Muse

It's Monday morning. But not just any Monday morning, its the-first-day-of-senior-year Monday morning. Yeah, not looking forward to this.

I slowly open my eyes and try to get my brain to compute with this information. So far, all I’m getting is: “WARNING! WARNING! OVERLOAD OF HATE FOR SCHOOL! STARTING RENEWAL PROTOCOL 404 (HIT SNOOZE...AGAIIN)“. Wait! No! Not again, I’ll be late.

Dragging myself out of bed, I grab my phone of my nightstand and check my notifications. five Instagram, eight Snap chats, and two texts. Okay! Good to see the rest of the student body didn’t turn into zombies after waking up early for the first time in three months, thirteen days, and seven hours. But who’s counting, right?

I decide to just check my texts which happen to both be from my best friend Lauren.

WildThang: Hey Devyn, you up yet? Don’t know what to wear. (6:32 a.m)

WildThang: DEVYN!!!! Like, I seriously need your help! (7:03 a.m)

Now: 7:26 a.m. Crap.

DevsTheDiva: Hey! Sry, I just woke up. Call me...

As I wait for a reply I go wash up in the bathroom. Unlike miss Lauren over there, I had already pre-picked my outfit. I chose black, ripped skinny jeans, with a loose white crop-top that has a low V-neck (but not too low), and beautiful roses that go down each elbow length, flowy sleeve. In a well-practiced manner, I whip my flat iron out from under the sink, untangle the cord, plug it in, and turn it on to the third setting. Not that any of this matters to you, I just like details.

I work on my hair until every single chocolate strand is perfectly straight. Then I attempt to do this headband-looking braid I saw on a YouTube tutorial. Just as I finish, my phone rings with a dorky looking Lauren picture filling screen.

“Hey. You still need my help?” I ask, simultaneously pulling on some socks.

“Uh...funny you should ask that. Can you unlock your front door real quick?” I reflexively freeze but then relax thinking: what did I expect? It’s Lauren we’re talking about here.

“Yeah, give me a second,” I say.

About 3 seconds later I open my front door to find Lauren standing there with only Lord knows how many outfits hanging from a plethora of hangers. Well I wasn’t expecting that.

“Jeez Lauren. Come on we don’t have much time!” I exclaim as I help her haul practically half her wardrobe up my stairs.

At exactly 7:58 Lauren and I finally make it out of my house and into her car. For her outfit we decided on an oversized gray and black sweater with a black mini skirt. She braided her long blonde hair to the side and borrowed my pair of 3-inch silver heels. I think we both look gorgeous, but I may be a little biased. We each packed a change of clothes for dance practice and jammed to the radio all the way to Westwood high.

Every high school has its thing. Eastwood Academy has its technical programs. Palm Beach High has its sports. St. Williamson takes extreme pride in their Cheerleading program and its accomplishments. But Westwood high? Our thing is.... dance! For the last 8 years, my school has had the biggest and best Dance program in the state (for not being a performing arts school), and for the last 3 years I have been either co-captain or captain of the hip-hop group. Yes, we’re that good – we have multiple groups! There’s the step group (step-dancing), the theatrical dance group (they mostly work with the drama club and such), the contemporary dance group (I call it “regular dancing” and if you need more explanation than that, let me remind you of this thing called Google), and lastly – my favorite – the hip-hop group (again, Google).

This year, Lauren and I were chosen to be co-captains, but Lauren wanted to let me be Captain and just be my second-in-command instead. Today after school is the first meeting where we teach all the students that show up the tryout routine and then we critique them and go over the administrative part of the club. Yes, technically we’re a dance club. However, no one thinks of us as that because they understand how hard we work and everyone refers to it as the Dance Program. Therefore, so will I.

Tomorrow, Tuesday and the second day of my senior year of high school, will be our second meeting where all the students perform the tryout routine in groups and we choose our new recruits. We usually only welcome 2-4 new students to replace the graduated Senior’s from the prior year since anyone who already was in the program almost automatically gets back in. That is, unless they mysteriously lost all their rhythm and coordination in only a few short months.

Before I know it, Lauren is pulling into her usual parking spot on the east side of the campus. This is where all the serious dancers park, for a couple of reasons. First, it’s the closest student parking section to our dance studio. Second, because it’s the closest student parking section to our dance studio, we have had various last minute after school dance meetings for the captains and co-captains of all the dance groups here because it was convenient. Third, this place is filled with memories. So overall, it’s basically tradition.

I hear an sigh from my left and turn to see Lauren staring at the campus out the window with too many emotions clouding her eyes. “What’s wrong?” She turns to look at me and I’m not quite sure which I was more unprepared for: the look on her face, or what she’s says next.

“Devyn, I don’t know if I want to be part of the Dance Program anymore.” – Wait, what? She can’t be serious.

“You can’t be serious.” Speaking my mind was always my strong suit. But no. Lauren? My best friend since sophomore year? My dance partner since freshman year? The girl who said dance would be her future no matter what got in her way – including her parent’s divorce. There’s no possible way –

“I’m serious Devyn.” Kaboom! That, in case you were wondering, was the sound of all my plans for senior year and my dance future with Lauren exploding. All what’s left of the dance section of my heart is a bright, red, mushroom cloud.

“But I don’t understand! We made plans! What, do you need a break or something? I totally understand if it’s about your parents. I mean it was only 2 months ago and – ”

“Devyn! This is not about my parents, okay!” Well alright ladies and gentlemen, it is officially not about her parents.

I nod, still uncomprehending and in a state of total disbelief. A pregnant silence follows, neither of us quick to break the trance.

“Then what is it about?” I speak slow and clear, not wanting to set off another Lauren- sized atomic bomb. This earns me another sigh from my zombie of a best friend.

“I just...I don’t know if it’s what I want for the rest of my life. It was fun these past 3 years, but now we’re seniors and I need to focus on my future career. Which, unlike you, will not be becoming the world’s best hip-hop dancer of all time.” This earns a chuckle of agreement from me. “Do you understand?” As much as is pains me to admit, I do.

“Yeah, I guess. But why do you have to quit the Dance Program altogether? Can’t you just not be my second in command, which will lift some stress off your shoulders and – ” And she’s giving me that look that says she knows I’m full of crap. Lauren knows, first hand, that no matter what position you have in the Dance Program, with me as captain, it should be required to have stress balls on hand.

“What I meant to ask was what are you going to do instead of dance?” She nods approvingly at my revised response and then goes into deep thought about it.

“Not sure. Anyway, it’s 8:46 and I have to get to the library before first period. I know it’s unfair that I’m telling you all this the first day of school – and dance, so I’ll come to practice today and tomorrow to help you get everything organized okay?” she asks. Well that’s very considerate of her. I accept.

“Thanks. We cool?” I ask as we get out of her car and make our way to our personal prison, for the next 8 hours of our lives, side by side.

“Yeah, we’re cool,” she says, throwing her arm around my shoulder, something she can only achieve with my heals on. How ironic. Just as I think this, she twists her ankle and tackles me to the ground.

First of all: ow!

Second of all: ugh, only Lauren.

I hate irony!