Part 11A - Danse Enchanteresse

Christie and Cindy had arranged to meet outside the studio so they could walk in together. While she waited, Christie hoisted her gear bag - her pink gear bag - up higher onto her shoulder. Initially, she'd intended to use her newer white gear bag and swap out her dojang gear for her dance stuff but had reconsidered. Having to swap her gear back and forth every day since she had dance class every day she didn't have karate class was just time-consuming and inefficient. Besides, she might inadvertently forget something she'd need later. THAT would just royally tick her off. Yes, having a different gear bag for each class commitment simply made good, basic sense.

Besides, on reflection, Christie had decided the pink didn't annoy her nearly as much as last summer. It was handy having two different bags - less chance of showing up at dance class with her dobok but without her dance shoes. That was a good thing. Besides, the pink went nicely with the color of her new dance leotard. Not that she'd chosen the outfit with that in mind. Honest!

She was saved from further self argument when Mrs. Pettis' car drove up to the curb. Cindy scrambled out as soon as the car had stopped, remembered herself and jumped back in to hug and kiss her Mom goodbye.

"I'll be back in an hour and a half. Just wait for me inside the lobby if you get done sooner than that. It will be dark when you're finished, and I don't want you out on the street in the dark."

"Yes, Momma," Cindy replied dutifully as she backed out of the car again. "Class is supposed to be two hours, so we shouldn't have a problem."

Linda Pettis shot a meaningful glance to Christie, who understood instantly. Mom was worried about them bailing on the class early. "We'll be fine, Mrs. Pettis," she replied to the unspoken command.

"All right then. Have fun, sweetie. Thanks, Christie, for being with her."

"I'm looking forward to it, but we need to hurry. We don't want to be late on our first night back, Cindy." Waving one last goodbye, the pair hurried into the school lobby. "Cindy, before we go in?"

"Yes, Christie?"

"Umm, look. I talked to Madame, and I think she will try to tone down the picky comments. She said she would try, but it's hard to change something like that overnight. We need to give her a chance. If she slips up and starts . . .umm. . ."

"Bitching, Christie?" Cindy offered with a helpful grin.

"Yeah, that, but I didn't say it! If she slips up, just smile and tell her, 'thank you for teaching me, Madame.' Just like you do with Sa Bum Nim at the dojang, okay? Only in English, not Korean. Hopefully, that'll remind her of her promise. Just don't get upset. Remember, this is Madame Coulter, and she is who she is."

"Got it, Christie. I'm just so happy to be back. I don't think you could pry the smile off my face with a crowbar."

~-~

Christie initially tried to keep herself in the center of anything or any group Madame organized throughout the class. She wanted to make sure the woman was ultra-aware of her presence so she'd remember why Christie was there. However, as the lesson progressed without any of the usual Madame Mad Tirades, she relaxed and enjoyed how her body stretched and moved in the dance exercises. Cindy was evidently not the only one who'd missed this.

In the last half hour of the class, Madame broke the students up into smaller groups to work on their Arabesque position and transitions. Each group had a more experienced student as group leader, helping the newer and younger students as they watched themselves in the studio wall mirrors. It was probably a little jab, but Christie had been the last 'senior student' assigned a group by Madame. She somehow looked relieved instead of giggling when Madame had selected her. That was Madame Renee Coulter at her best worst.

Several students were having trouble with the position, and of course, Madame had to 'correct them' "That's unac . . ." Her voice trailed off when Christie gave a little hop to catch her eye. "Unfortunate, ladies. I think you need to see another example. Christie, would you come up here, please?"

"Yes, Madame," Christie bubbled and dance-walked over to the stern-faced instructor.

"Take your position, please. Now, watch how the dancer shifts her weight and balance as she extends her leg behind and up." Christie decided to see if Madame would take her up on her offer to be the 'bad example' and did not get a full extension on her leg, nor did she raise it as high as she should have. "No, no, that's not it. That's exactly the problem these young ladies were having. Girls, note her trailing leg. It is not straight, nor is it extended as much as it should be. Notice that it is also lower than it should be because of that lack of extension. Now, Christie, try it again, please. Remember to extend yourself."

Christie returned to the starting position and moved smoothly into the Arabesque, achieving textbook form - for about five seconds. Maybe five seconds. Then she kept lifting her foot higher as if she was trying for more extension until she overbalanced and fell over onto her head.

A titter of nervous laughter flitted through the assembled girls but was quickly stifled when they remembered just whose school they were in. Christie rolled to her bottom, shaking her head as if to clear it. She looked up at Madame with a goofy look on her face and said. "Umm, I guess that wasn't what you had in mind, Madame?" And started giggling at herself. When Madame did not immediately reprimand her, the girls all started to laugh, too, and tremendous pressure was suddenly relieved in the room.

Madame let it go for a few moments before she shook her head sadly. "No, Christie, that really wasn't. Lisa? Perhaps you could come up here and teach Miss McKellar a proper arabesque? I saw you performing it quite nicely a few moments ago."

