Dancing With Raven (The Young Shakespeareans Series) (6 page)

Raven glanced around; most of the girls were smiling and most of the boys were sullen, with their arms folded across their chest. If he was supposed to dance with a girl, he’d picked the wrong day to work out. He took a surreptitious sniff of his armpits.
Did I remember to use deodorant this morning?
Tori was in the class, to his dismay.
Fantastic…perhaps I can do something else stupid to keep her amused.
At least she was on the far side of the room at the moment, and couldn’t mock him for his body odor.

After the couple finished the demonstration, the female instructor, Ms. Castor, announced the class would be learning several different Latin dances for the rest of the semester, beginning with the samba. The boy to his right muttered a colorful oath in protest, and Raven chuckled to himself.

“I’m sorry…what’s your name?”

Everyone turned around to stare, and he realized Ms. Castor was addressing him. Her lips were compressed into a thin line, and her partner looked annoyed too.

“Raven.”

“Well, Raven, you seem pleased at the idea of learning the samba.”

Sarcasm dripped from her words, and Raven realized she thought the cursing had come from him. “Oh, um, that wasn’t—”

She crooked a finger, beckoning him forward. “You can be my assistant today.”

The woman clearly would brook no opposition.
Can this day get any worse?
With an inward sigh, Raven did the walk of shame to the front of the studio. The male instructor, Mr. Boone, stood next to him and demonstrated the natural basic samba movement. Raven imitated as best he could, but after several steps, Ms. Castor stopped him. “You’ve had ballroom dance lessons?”

“No.”

“Athletics, then? You don’t get great hip action like you’ve got without training of some sort.”

His classmates tittered and hooted. Raven’s cheekbones burned with embarrassment.

“I’ve studied karate and fencing.”

“Well, I’m impressed.” She addressed the class. “Latin ballroom requires rhythm and exaggerated movements of the hips. As they say, don’t be shy, let ’em fly. Now let’s all practice the natural basic movement before Mr. Boone and I demonstrate the hold.”

The beginning movement of the samba wasn’t difficult, but most of the non-dancers bounced up and down like zombies. Due to her training, Tori picked up the footwork right away. Although she practiced along with everyone else, her attention was actually on Raven. She didn’t know what he’d done to invite Ms. Castor’s ire, but she was glad of the result; she’d been able to stare at Raven’s reflection in the mirror all she liked and admire the rear view as well. The way he moved drew attention to his muscular legs and behind.
Wouldn’t he look fine in a pair of tights!
Tori felt ashamed of her earlier pique as she began to suspect Raven hadn’t snubbed her on purpose.
He probably swings the other way and simply has no interest in girls. It wasn’t personal—and I’ll apologize if he gives me a chance.

About halfway through the class, Ms. Castor had the students partner up. A stocky trombone player named Herman stepped in front of Tori. “Wanna be my partner?”

She knew Herman from science class and liked him well enough. “Sure.”

After a bit of jockeying, the class was paired up. Ms. Castor cast a critical eye over the couples. “Hold on.”

Ms. Castor moved through the studio, silently moving people around until they were matched by height. She took Herman by the arm and escorted him to the far side of the room, where Raven was paired with an operatic singer named Genevieve.
Oh, no! No, no, no!
Herman became Genevieve’s partner, and Ms. Castor sent Raven toward Tori.

He approached her with his chin lowered, as if he was a bull ready to stampede.
Awkward much? Raven has every reason to hate me.

“Let’s see you stand in hold, and Mr. Boone and I will come around to correct you,” Ms. Castro announced.

Albeit reluctantly, Tori lifted her arms. Raven stepped closer, seemingly reluctant to touch her.

“Take my right hand with your left, and your right hand goes on my upper back,” she prompted.

“Thank you.” His tone was icy.

She bit back a retort.
Don’t antagonize him any further!
After a bit of jockeying, they waited for the instructors to come around to check their hold. Contact with Raven was terribly distracting, Tori discovered, but she tried to focus.
Apologize and get it over with.

“Um, I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” she said. “I’m not usually like that.” A muscle worked in his jaw, but he said nothing. Undaunted, she pressed on. “I would’ve apologized at lunch, but I didn’t see you.”

“I was working out.”

Mr. Boone approached and adjusted Raven’s hand higher on Tori’s back. Moments later, Ms. Castor started the music. After a moment of concentration, Raven finally got the beat. They began to move together, but Tori knew something seemed off. Raven must have sensed it too because he shook his head slightly.

“You’re trying to lead,” he said.

Astonishment. “I am
not
. I’ve been dancing all my life and I know better!”

“Let me put it another way. Knock it off and let me lead.”

