Clashing Rhythms
The announcement of the combined team had sent ripples through both studios. Harmony Dance Academy and Rhythm Revolution, once fierce competitors, were now forced to work together. The rehearsal space buzzed with a mix of excitement and tension as dancers from both studios gathered for their first joint practice.
Dorcas walked into the studio, subconsciously scanning the room for Marlene, who she spotted across the room, surrounded by her Harmony peers. Her blonde hair tied in a perfect bun and her posture as poised as ever. Marlene, feeling the outside attention, caught Dorcas’ eye and gave a curt nod, expression unreadable. Both women regressed to their less than animacle interactions after the high of the other day.
The head director from both studios, Slughorn, a ballroom dancer in his day and McGonagall, a ballet dancer in the same age as Marlene's mother, called the dancers to attention. “Alright, everyone,” Slughorn began, “We have a lot of work to do to blend out styles and create a cohesive performance. But if we pull this off, we’ll be unstoppable.
McGonagall stepped forward, her sharp gaze sweeping over the dancers, “We need to use our strengths. That means some of you will have to step out of your comfort zones.” Her eyes lingered on Dorcas and Marlene. Dorcas doesn’t know much of the women currently scrutinizing her every muscle, but she knows she should be careful of not getting on her bad side. “Marlene and Dorcas, we want you two to do a duet.”
A murmur of surprise spread through the room. Dorcas and Marlene exchanged a look of shock. Marlene was the first to speak up. “A duet? But our styles are completely different.”
“Exactly,” Slughorm said with an excited smile. “That’s what will make it special. Imagine the impact of combining classical ballet with contemporary street dance. It’ll be a performance no one will expect.”
Dorcas crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at Marlene. “I don’t see how this is going to work. She’s too rigid.”
“And you’re too wild,” Marlene shot back. “You can’t just improvise everything. There needs to be structure.”
“Make it work,” McGonagall said firmly. “Now, pair up and start rehearsing. We don’t have time to waste.”
Dorcas and Marlene moved to a corner of the studio, tension crackling between them. “This is a terrible idea,” Marlene muttered as she adjusted her ballet slippers.
“Agreed,” Dorcas said, stretching her legs. “But it looks like we don’t have a choice. Let’s just get through this without killing each other.”
They started to rehearse, but it was clear from the beginning that their styles clashed. Marlene’s movements were precise and controlled, while Dorcas was fluid and unpredictable. They struggled to find a common rhythm, their frustration growing with each failed attempt.
“You need to follow the choreography,” Marlene snapped after Dorcas improvised a spin that didn’t fit.
“And you need to loosen up,” Dorcas retorted. “Dance isn’t just about following steps. It’s about feeling the music.”
Marlene rolled her eyes. “This isn’t some street performance, Dorcas. This is a professional competition.”
They’re bickering with fingers flying in eachothers faces until McGonagall interrupts again. “Enough. Both of you need to compromise. Find a way to blend your styles. This is about creating something new and powerful.”
The day wore and rehearsals showed little to no improvement between the two. The tension was palpable, each trying to outdo the other rather than working together. It seemed this was a cruel joke setting them both up to fail.
After practice, as the dancers packed up, Marlene’s phone rang. She stepped outside to answer it, her expression turning from frustration to anger. Dorcas, curiously and perhaps against her proper judgment, followed her out and hid around the corner to listen.
“Maman, I cant believe youre calling me about this now.” Marlene said, her voice low but noticeably angry.
“I don’t understand why you’re wasting your time with this duet,” Marie McKinnon’s voice crackled through the phone, heavy and almost hard to understand between the accent and the muffledness of the phone speaker. “You should be focusing on your solo performance. You’re meant to stand out, not blend in with some street dancer.”
“Maman, this is important to me,” Marlene insisted, and much to Dorcas’ surprise continued. “I want to prove that I can do more than just ballet. I want to show that I can adapt.”
“Adapt? Or lower your standards? You’re a McKinnon, Marlene. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. Especially not to that girl. She’s beneath you.”
Dorcas felt a surge of anger and hurt. She had suspected Marlene might be stuck-up, but hearing her mother’s words made it worse. She stepped out from her hiding spot, her eyes blazing with fury. “Tell me how you really feel, huh? Go on, say it, I'm beneath you? I knew you were a bitch but I thought there was at least a level of respect.”
Marlene spun around, her eyes widening in surprise and guilt. “Dorcas, I—”
“Save it,” Dorcas snapped. “You’re just like your mother. Stuck-up and privileged. You think you’re better than everyone else because of your name. Well, I don’t care about your name. I’m here to dance, and I’m not letting you or anyone else make me feel less than I am.”
With that, Dorcas turned and stormed back into the studio, leaving Marlene standing there, conflicted and torn. She wanted to chase after Dorcas, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she stood there, feeling the weight of her mother’s expectations and her own desires clash within her.
The next day at rehearsal, the tension between Dorcas and Marlene was even thicker. They barely spoke, their movements stiff and uncoordinated. The coaches watched with concern, knowing that if the two couldn’t find a way to work together, the duet would be a disaster.
Finally, during a break, Slughorm pulled them aside. “You two need to sort this out. Whatever is going on between you, it’s affecting your performance. Talk to each other. Find a way to make this work.”
Marlene took a deep breath and looked at Dorcas. “Can we talk? Alone?”
Dorcas hesitated, then nodded. They walked to an empty room and closed the door behind them. Marlene was the first to speak. “I’m sorry about what you heard. My mother... She has a way of pushing her own expectations onto me. But that’s not how I feel. Not really.”
Dorcas crossed her arms, still defensive. “Then what do you feel?”
Marlene sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m scared, okay? I’ve always had to live up to this impossible standard. And dancing with you, it’s different. It’s out of my comfort zone, and I don’t know how to handle it.” At Dorcas’ silence she continued, “You’re right, I was a bitch when you first met me, and I'm a bitch most of the time too, but I’m trying here okay?”
Dorcas softened slightly, her expression less hostile. “I get it. But you need to understand that dancing isn’t just about perfection. It’s about expression. You have to let go a little, trust the process.”
Marlene nodded slowly. “And you need to understand that some structure isn’t a bad thing. We can’t just wing it if we want to impress the judges.”
There was a long pause as they considered each other’s words. Finally, Dorcas extended her hand. “Truce?”
Marlene took it this time, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Truce.”
As they returned to the studio, there was a noticeable shift in their energy. They began to work together, blending their styles with a newfound respect for each other’s strengths. The rehearsals were still challenging, but progress was being made.