Free Shimmy by Kari Jones

my right and spinning from there, I still end up facing the wrong direction at the end.
    “No, no, no.” Dana runs her hands through her hair. “No.” She stands still and stares at the mirror for a long minute, then says, “We’re making a change. We’re going to cut that, and we’ll do a repeat of the phrase before. I can’t let you girls go out onstage like that. Twirls all over the place. No way.”
    It’s hard not to catch anyone’s eye when you’re all standing in front of a mirror, but somehow I manage it. My face burns. My chest feels tight. This is my fault.
    “Start from the beginning,” Dana says. She marches to the side of the room and folds her arms like an army major. Everything starts well, but this time she stops us when we get to a spot where our arms snake around us. It’s me again. I’m off count.
    She points to my fingertips. “One and”—she points to my knuckle—“two and”—my wrist and elbow—“three and”—my shoulder—“four. Good. Try again. Good. And again.” I go through it three times before she turns back to the front of the class and starts us up again.
    Robin glares at me, and I know she’s thinking, Don’t screw up now . Dana’s going to make her choice soon. Maybe even today.
    When Dana turns off the music at the end of the class, I’m panting hard, and my body is stiff with tension. We all find our water bottles, and Dana says, “Well done, girls. I worked you hard today.” She pauses, and we all turn to face her. We know what’s coming. “The eleven of you are going to be the most exciting girls on the stage at the festival next week. Really, you all look fantastic,” she says.
    “Eleven?” asks Sam.
    Dana nods.
    “But I thought you were only choosing ten of us,” Robin says.
    “What? Of course not! Why would I do that? Good gracious, where did that idea come from?”
    We all look at Eve, who turns a little pale and says, “Patricia from your Monday-night class said that.”
    “And you believed her? My goodness, how mean you must all think I am. I’m hurt that you would think that,” Dana says. Her whole body droops in a very un-dancer-like way.
    “No one’s getting cut?” Eve asks.
    Dana shakes her head. “No one. The performance is only a couple of days away. I’d never make a change like that this close.”
    “What about Bea then?” Robin asks.
    Dana takes a big breath. “Bea is a good dancer, but she decided not to continue. It was her choice, though I blame myself for not encouraging her more.”
    “So we’re all dancing together next week?” Alex asks.
    “All together,” Dana says.
    The room erupts into laughter and yelps and hugs. Robin engulfs me in a huge bear hug, and Alex jumps on top of us so the three of us sway in a heap. I squeeze Robin and Alex back, and then the three of us clasp Sam and even Eve, though no one ever thought she’d be cut. She bear-hugs me back.
    Alex and Sam start a polka across the room. Dana presses her remote so we have music, and soon we’re all dancing freestyle, even Dana. She dances up to each of us in turn, and when she comes to me, she takes my hand and twirls me so we’re back to back, and we do left-to-right undulations in opposition to each other. She winks as she heads over to Alex. All the tension that’s been in the room ever since Bea left is gone, and we’re all still laughing and busting out dance moves as we leave the studio.
    We stand together waiting for our buses home. As the number seven pulls up and we climb on, Alex says, “That was the most fun class Dana’s ever had.”
    “It was like one of Amala’s classes,” I say. “We’re always breaking out in random acts of dancing.”
    We.
    “You loved dancing with her, didn’t you?” Alex says.
    “Yeah, I did.”
    “More than Dana?” she asks.
    But I don’t know how to answer. I shrug and make my way to the back of the bus. When we reach my stop, I wave goodbye and walk down the street by myself. Everyone on