Wide-eyed at being called on AND complimented, Lisa hurried up to the front, curtsied and took up her ready position. This time, the demonstration went flawlessly, and the students applauded Lisa's performance. "We have about fifteen minutes left in class, ladies. Go back to your groups and work on your leg extensions. If you need help, raise your hand. Miss McKellar? Perhaps you should join Lisa's group? You evidently require remedial training."

Trying her very best not to smirk, Christie curtsied and followed Lisa to her group. "What the hell was that, Christie? The day you can't do a simple arabesque is the day I dance Sleeping Beauty in the nude at the Met."

"Ooo!" Christie cooed softly, "Let me know when you do! I want tickets! And I'll tell you tomorrow at lunch, okay? Too many little pitchers here." At Lisa's nod, the two girls went back to helping the other girls in the group, but not before Lisa and Christie made a big deal of her 'remedial' training, much to the amusement of all the other students.

"That's enough for today, ladies," Renee called out two minutes early. "See you next class. Miss McKellar, a minute of your time before you leave, please."

"Yes, Madame, I just have to make sure Cindy's Mom is waiting for her, and then I'll be right back?" At the instructor's nod, the two girls hurried to the door and found Linda Pettis waiting in the lobby.

"How was it?" She asked, caution evident in her tone.

"Oh, Mom, it was great fun. Christie fell on her head, though."

"What?!" Linda demanded in concern while clearly checking Christie over for damage.

"It was nothing," Christie assured with an easy smile. "I just overbalanced and ended up somersaulting onto my bottom. Everyone got a good giggle out of it."

"Did they indeed?" Linda asked thoughtfully. At Cindy's enthusiastic nod, she added, "I see. Well, Miss Cindy, we need to get home and finish making dinner. Thanks, Christie. See you soon."

Christie found Renee waiting near the hallway outside the studio office. "I take it that little exhibition is how you plan to get my attention in the future?"

"Well, it worked, and no one but you noticed. Nice catch, by the way. Unfortunate is much friendlier than unacceptable."

"Hmm, Yes, I suppose it is. And your little impromptu gymnastics demonstration? Was that in service to this joy you think my girls need?"

"That worked, too, and everyone seemed to really bear down afterward and work, so you didn't really lose any instructional time, but I think the kids might have gained from it."

"We will see, won't we. I rather expected more of a reaction from you when I called on Lisa to correct your misstep. As I recall, you two never got along."

"Oh, I wouldn't say we're pals now, but we get along. Matter of fact, she's been working with me outside of school on improving her endurance. She's been working very hard. She really wants to become a professional dancer. She might just be your first professional ballerina, Madame. I think she's got that kind of potential now that she's putting in the effort."

"I had noticed the improvement but hadn't realized you were behind it."

"Lisa's behind it, Madame. She's doing the real hard work; I'm just helping."

"Well, thank you for that. I will see that Lisa gets the extra attention she needs in class. I hope I can rely on you to see to her opportunities for this joy?" Christie just giggled and nodded. "Off with you, then. I still have leftover paperwork to finish that I didn't get done on Tuesday for some strange reason. Leave, now, before I remember why, girl!"

~-~

Tad Green was monumentally pissed off! There was just no other way to describe his crappy mood. Here he was, alone on another Saturday night with no date. He'd thought he had one on the hook for sure; all he'd needed was reel her in, and he would have been golden.

But NOOOO! He'd been shot down by a freaking junior varsity cheerleader who'd just got dumped by her asshole jock boyfriend. Tad hadn't had an actual date since before the end of the previous school year. What was up with that?! Hell, he was a great freaking catch! Damn good looks, money, his own car? He should have had girls asking HIM out, but every last girl he'd asked out in the past year had more or less told him to get lost! Some of those bitches hadn't even been very polite about it! Especially since Christie freaking McKellar had shot him down - in public, damn her - when he'd asked her to the Winter Ball.

This B.S. all came back to that McKellar bitch, didn't it? Ever since that rigged sparring bout last August at Young-Soo's place. She'd probably been spreading lies about him since then, too. Nothing else made a lick of sense. He should have more dates than he knew what to do with! Not that he really gave a shit about dating - as if! The only reason he cared - at all - about dates was that a guy sort of had to have dates to get laid. Girls were picky that way. He was getting damned tired of only getting it on with Merry Thumb and her four sisters.

And he was doing something about that little problem, now wasn't he? Damn straight. McKellar thinks she's safe now that she's got the damn football team on his case. She's probably been giving out free blowjobs to those jerkwads - starting with that asshole Breeder. Well, guess what. The freaking football season is over, bitch, and jocks have really short memories. Besides, he was back in training himself at a GOOD dojo that didn't waste his time on all that Eastern spiritual, philosophical psycho-babble. All these guys worried about was how to hit hard, hit fast and win, baby! That was Tad Green's kind of place, by God!

Once he got back in shape? Got his timing back? McKellar and Breeder were gonna pay. Big time. Oh yeah, they would.

~-~

Amanda arrived home and found her daughter heating up their wok, getting to make one of her yummy stir-fries. Just looking at the colorful array of julienne veggies waiting on the side made her mouth water. "How long till dinner, Christie?"

"Oh, hi, Mom. Ten minutes. The rice is just about done, and all of this is ready for the wok. Go get cleaned up. I'll just plate and serve directly to the breakfast bar."

