“Looks like our last single member is about to be taken down, boys.” Darius chuckled as he set his upright bass, Miss Molly, on its stand.
“Whatever. You guys are full of crap.” Ken waved them off, already sensing the futility of the discussion. His bandmates were always bringing up his singlehood; it had been that way ever since Marco had married Joi a couple of months ago. Now that they knew he’d been thinking about a woman, there was no way they’d quit harping on it.
“I just want to know her name.” The remark came from Darius.
When Ken didn’t answer, Marco volunteered the information. “Her name is Nona.”
“I’d love to meet her.” Rashad played his hands over the keys. “Just to say thanks for taking Ken down a peg.”
Rolling his eyes, Ken vowed not to mention that he’d kissed Nona. He saw no need to add fuel to this fire. “Can we just get on with rehearsal?”
Darius grinned. “As much as I like teasing Ken, he’s right. We really should get to work on this week’s set.”
Conversation turned toward the music the band would play and away from Ken’s personal life. Relieved, he grabbed his sticks and waited for Rashad’s cue.
In the back of his mind, he thought of Nona and the problem she presented. He’d agreed to let her interview him for the newspaper because no sensible businessman would turn down good publicity. But being attracted to Nona had come as a surprise, something he’d never considered would be part of the equation. The way she made him feel only served to further complicate an already complex situation. He was a private man, and letting someone into his personal life was difficult enough without the added burden of growing attraction.
He knew he’d have to work doubly hard now. He had to protect his single status as well as his privacy, no matter how intoxicating the determined reporter might be.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen. I need your attention on me, please.”
Nona stood before her intermediate jazz dance class, dressed in her leggings, tank and felt-bottom dancing shoes. Her students, ranging in age from eleven to fourteen, were lined up in front of her. All ten of her students were present, eight girls and two boys, each standing on their designated mark on the wooden floor.
She’d been teaching this class two nights a week at Butterfly Ballet and Dance for the past five years, and she truly loved the work. It wasn’t the highest-paying gig in the world, but the joy she got from working with her students and seeing them improve their art more than made up for the paltry paycheck. Her parents’ prodding, and the sense of obligation she felt to them, had led her into journalism as a main career. Pure passion drove her to teach dance.
As the children settled down, ending their conversations and focusing on her, she smiled. “Thank you. Today, we’ll continue to work on our turns as a basis for our recital choreography. Everybody into first position parallel, please.” She moved into the position, standing with her feet eight inches apart and her toes pointed forward.
The children mimicked her stance.
“Second position legs.” She waited as the children adjusted. “Now add second position arms.”
Over the next forty minutes, Nona walked her students through the practice of a series of turn maneuvers. Moving between the two rows of students, she stopped to reposition little arms and feet as they executed paddle turns, piques and pirouettes. They worked hard, staying focused even as they repeated the same maneuver over and over again. When they achieved good form and proper execution, Nona heaped them with praise for their efforts.
The intermediate group was full of students who’d begun dance lessons as young children, some as young as four or five years old. Those who didn’t like dance or didn’t feel capable enough to handle it usually dropped out before the intermediate level. By the time they reached Nona’s class, they were serious about learning all they could. Their interest level and dedication were growing, with many of them eager to move on to advanced classes. They were still excited about dancing but knew they had a lot more to learn, and that was what appealed to her about teaching students at that level.
As the end of class approached, Nona had her students sit on the floor in a circle, as usual. Sitting down between two of the kids, she looked around at their faces. “Great class today, everyone. Now, let’s have our chat. Who has something they want to talk about today?”
Class chats were something Nona had implemented early in her dance teaching days. Due to the age of her students, they often were facing complex issues at school or with their families. They were middle schoolers, navigating a veritable minefield of social, personal and academic issues. She hoped the class chats gave them a forum to speak to their peers in dance and to ask advice from her as an impartial adult. She kept what the children said to her in confidence, except in instances where one of her students might be in danger. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into that issue so far, so she’d built a rapport with the youngsters under her tutelage.
Eleven-year-old Marie raised her hand. “Some of the girls at school have been calling me a geek because I read comic books.”
Nona shook her head. “I’m sorry to hear that, Marie. What is our motto when it comes to our interests?”
The children repeated the often-said phrase in unison. “Being me is the only way to be.”
“Right.” Nona sent a smile Marie’s way. “So if you like comic books, keep right on reading them.”
“I like comics, too.” The remark came from twelve-year-old Diamond. “Maybe we can trade.”
Marie’s eyes lit up.
Nona smiled even brighter. “See? You got yourself a comic buddy, right here in class. Now, does anybody else have something they want to talk about?”
The question was met with silence and head shakes.
“You’re sure?”
The only noise in the room was Diamond and Marie’s excited comic book–related banter.
Nona clasped her hands together. “Okay. Then I have a question for you all.”
Ten sets of surprised eyes looked her way.
Ralph, her oldest student at fourteen, asked, “You want our advice on something?”
She nodded. “Yes. You all know that I work as a reporter for the newspaper. I have an article to write about a man who just won a very important contract from the city.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Diamond focused on Nona, eyes filled with questions.
“The man I’m supposed to interview is very secretive. I’ve spoken to him twice and still don’t know very much about him. At least not enough to write my story. So what do you all think I could do to get him to tell me about himself?”
She looked around the room, taking in her students’ thoughtful expressions. She hadn’t intended to ask them about this when she’d come into the studio today, but she figured she didn’t have anything to lose. She needed to get Ken to open up somehow if she were to have any chance of meeting her deadline.
Ralph spoke first. “What does he like to do for a hobby?”
“I know he likes to run. I went on a run with him the other day, and that helped some.”
“Well, I’d see what else he likes to do. If you do what he likes to do, I bet he’ll talk to you some more.” Ralph folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah. That’s what I’d do.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Ralph.”