Dancing Under The Moonlight Chapter 2

I let the silence stretch, watching Connor choke on his own rage. He was trapped.

Brianna looked utterly panicked. The delicate redness around her eyes gave way to genuine alarm. She darted a look around the room, then visibly took a large step away from Connor.

"Connor," she said, her voice high and breathless. "I only see you as a classmate. Please don't let people spread rumors like this."

Now it was Connor’s turn to panic. "Brie... I—"

"Enough!"

Ms. Valera, the showcase director, slammed her clipboard against a music stand. The sharp crack killed the murmurs instantly. She surveyed the room, her gaze finally landing heavy on me.

"Gina," she said, her voice strictly professional. "You said you'd be willing to try the lead spot. Fine. Get up here. Show me the sequence where you claim Brianna was off-beat. After that, the class votes. You cast your ballots, and we settle this lead dancer nonsense right now."

It was a brutally fair ultimatum.

I didn't hesitate. Under the weight of thirty whispering teenagers, I walked to the center of the floor, preparing to mirror the choreography Brianna had just butchered.

As I brushed past Connor, he leaned in, dropping his voice to a venomous whisper. "I can't wait to watch you humiliate yourself."

Humiliate myself?

My eyes darkened. I ignored him, hit my starting mark, and nodded at Ms. Valera to cue the track.

The bass dropped, and I moved.

I didn't have Brianna’s formal training, but my body remembered. I let the music pull me, sweeping my arms, snapping through the turns, mapping the geography of the stage entirely from memory. I mirrored the sequence flawlessly, hitting every single beat right in the pocket.

When the music cut out and I froze in the final pose, I caught Connor in my periphery. His smugness had been wiped clean, replaced by blank shock.

Brianna was staring at me, her hands clenched at her sides. For the first time, her eyes weren't just annoyed; they were flooded with a stark, undeniable sense of threat.

Ms. Valera’s eyes were shining. She nodded enthusiastically. "Not bad. Not bad at all! You’re a little rough around the edges, Gina, but your musicality—the way you breathe through the transitions—is incredibly grounded. Give you a few weeks of real rehearsal, and you'd be phenomenal."

She clapped her hands, turning to the risers. "Alright, no more drama. We vote now. Who leads the class performance for the Centennial Gala: Gina or Brianna? Raise your hands."

It wasn't a shock. High school is a hierarchy, not a meritocracy. When Ms. Valera called Brianna’s name, nearly the entire room raised their hands. When my name was called, only two or three sympathetic hands went up in the back.

Brianna exhaled a long, shaky breath, the tension leaving her shoulders. The triumphant gleam returned to her eye, masked quickly by a sickly-sweet, apologetic smile.

"I’m so sorry, Gina," she cooed. "It looks like the class just feels safer with me in the front. After all, the lead represents all of us. If someone messes up out there, it’s not just their own reputation on the line. But really, for an amateur, you did a great job."

A chorus of sycophants instantly chimed in to agree with her.

Connor, emboldened by the vote, couldn't resist a parting shot. "See? I told you. Who cares if you can string a few steps together? Flailing around with your amateur hour moves is just going to embarrass you."

Ms. Valera shot me an apologetic look, a silent plea not to take it to heart, telling me there would be other chances.

Honestly, I wasn't crushed. In a twisted way, Brianna wasn't wrong. I was an amateur. I knew exactly where my limits were.

I opened my mouth, ready to tell Connor exactly where he could shove his opinion, when a voice cut through the noise from the shadowy corner of the room. A voice that was clear, quiet, and impossibly sharp.

"Actually, I think Gina danced it better."

Every head in the room snapped toward the sound.

Even though I knew exactly who it was, even though my heart recognized the cadence of his voice before my brain did, my breath still caught when he stepped into the light.

Kieran.

"Kieran, what are you talking about?" Brianna’s smug smile shattered. She looked completely derailed. Kieran was notorious for keeping his head down and staying out of high school politics. He never spoke up.

And he certainly never spoke up for me.

"I said, Gina dances better than you," Kieran repeated, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. He stepped out from the shadows of the lighting rig. "Her technique is raw. That means she hasn't practiced this. She just watched you do it a few times and replicated it purely by sight. Are we really pretending that isn't incredibly impressive?"

He shifted his gaze to Brianna, pinning her in place. "You, on the other hand, have been drilling this exact eight-count for two weeks. Half a month, Brianna. Half a month, and you still can't find the downbeat. You have absolutely no right to call anyone an amateur."