Dancing Lessons by R. Cooper Page B

told him as meanly as he knew how, which only meant Travis rolled his eyes again.
    “Doesn’t everyone, when dealing with Travis?” Rafael inquired from outside the door. Chico had partially closed the door to give Travis some privacy, although he hadn’t really gotten undressed. Travis calmly flipped his teacher off and seemed amused when he got the bird in return through the crack in the door.
    Chico waved Travis away after extricating him from the heavily pinned jacket, then headed back to the table he’d claimed as his. He heard Travis leave and then nothing else for a while.
    “How’s he move in it?” Rafael finally asked. The sound from outside was muted, as if he’d closed the door again. “How’s he feel in it? If he’s not comfortable, it will show.”
    “He’s fine, as far as I can tell.” Chico toyed with his thread selection, although the stupid jacket was gold and white, so he was going to end up using white. Anyone could do this part; Chico didn’t have to. But what had Davi said? They’re counting on you, Chico. At least go back in and finish the costumes you started. He’d made Chico feel so guilty that even lying in bed hadn’t made him feel better. “I don’t know why you’re asking me. All I do is sew or something.”
    He didn’t know where his snippy tone had come from, but it was too late to call it back.
    “You know it’s more than sewing. You know you’re good.” Rafael raised his voice ever so slightly. “You snapped back at Jase for the sewing comment. What’s different now?”
    “Everything. Nothing.” Chico briefly lifted his hands, then let them flutter uselessly to the tabletop. “Everything,” he whispered.
    “Chico Silva.” Rafael said his name like a plea and startled Chico so much he nearly raised his head. “You don’t get to look at me like that.”
    “I’m not looking at you,” Chico pointed out, calmly, he thought. His hands were trembling, but he was an emotional boy and always had been. He’d gotten in the habit of acting as though he could control his feelings. He was even starting to realize why he’d done it. But it was all a lie. Chico had strong feelings and a reckless heart. Pretending he didn’t led to his head under a pillow and days of nothing. No, it had led to an entire relationship of nothing. He was more agitated in this moment than he’d been in response to anything John had ever told him.
    Spools of thread went flying from his hands, scattering across the table.
    Rafael let out a sound so rough Chico raised his head. “Last night—” Rafael started.
    Chico tried to cut him off. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Is that a restaurant you’d recommend? Davi likes their fries, even cold.” Needless to say, Chico had lost interest in his sandwich, although he’d made himself eat it. A part of him was pissed about that. He should have gotten to enjoy his victory sandwich, not stared at it and thought how it might have tasted if he’d ordered it on a date.
    “You know,” he went on in a rush, “I don’t get why the king is wearing epaulets. Is late nineteenth and early twentieth century when the ballet is set, or is this a cost-effective decision? I’ve never heard of The Clockwork Dancer , and I keep forgetting to look it up.”
    Rafael made another exasperated sound but stepped farther into the room. “It’s based on a short story. You never read it?” He waited until Chico shook his head before he took another step. “The story was published anonymously around that time. So that’s what we chose for the setting. But the actual ballet was composed a few decades later. Our version is even more changed from the original than the ballet. For obvious reasons, our version is family-friendly.”
    That gave Chico something to focus on that wasn’t how cautiously Rafael moved around him today. “What did you take out?” He tracked Rafael moving along the edge of the room, how he stopped to examine the finished or