Read Online Awakening (Book One of The Geis) by Christy Dorrity - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christy Dorrity
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book. Christa shrugged, her eyes never leaving the page. Frustrated, I turned back to try again.
One, two, down—one, two, down . The step sounded right, but my foot didn’t look the same as the Irish dancers I’d seen online.
A movement near the back of the room stopped my practicing. Behind me, Rourke stood on the edge of the wood floor, his mop propped against the wall.
I glanced at Christa, who sat up. Her book fell to the floor with a thud that sounded overly loud in the large room.
He stood inside the doorway, no words and no emotion from his stony face, like the lizard that curled next to the bucket at his feet.
Silence filled the room, pressing on my chest until I had to break free of it. I squared my shoulders to try again.
One, two, down. The steps came from behind me.
Before I could begin, his foot had struck the floor and whipped back to its mate. Rhythm echoed in the silence. It sounded the same as when I’d performed the step, but Rourke knew how to control his feet. He clipped his foot on the ground, this time exaggerating the movement of his toe as his foot moved forward. He motioned toward me, the first time that he had acknowledged me.
I picked my foot up off the ground and concentrated on imitating the step.
One, two, down. The step sounded the same as before, but the subtle change in foot position made all the difference. I tried the other foot. It felt natural to do the step, and I repeated it, moving forward until I was touching the bleachers. The step was elementary, I knew, but until now, my feet had refused to perform it.
I turned to thank Rourke, but he had already gathered his cleaning supplies and headed through the door.
“Wait,” I called.
Rourke stopped. His head was down and his eyebrows were furrowed so deeply that I couldn’t see his eyes.
Christa stared at us. The lizard crept forward to stand next to Rourke. No matter how badly I wanted to dance, at that moment I regretted calling out to him, and my voice came out small. “Will you teach me to dance?”
For a stretched-out eternity of a moment, Rourke didn’t move. He stared at the lizard at his feet. Then he limped to the door, his free hand waving in the air. It took me a moment to realize that he was using sign language. I knew a little bit of sign language from my human relations class, but the only thing I understood was the one thing his body language communicated: no.
When Rourke had gone, I sat on the floor.
Christa crossed to me. “You can’t just go around asking creepy janitors for dance lessons.”
“He fixed my step with one little demonstration, did you see that? Think how much I could learn if he would teach me.”
“Did you see the way he stared you down? That guy is a nut job.” Christa reached a hand out and pulled me to my feet. “Call Ms. Slannon’s friend to teach you.”
“I’m telling you, he can dance.” I couldn’t forget his emotional solo. “Where do you suppose he learned?”
“Knowing you, I bet you’ll ask him.”
I reached for Christa’s arm. “You are brilliant. If I learn sign language, I’ll be able to talk to him.”
“You’re crazy, girl. You don’t need to learn sign language to talk to him—he isn’t deaf.”
“I know, but he does sign. If I learn his way of speaking, maybe he will be willing to teach me his way of dancing.”
Josh was waiting in the car, a blurry form behind the wheel in the cascading rain. Christa and I ran from the school, but we were still drenched when we climbed, laughing, into the back seat.
“You two look like you just came from swim lessons,” Josh said.
I struggled to pull my jacket on over my wet arms, self-conscious in my leotard and stretch pants. “I wish we had. Then maybe I’d have a towel to dry off with.”
Christa grabbed a blanket and threw it around our shoulders. “Sorry we’re late, Josh. McKayla was asking the janitor how to Irish dance.”
“Irish dance?”
“McKayla saw some dancers in a
One, two, down—one, two, down . The step sounded right, but my foot didn’t look the same as the Irish dancers I’d seen online.
A movement near the back of the room stopped my practicing. Behind me, Rourke stood on the edge of the wood floor, his mop propped against the wall.
I glanced at Christa, who sat up. Her book fell to the floor with a thud that sounded overly loud in the large room.
He stood inside the doorway, no words and no emotion from his stony face, like the lizard that curled next to the bucket at his feet.
Silence filled the room, pressing on my chest until I had to break free of it. I squared my shoulders to try again.
One, two, down. The steps came from behind me.
Before I could begin, his foot had struck the floor and whipped back to its mate. Rhythm echoed in the silence. It sounded the same as when I’d performed the step, but Rourke knew how to control his feet. He clipped his foot on the ground, this time exaggerating the movement of his toe as his foot moved forward. He motioned toward me, the first time that he had acknowledged me.
I picked my foot up off the ground and concentrated on imitating the step.
One, two, down. The step sounded the same as before, but the subtle change in foot position made all the difference. I tried the other foot. It felt natural to do the step, and I repeated it, moving forward until I was touching the bleachers. The step was elementary, I knew, but until now, my feet had refused to perform it.
I turned to thank Rourke, but he had already gathered his cleaning supplies and headed through the door.
“Wait,” I called.
Rourke stopped. His head was down and his eyebrows were furrowed so deeply that I couldn’t see his eyes.
Christa stared at us. The lizard crept forward to stand next to Rourke. No matter how badly I wanted to dance, at that moment I regretted calling out to him, and my voice came out small. “Will you teach me to dance?”
For a stretched-out eternity of a moment, Rourke didn’t move. He stared at the lizard at his feet. Then he limped to the door, his free hand waving in the air. It took me a moment to realize that he was using sign language. I knew a little bit of sign language from my human relations class, but the only thing I understood was the one thing his body language communicated: no.
When Rourke had gone, I sat on the floor.
Christa crossed to me. “You can’t just go around asking creepy janitors for dance lessons.”
“He fixed my step with one little demonstration, did you see that? Think how much I could learn if he would teach me.”
“Did you see the way he stared you down? That guy is a nut job.” Christa reached a hand out and pulled me to my feet. “Call Ms. Slannon’s friend to teach you.”
“I’m telling you, he can dance.” I couldn’t forget his emotional solo. “Where do you suppose he learned?”
“Knowing you, I bet you’ll ask him.”
I reached for Christa’s arm. “You are brilliant. If I learn sign language, I’ll be able to talk to him.”
“You’re crazy, girl. You don’t need to learn sign language to talk to him—he isn’t deaf.”
“I know, but he does sign. If I learn his way of speaking, maybe he will be willing to teach me his way of dancing.”
Josh was waiting in the car, a blurry form behind the wheel in the cascading rain. Christa and I ran from the school, but we were still drenched when we climbed, laughing, into the back seat.
“You two look like you just came from swim lessons,” Josh said.
I struggled to pull my jacket on over my wet arms, self-conscious in my leotard and stretch pants. “I wish we had. Then maybe I’d have a towel to dry off with.”
Christa grabbed a blanket and threw it around our shoulders. “Sorry we’re late, Josh. McKayla was asking the janitor how to Irish dance.”
“Irish dance?”
“McKayla saw some dancers in a
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