Dancing Hours Read Free Page A

a special summer class and I bet enrollment would double. ”  She sounded excited and turned to the kids for confirmation “What do you think, class, would you like to learn some hip hop dance?” 
     
    One little girl squealed, but the others looked like they could care less and were only there because their mothers made them come.  Tough crowd.
     
    “Do you still know the routines?” Miss Celia asked me hopefully.  She had been a backup dancer for a short lived pop group in the 80s before moving to Palmetto and setting up shop.  Compared to the videos I watched online, her technique was pretty sloppy, but it was never really my place to say anything about that.
     
    “Of course I do .” I reassured her, knowing that if I suggested any changes to the dry and straightforward routines she taught me 10 years ago, she would balk. 
     
    S o we decided that I would teach a limited edition hip hop class and sub stitute in on a few ballet classes a week in exchange for a little bit of pay and all the studio time I wanted .   I hadn’t danced recently, except at the senior center with Nan, and I missed it.
     
     
     
    3
     
    Noah wasn’t there when I went to Mrs. Merchant’s house for a cooking lesson , which was fine by me since my mother had come along to see Mrs. Merchant’s daughter.  It turned out they had been in school together, but Theresa had left town and forgotten to keep in touch.
     
    Theresa immediately hugged my mother in what appeared to be unexpected affection.  S he introduced herself to me as Trixie .  Mrs. Merchant grunted disapprovingly.  Trixie seemed a little loose for an early afternoon and I guessed the open bottle of liquor on the counter had something to do with it.  She took my mother by the hand and led her to another room, right past Jessica without the care I expected a grandmother to bestow upon a little girl, much less her own granddaughter.  Jessica didn’t seem to notice.  Her face brightened when she saw me, but she checked Mrs. Merchant’s face before she came over to say hello.  When she saw that I was alright in Mrs. Merchant’s book , she took my hand and jumped up and down.  “Hi Andy! Wanna play tag you’re it?”  she asked excitedly.
     
    The girl looked starved for playtime, but I was t here for cooking lessons.  “Sorry, Jessica.   I’m here to play with your great-grandma today.  She’s going to teach me how to cook some things.”  I apologized.
     
    Jessica seemed disappointed but not surprised.  I promised we’d play tag after the cooking, but she looked like she didn’t believe me.  It made me a little sad a nd I wondered how many grownups had broken their promises to her.
     
    David came along after a minute to say hello and tried to distract Jessica, but he looked tired.  I guessed he could use a break and asked him if Jessica could help us in the kitchen.  Jessica’s smile lit up again and David was powerless to refuse.  He quietly read a book on the porch just outside the kitchen door while Jessica and I got our first lesson.   
     
    Thankfully Mrs. Merchant assumed I knew how to boil water, which was true.  So our first lesson was a little more advanced:  how to make mashed potatoes.  Sure, it seems like a simple concept, but even that was a culinary ch allen ge for me.  For Jessica’s part, she wanted to do the peeling and cutting, but was relegated to adding salt to the water and milk and butter to the mash.  I found the whole process fascinating.  When we were almost done, my mother came in to see how we were coming.  She was ready to leave, but I’d promised to play with Jessica.  David spoke up for the first time from the porch through the screen door.  I could bring her home Mrs ….?”
     
    “Taylor, but please call me Jospehine .”
     
    “Josephine, then.   It’s really no troub le.  I need to go to the laundry place again anyway.”
     
    Mrs. Merchant scowled. “There’s nothing wrong with a line