fionadeakin-blog

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It wasn’t often Fiona was driven to boiling point, but somehow this guy had succeeded. Words pushed out of her lips that didn’t often leave them, and it was obvious because the insult seemed soft, tender even. “Fuck you.” She wasn’t going to say any more to him, turned around and moved further up the line.

Who said I was faking anything? I’m just making sure you know how to tie a shoe. You don’t know how to step one foot in front of the other and how to follow a line so I’ve got my doubts about my shoe laces. 

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“Code for being left-handed?”

“Is that code for something?”

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“You wouldn’t happen to be a lefty, would you?”

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Fiona was rounding a corner, checking the messages on her phone and generally just multitasking in her head like she was known to do, when she collided with a body. It sent her slightly off balance, almost stepping on Monkey, her pomeranian, but she recovered quickly and easily. “Oh no, it’s okay! My bad.” The look on the girl’s face looked grave, worried. “Are you okay though?”

Venturing out of her room was considered a miracle; especially on her own. Her brother would constantly beg Andie to leave, do something fun; but she wouldn’t. As she made it past the last cement step, she breathed in the cool air before heading down the sidewalk. Curling herself deeper into her coat, she managed to avoid eye contact until she walked right into someone. The impact was brief, but she was frazzled. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Her eyes widened.

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Fiona almost didn’t make it onto the bus, but she got lucky, an old man who’d gone on in front of her deliberately was slow to pay his fare so she could catch up and hop on. She thanked him and got on, moving to sit all the way in the back row where the only empty seats were. Some girl apparently was not so lucky though, because just as the bus started moving she was running after it and yelling. Someone up front asked for the bus driver to stop for her, but the man just shook his head. A pang of guilt ran through Fiona, for some unknown reason, and she did something she didn’t often do; think fast and act crazy. Picking up her bag and walking to the front of the moving bus in haste, she tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Stop, please! That’s my sister. We’re together.”

It worked, and the bus slowed, if only to let Fiona off, or let the stranger on, she wasn’t even sure. The doors slid open and she had no choice but to move down the stairs, coming face to face with her. “Hi.” 

It had seemingly taken forever for Sabine to clear out Apollo Arts after closing, leaving her exhausted and running late for the bus back to her loft. She quickly gathered all of her belongings in a haste, making sure to lock the door on her way out. Just as she was exiting the building, she witnessed the bus pulling away from the curb, beginning its journey down the long, busy street. 

“Shit, shit, shit! No! Come back! Stop!” She yelled out, trying her best to run after it. “Fuck!”

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Fiona was almost done changing after her shower, pulling up her knee-length socks and converse shoes to go with them. When she heard the commotion from the locker rooms next door, she got up to check on the noise. “Are you okay?”

“—– are you fucking serious?” they muttered to themself in disbelief, clutching the towel tighter to prevent it from falling off them. “I must be daydreaming. This isn’t really happening,” they huffed, closing their eyes and breathing in and out slowly. Were they being dramatic? Probably. Did they care? Not really. 

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“That sounds like a bet I’m willing to make,” Fiona said with a playful smile. “Oh, how romantic. I certainly would like to imagine myself as an old lady, dancing. Are you an old soul at heart?”

“I doubt it.” Thomas chuckled, watching the woman as she spoke. “That’s understandable… besides, you’ll probably be able to still dance… just a little slower is all.”

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“Forced?” Fiona asked quizzically, although she could probably commiserate, ballet was a regimented and structured thing, not allowing much in the way of freedom. “Did you teach at the Westbrook Studio, or somewhere else? Oh, about...six months now. It feels a lot longer though.”

“No fucking way”, she ignored the whole first time of the conversation, looking down at their glasses and then at her. “I am a dance teacher. I teached hip hop, jazz and was forced to teache ballet too. How long have you teached here?”, she asked, really instered on this whole thing now.

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“Oh, it’s no problem,” Fiona said with a shake of her head, not thinking she’d actually been very helpful.

“No, thank you. – That was really helpful actually.” she said, smiling. 

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She looked up at him from below, quizzically. Then sighing, went back to tying his shoelace the proper way. When Fiona stood up, her countenance had changed. Not in a way that she was angry with him, just...disappointed. “Faking an illness is a shitty thing to do.”

Sticking the untied shoe’s foot out towards her,  “bunny ears, remember that..that’s how you tie a shoe…also might need to get on both knees. Really get a handle there. Make it tight.” 

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“Aimee Christenson. She should have a few videos up.” The excitement and enthusiasm in the girl’s voice brought out a smile on her face. Hardly anyone had a reaction like that to her words. “I am, yes. At Westbrook Dance Studios?  I teach hip hop and street dance, occasionally ballet.”

“I do, yes. What’s her name again? I mean, to goole it up”, she asked, getting her phone to type it down for later. “Learn how do dance? Don’t tell me you’re a dance teacher!”

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His change in demeanour was blink and you’ll miss it, but it elicited pity from Fiona. It wasn’t hard to stir those feelings in her. She shrugged and nodded, “Uh, sure.” Getting down on one knee, the girl moved to tie his shoelaces.

She didn’t respond right away, just looked down. So there, yeah. He had to be right. She was special. Maybe he could play nice…er. “My-…” Malcolm looked down, it was. “Carpal tunnel. I need some help?” 

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“Umm...I think it’s...” Fiona tried to recall the name that sounded familiar. "Oh. I think that’s in North End. You’re in Westbrook. North End’s wayyy over there,” she pointed with a hand in a far off Western distance. “I can’t give you exact directions, sorry. North End’s pretty big and...yeah.”

“Excuse me? –Sir, I just have a– Hello?” she looked down at her phone when the line went dead. “Well that was rude.” Stella sighed. So far her first day in town was not up to a great start. But she wasn’t going to give up just yet. As she looked up, she saw someone pass by and she quickly put her phone away. It was almost dying so she was trying not to use it too much. “Excuse me! Hi, I’m sorry –but do you think you can tell me how to get to Bridge Cafe?”

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“Exactly. All teens are like that, it’s unavoidable. Although it’s weird he’s pushing you to dating because doesn’t that sometimes lead to stepmoms and stepdads...and doesn’t every kid want to avoid that like the plague...”

“Ahh well, he’s 16. He lives in the high school time line, and a year and a half is practically ten to him.” 

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“For getting people’s attention, definitely. Like that girl who got Drake tattooed on her forehead.”

“it’s worth it.”

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