick run-though, marking the blocking, and don’t worry about dancing full-out.” Donavan Tate claps his hands and the four dancers take our spots for the opening of Limerence to block it out with our new partners.

Backstage, seated in front of the giant lighted mirror, putting finishing touches on my make-up, I do intentional deep breathing to calm the nerves springing to life in my stomach. When I open my kit to get out my lashes, I spot the bag of peanuts Dash has stashed among my cosmetics. It instantly makes me cry.

I trust Dashiell more than anyone else in this world, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to switch partners at the last moment. I put my face into my hands in an attempt to center myself. I’m so used to performing with Katerina breathing down my neck that suddenly her absence is unnerving. And coupled with switching partners tonight, my nerves are frayed to the utmost extent.

“Sam!” I jump up and see Dashiell in the mirror as he comes into my dressing room. As usual, he’s gorgeous and his energy lights up a room. He’s immediately behind me, hands on my shoulders, lips on my neck. “You nervous about the switch?” he asks me as he massages my trapezius muscles.

“A little,” I admit.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I grab his hand and turn in my chair to look him in the eyes. Dash’s smile always hovers between charm and deviousness. “Of course.”

“Every audition I ever did, from Haverton to Dance Props, I freestyled. No choreography, nothing. Sometimes I put on my mix shuffle and didn’t even pick the song before I went in there.”

Dashiell is a genius, a true artist where the music pumps through his very veins.

“But I’m not like you, Dash. I’m a type-A, a perfectionist, and even if I weren’t by nature, Katerina would have forced it out of me. I can’t fly by the seat of my pants if you paid me.”

“That’s what you believe, but it’s not true. The music moves you, Taye. The performance lives inside you.” He pulls me to standing and into his arms. “I’ve got you tonight. You don’t need to look at the audience, just connect to me and I’ll take care of you.”

I believe it when he says it. Dashiell and I have something special when we’re together that others can see and feel. Our love shines through like a beacon that others are naturally pulled toward.

Dash kisses me hard and then holds my chin as he looks into my eyes. “I got you, Sam. From day one, I’m on your side.”

It’s all I need to quiet the nerves and the demons in my head.

I look up to make sure Dash is in Bronson’s starting position, and he winks at me from across the stage. I see his diamond tennis bracelet, which he never takes off, glimmering in the stage lights. My heart swells with love, pride, and sweet admiration for the boy who taught himself to dance and now is world-renowned and celebrated for his incredible accomplishments.

The music starts, and the response grows in my body like an unabated force. The first sequence of passes are assisted turns and a few light arabesque lifts. Dashiell’s hands on me are different than I’m used to, but at the same time, they’re everything I need; confident, with exquisite timing, and I can feel the reassurance in his fingers.

We sail across the stage together, and my costume of pale grays and greens flutters in the wake as we move in tandem. Wherever Dash falters in the choreography, he improvises and somehow makes it even better.

After a series of tour jetes, he throws in a quick front flip, and the audience hold their breath and then explode at his landing.

He’s so agile and quick, but his hands are always there, steadfast and full of reassurance whenever I need him to catch me.

Toward the end of the first variation, Dash lifts me high into an extended split jete where I wrap my legs around him as I descend and slide down his body. We make eye contact when I’m on the floor and my heart surges in my chest. I felt supported when I danced with Bronson, but this is a whole other level of connection. It’s like we’re making love with our clothes on in front of a sold-out audience. Dancing with Dashiell feels exactly like falling in love.

The roughness of his street-style training pairs perfectly with my classical training, and while he helps me to loosen up, my technicality keeps him on his toes and reins him in a bit. Turns out, Donavan Tate’s choreography highlights both of our strengths, and the audience is so enraptured that they’re holding their breath.

When we come off stage, Dahlia and Angel are on. Back in the wings, Dash and I both fight to gain our breath, to keep our chests from heaving. We can’t waste oxygen on words, but Dashiell grabs my hand and squeezes the hell out of it. I squeeze back and watch the sparkle of excitement dance in his eyes.