His hand pressed more firmly into her back and his left hand tightened its grip. She hesitated.
Am I really trying to lead? I don’t want to fight with Raven, I want to dance with him.
Her gaze met his and she mentally relinquished control. Almost magically, their movements fell into sync.

Ms. Castor paused to watch. “Very nice. You two work well together.”

During history class, Raven’s attention was only partly on the lesson. At first, dancing with Tori had been like a wrestling match. After she let him lead, however, he felt as if he were dancing with a goddess. He wracked his brain to come up with a word adequate to describe the graceful way she moved.
Sinuous
might come close. In the end, he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d won or lost the wrestling match.
Perhaps a little of both?
His attraction to the girl was undeniable—despite her insulting behavior earlier in the day. Nevertheless, he vowed to put her out of his mind.
Once bitten, twice shy, and I’m no masochist.
Felicia and Tori were very different types, but one broken heart in a lifetime was enough.
It’ll be a long time—if ever—before I’m ready to try again.

As he was walking across campus for his final period, George joined him. “Heading to the music room?”

“Yeah,” Raven replied.

He suddenly had an odd feeling of disorientation.
The ground is shaking!
Shouts of “Earthquake!” rang out, but nobody seemed particularly concerned. He glanced at George, disconcerted. “This is weird. Should we do anything?”

“Nah.” He chuckled. “First quake?”

Raven nodded. “You have a lot of them here?”

“Oh, yeah. That was just a tiny tremor. Maybe a three point two on the Richter scale, tops. You should stick around for six or higher. That’s when things really rock and roll.”

“I can’t wait.”

Chapter Four

Hell is Empty

O
VER
T
HE
N
EXT
F
EW
W
EEKS
, Raven managed to avoid interacting much with any of his classmates at school. Lunchtime was spent working out, after which he was careful to use deodorant and change clothes. Tori was still his dancing partner in movement class, and he tried to keep his mind on the dance. For her part, she spoke to him as little as possible. Although her reticence made his life easier, he was conflicted on whether to be relieved or insulted.
It’s for the best.

On the first Saturday of February, Raven and his father sparred together in the basement at Blackfriars, which had been made into a gym and training facility. Interlocking mats covered a large square in the center of the sprung wood floor. On one end of the room, various targets were set up for throwing stars or knives. A heavy bag hung on the far side, next to a collection of free weights and a work bench.

Clad in a black karate uniform and sparring gear, Raven fought to get past his father’s guard. Time and time again he was knocked back, suffering crippling blows to the shins, ribs, and forearms. Finally he sensed an opening and aimed a sharp kick at the side of his father’s padded helmet. When Raven’s instep found its mark, Ian staggered to one side and dropped to the mat on one knee.

Shocked, Raven froze. “Dad, are you okay?”

His father looked up at him, furious. “You had the advantage. Why didn’t you finish me?”

Bewildered, he stepped back. “Because you’re my father!”

“Out here on the mat, I’m your opponent. You should’ve followed up with an ax kick and knocked me flat. Either finish the match or don’t step into the ring.”

Breathing hard, Ian stood, took off his helmet, and grabbed a towel from a chair. After he blotted his face, a grin found its way onto his lips.

“What?” Raven asked.

“Even without the ax kick, you did well.”

“If you look past my new assortment of raised lumps and painful bruises as ‘well,’ then yes.”

“Quit whining. You’re fast, strong, and you wore me down, Raven.” He nodded his approval. “You’re more ready than I had anticipated.”

“Ready for what?”

“It’s time I tell you the truth about why we’re here.”

Raven was dumbfounded. “The
truth?”

“Nearly eighteen years ago, I helped somebody very close to me break a very important rule. Now I’ve got to make sure the world won’t pay the ultimate price for my actions.”

Open auditions for Saltare Ballet Theatre’s summer engagement were to begin at eight o’clock at a rehearsal studio near Highland Avenue and Melrose in Los Angeles. Tori drove past the building entrance at seven, and already thirty girls and a handful of boys were queued up to get a number. Kirstin and her demon were near the front of the line. Although it was early February, temperatures were in the upper seventies. Many dancers were stretching while they waited, hoping to intimidate the competition with their flexibility. Tori found a parking spot on the street, and hastened to join the back of the queue. As she did so, several girls turned around to give her hard stares.
Whatever.
After years of training, she was used to the competitive nature of dancers. She unzipped her dance bag and pulled out her application and photo to give to the audition coordinator. Tori’s eight by ten featured her in a beautiful arabesque en pointe. On the reverse side was stapled her professional dance résumé, which listed her dance training, performance roles, and vital statistics. Printed in the corner was an inset photo of her face.