Fake It 'Til You Break It

My eyes move back to Miranda.

She won’t allow him to mess up the flow or visual of the performance, even if he does think he’s privileged.

Nico pushes even closer. “I’m paired.”

I tense, waiting for her to set him straight as she would us, but Miranda only frowns, staring a moment longer before she snaps out of it and places one of the JV girls with Carlos. “Let me grab my phone so I can go over this later to be sure, but it’s looking good.”

When she comes back, she starts taking pictures, moving a few people over with each shot until she’s happy with what she sees.

“Okay boys, when I say one, place your hands on your partner’s upper ribs here.” She indicates to a few inches below our breasts, continuing to show them what she means as she says, “On two, slide them down to the hips, on three, hold, and on four, she will jump as you lift. On five, her feet should be on the ground, your hands at your sides. Girls, by six, I want you laid out.

“This is just a quick, off the top try and not necessarily what we’ll be doing for the routine. I want to see how clean it looks height-wise.” She repeats the counts and moves once more, then pulls her phone back out, clipping it to the tripod. “Go ahead and grab on now.”

Heavy, strong hands plant on my ribs, and I straighten my spine, getting ready. When I do, his hands slide up, now brushing against the edge of my sports bra.

I glare straight ahead. If he still wants to keep this fakeness up, he needs to understand that it doesn’t come before or between dance, and that what my coach says goes. Yes, this is only my school team and not my competition team, but still. I’m on the front line for a reason and his power trip isn’t getting in the way of the gold stamp that this puts on my college applications.

“Demi,” Miranda barks and my head jerks her way. “Sass, not anger.”

I clear my throat, quickly putting my game face on.

I don’t miss Nico’s chuckle.

Considering Miranda left him with me, I guess she agrees with our pairing.

Miranda pushes play on the recording. “We’re already at one, but I’ll repeat it for the sake of the steps.”

She continues to count, and in what seems like slow motion, Nico slides his hands down my ribs, fingers spreading out at my hips. Mine come up to cover his as I jump a foot into the air. The second my feet hit the floor, I nudge him off as he forgets to let go.

In the next second, all of us girls are dropping into a left split, and the guys start freaking out, completely losing their cool with whoops and oh damns making us laugh.

We push to our feet as a laughing Miranda turns to the grinning coach. “Maybe I should have explained what they were about to do.”

He laughs lightly, then heads for the door. “Give them five minutes to change at the end, but they’re all yours for now. Can’t give them to you this week but starting next you can have them for twenty minutes, twice a week and in the morning only. Boys, this means I get twenty extra after school, so plan for it.”

“Yes, Coach,” is shouted by the guys.

He nods and walks out.

Miranda’s tense gaze comes back to me. “Demi,” she calls on me as I’m the front liner. “Keep steps one through three and give us the last seven.”

I nod and take a few steps forward. I lift my arms, assuming Nico will understand to place his hands back on me, but when no movement follows, I glance over my shoulder to find Nico glaring at my bloomers.

I snap my fingers, and a few others chuckle as that glare cuts up to mine.

He looks around, realizing everyone is watching the two of us, then he steps out. “What?”

I roll my eyes. “Do what you just did, but leave your hands loose on my hips, so I can move them while adding steps.”

He doesn’t hesitate, scooting in so close his sweats are rubbing against my ass.

I ignore the thickness of him brushing against me and start counting.

Nico’s hands go from my ribs to my waist, and hold.

“Five.” I spin to face him, gripping his hoodie mid stomach. “Six.” I drop down, my legs butterflied, face at his crotch. “Seven.” I’m back in his face, chest to chest. “Eight.” I push off of him, and just like I knew he would, he creeps back in with a frown. I smile. “Nine.” His brows knit. I grip his hand and spin out, both of us now facing forward, our elbows bent, hands up. “Ten.”

She said we’re escorting them, so I take a few slow, dramatic steps forward and he moves with me before I drop his hand and turn to the others.