Dinner tasted just as good as Amanda had hoped. Savoring her second bite of the spicy concoction, she was surprised to see Christie wasn't eating. She was just stirring the stir-fry around on her plate with her fork. Amanda frowned, "Something wrong with yours, honey? We could share mine. It's delicious!"

Christie gave her Mother a little, half-hearted smile. "It's fine, Mom. Just trying to sort something out in my mind. Here, I'll eat." And Christie forked up some rice and vegetables and began to eat.

For about three minutes anyway, and then Amanda could actually see her eyes turning inwards toward whatever problem was bothering her. Finishing her own meal, she removed Christie's plate, took it to the counter for wrapping and then slid it into the refrigerator. Her daughter hardly even noticed. Amanda decided a more direct Motherly intervention was called for. Stepping up beside her daughter, she clapped her hands together several times in front of her girl's face. Christie jumped and then stared up at her Mom in surprise.

"Family room, young lady. Talk time!" She ordered briskly. When Christie simply nodded and followed her without any attempt at a smart-mouthed remark? Yeah, Amanda thought. Definitely talk time.

Gesturing Christie to the sofa, Amanda took a seat in her favorite chair. "Okay, Miss, are you ready to communicate or do I need to break out the smelling salts?"

Grinning, Christie shook her head, "I'm good to go, Mom. No need to make my eyes water."

"So, tell me, oh darling daughter, why you prepared such a tasty dinner and then couldn't keep your mind on it sufficiently to bother eating it. Or notice when I stole your plate right out from underneath your nose. Inquiring Mothers want to know!"

Christie gave a soft giggle and then an even softer sigh. "I came up against one of my limitations today at dance class, and I didn't much like it. I've been trying to think what I might have or could have done differently."

"Sounds serious. I need details, girl. Give."

"You've been watching teenage soap operas on Netflix again, haven't you?" Christie accused teasingly. "Give, indeed. Okay, one of the senior girl dancers, Didi Lawrence, hurt herself today at class. She was attempting a double pirouette when she overbalanced and fell off her point. It went really wrong from there, and she came down badly, breaking at least one of the bones in her lower leg. Maybe both; I couldn't tell when I tried using Healer Sight on it. I did see she was bleeding quite badly inside her leg near the break. EMTs were called, but I went to her and tried to look like I was keeping her calm and still. She was crying pretty hard."

"Tried to look like? What were you doing, then?"

"I tried to push my healing energy into her."

"Oh, Christie," her Mother groaned.

"Yeah, I know. No healing without supervision, but the blasted leg...Mom, it was like it was calling to me. And I figured, hey, I know how to stop bleeding - did it on you, right? I thought if I at least controlled the bleeding, it would give them more time at the ER."

"And that's all you did?"

"Yes, but not for lack of trying. I got the bleeding stopped - I could see that, but figured, what the heck, I'll just keep pumping energy in. Ought to do some good."

"Only it didn't, did it?"

"Not that I could see. I finally quit when I felt myself getting down towards empty on my energy reserves. I just wanted to help - so badly!"

"Honey, without the fine control, the clear sight, healing energy is just energy. Think of hammers. The one that a jewel smith uses when cutting a fine diamond is small, precise and very accurate. The sledgehammer that an 1800s railroad worker used was still a hammer, but big and only as precise and accurate as necessary. That's the difference between properly controlled and applied healing energy and plain energy. You could stop the bleeding - on this girl and me - because you could see what had to be done. Anything more was just . . .oh, I don't know, waste heat?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when nothing more seemed to happen after I stopped the hemorrhaging. The EMTs took her off, and Madame called the parents. I'm just bummed I couldn't do more. I was RIGHT there, darn it."

"Sounds like you might have a healing vocation if you're drawn to it that strongly," Amanda observed carefully.
Nodding her head, "I have to agree. Guess I'm gonna be a healer when I grow up, Mom," Christie said, a lopsided grin on her tired face.

"Darling," Amanda said softly, "I'm fairly sure we've discussed this before, but Gran and I have gone through all our available family records and journals. Every single one we have or could find in one of the sorcerers' libraries. So far as we've determined, healing is a female-only trait in our family. We've found no record or even a hint of a male McKellar healer. If Charlie wants to become a healer, he will need to go to medical school and become a doctor. Being a sorcerer will still be useful in that role - there's a great deal you can do with the magic that can help ease suffering. Off the top of my head, you'd be able to summon any instrument or drug you needed. Or you could facilitate rapid transportation to a medical facility if necessary. That is still healing, but . ."

"But not what I had in mind. Yeah, I get that. I will need to do some tough thinking about all that, Mom. But not tonight. I'm pooped. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"What about your dinner?" Mother's Voice (TM) demanded.

"Just not hungry, Mom. Later."

Amanda watched her daughter ascend the stairs and thought about the stir fry. Smiling brightly, she said,
"Well, Amanda? Heart to Heart talks like that one always gives me an appetite. How about seconds?" Then, she answered herself, "Why, thank you, Amanda. Don't mind if I do. Christie's cooking tonight was just delish!"

~-~