Page 25 of The Last Pirouette
“That’s not what I want at all,” Liam said, his voice low and surprisingly earnest. He pushed himself off the wall and took a step toward her.
Harper stiffened, ready to deflect whatever platitudes he was about to offer.
“Look,” Liam said, his gaze locked on hers. “I know this sounds… stupid. And I know you probably hate my guts right now. But I had this idea, and Dr. Reese liked it, but…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s just… no one sees movement the way you do. The way you explain things, the way you…feelit. I don’t. I need that.”
His words caught her off guard. He wasn’t offering pity or empty encouragement. He was admitting his own limitations, acknowledging her talent. It was a disarming tactic, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.
“I don’t know anything about ballet,” he continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “Or… choreography. Or any of that stuff. But I know hockey. And I know that with your help, we could make something… cool. Something that actually helps people.”
Harper looked from Liam to Dr. Reese, then back to Liam again. He seemed genuinely sincere, almost… pleading. It was a far cry from the cocky, confident hockey captain she’d initially pegged him as.
“I’m not going to lie, Harper,” Dr. Reese added, her voice softer now. “This center needs the money. We’re running on fumes. And the showcase… well, it could do a lot of good for everyone here, not just financially.”
Harper hesitated. She still didn’t like the idea of putting herself on display, of exposing her vulnerability to the entire school. But something in Liam’s eyes, a flicker of genuine respect, gave her pause.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, the words grudging.
Dr. Reese’s smile returned, brighter than ever. “Wonderful! Why don’t you two get together and brainstorm? See what you can come up with.”
Harper shot Liam a look that clearly said,don’t get your hopes up, before turning to Dr. Reese. “Can I at least get back to my exercises now?”
The fluorescent lights of the dance studio buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Harper hated being back here. The familiar scent of rosin and sweat used to fill her with a sense of purpose, of belonging. Now, it just amplified the emptiness, the gaping hole where her future used to be.
She sat on a bench, her leg extended, the familiar ache a constant reminder of her limitations. Liam stood awkwardly in the center of the room, a hockey stick in his hand, looking as out of place as she felt.
“So,” he began, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. “Dr. Reese said we should… brainstorm.”
Harper snorted. “Brainstorm what? Ways to make me feel even more inadequate?”
Liam winced. “That’s not what I want, Harper. I swear. I just… I thought maybe we could combine hockey and dance. Show people that movement is movement, no matter what form it takes.”
He started twirling the hockey stick, a nervous habit. “I was thinking, maybe we could do, like, a hockey drill set to music. You know, passing, shooting, skating patterns… but with a beat.”
Harper watched him, her expression skeptical. “A hockey drill… to music? That sounds… chaotic.”
“Yeah, well,” Liam shrugged, “I’m open to suggestions. That’s why I wanted you to direct. You know, bring some… order to the chaos.”
He started demonstrating his idea, awkwardly skating a few steps and making a half-hearted attempt at a slap shot. It was painful to watch.
“You’re killing the momentum,” Harper said, unable to hold back. “The power from the skates needs a counterpoint, not just a beat. You’re losing the flow.”
Liam stopped, his brow furrowed. “Okay, I don’t get it. Show me. What’s a counterpoint?”
Harper hesitated. She hadn’t thought about choreography in months, hadn’t allowed herself to even imagine creating movement again. But the technical language, the precise analysis of motion, came back to her as easily as breathing.
“Think about it like a conversation,” she said, her fingers itching to move. “The hockey players are the main voice, strong and powerful. But you need a second voice, something that answers them, that provides contrast. Maybe a group of dancers, using their bodies to create shapes and lines that mirror the skaters’ movements, but in a different way.”
Liam was still looking confused.
Harper sighed. “Okay, look.” She grabbed a stray piece of chalk from the floor and hobbled over to the large whiteboard that leaned against the wall. “Imagine the skaters are moving in a circle, passing the puck. That’s your main line of energy, right?”
She drew a large circle on the board.
“Now, what if you had a dancer inside the circle, moving in the opposite direction, creating a spiral? That’s your counterpoint. Itcreates tension, a push and pull. It makes the movement more dynamic.”
She sketched a spiral inside the circle, her hand moving with a surprising fluidity, her mind suddenly alive with possibilities.
Liam watched her, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and fascination. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I think I’m starting to get it. So, it’s not just about putting music to hockey. It’s about… creating a conversation between different types of movement?”
