Chapter Text
Chad doesn’t dance.
Well, sort of. Even he knows that is pretty much bullshit at this point in the plot. For the sake of accuracy, he has not danced in a long time. Not in any real way. Going to clubs with his friends or teammates does not count.
That means when he and his teammates learn that they will need to take dance lessons to improve their footwork and balance, he’s less than enthused.
His lack of enthusiasm is for an entirely different reason than his teammates.
“It’s not even manly,” Jacob Matthews grumbles. He is their point guard. “No self-respecting man knows or cares how to plié .”
The team’s center Tom Anderson says, “I hope the instructor’s hot. Especially if we’re gonna be in these lessons for the next two months.”
“Why?” Chad interjects. “Because you’re such a catch that you think a professional dancer will give you the time of day?”
A few guys snort, including Jacob. Chad turns to look at him.
“Not for nothing,” Chad continues, “for a ‘manly man’, you sure do know the terminology. Fuck off with that bullshit, Matthews. Your dick won’t shrivel up and maybe you’ll have something to show for once with your short range.”
Jacob looks like he swallowed a lemon, but remains silent. Most of the team talks tough, but they know better than to go up against Chad. As captain, he is always fair and never picks a fight, but he will verbally lacerate anyone who expresses bigoted or hateful views.
To that end, Chad doesn’t subscribe to any of their beliefs. Fragile masculinity is not why he doesn’t want to dance pseudo-professionally again. It’s because it will bring to the surface a missed opportunity and memories of the person that he associates with that missed chance.
He tries not to focus on the team’s impending lesson. He focuses instead on his game and the duties that he holds as the team captain. Doing so is ultimately what makes the weeks pass by, and the first lesson arrives before he realizes it.
Chad’s awareness of the first lesson date does not stop him from arriving late. He knows that he will be the last to arrive and he hates the precedent that it sets. He hurries into the dance studio, not paying attention to the front of the room, and he quickly offers a scattered apology.
“Good of you to join us, Danforth.”
Chad freezes. He recognizes that voice, despite not having heard it in over a decade. There was no way …
“Evans,” Chad says, rooted to his spot in shock as he looks at the man in the front of the class.
Sounding surprised, Chad’s teammate Marcus McDonald says, “You two know each other?”
Still staring in shock, Chad replies, “We went to high school together.”
He probably looks as though he saw a ghost.
“I guess Anderson isn’t the one who should be excited for these lessons,” Jacob says with a knowing smirk.
Chad shoots him a withering look.
Shortly, Ryan says, “Enough chatting.” It saves Chad from finding a dignified, not to mention non-expletive, way of responding. “Let’s see you form two rows.”
The others fall into order, with Chad at the right end of the second row. He can feel his hands growing clammier by the minute.
“First things first,” Ryan says. “You’re here to improve your balance and footwork. I’m here because I have choreographed my share of shows on Broadway. I’ve also worked with a number of other sports teams. Which means I’ve worked with their male egos.”
Chad can’t help but smirk. Yeah, that’s the vintage Evans snark that he remembers. It’s more interesting to see it on a fully-confident Ryan as opposed to Sharpay, who always cast such a long shadow on Ryan.
“If you have a problem with dancing, with a man teaching you to dance, then there’s the door. I only ask that your teammates record the reaction of your coach and owner when you tell them that you dumped on the cost of these lessons.”
“So,” Ryan says, clapping his hands together. “Will you all be taking this seriously?”
There’s a chorus of begrudging yes’s that echo through the studio. Chad catches Ryan’s eye and swears he sees a flicker of amusement. Ryan pivots before he can tell for sure.
“Terrific. Let’s get started.”
***
The first dance lesson with Ryan is like Syllabus Week for a 300-level college course. It leaves you feeling overwhelmed and ravaged, and not in a life-affirming way.
To put it another way, it’s like hopping into bed but forgoing all foreplay and prep.
Thankfully for Chad, he knew to expect as much. His teammates, on the other hand, look worse for wear. He expects it’s in part for any initial remarks they surely made before Chad’s arrival.
They certainly are not mocking the rigors of dance exercises by the end.
“Alright,” Ryan says after he runs through some cool-down exercises. “That’s it for tonight. Go home and make sure to drink plenty of fluids.”
Chad grins at the distressed looks on the faces of his teammates. Innocently, he asks, “What’s the matter, Matthews? You’re looking a little tired.”
“Fuck off, Danforth,” the other man says. He practically limps out of the dance studio.
That’s what happens when you try to be a hero and find shortcuts for warm-up stretches.
The room pretty much clears out immediately, quickly leaving the two former Wildcats in their respective corners. Chad chances a glance at Ryan to find him doing the same.
“You’re not too rusty, Danforth,” Ryan remarks. “I was hoping you’d remember some moves, but worried it might be a pipe dream.”
“We had a good instructor,” Chad says. He smiles when the tips of Ryan’s ears tinge pink. “It’s good to see you, man. How are you?”
“Can’t complain,” Ryan says, with a lopsided grin. “New York’s treated me well. Guess the same could be said for you, Mister NBA.”
Chad rolls his eyes, but grins in return.
“It’s pretty weird that we’ve lived in the same city for over a decade and never crossed paths.”
“With over 8 million people in diametrically opposed worlds? Hardly,” Ryan laughs. He makes a fair point. “I’m glad it happened, though.”
“Speaking of,” Chad says. He pauses. “You didn’t seem surprised to see me.” Ryan glances at the mirror. “Ryan Evans, you’re still looking for the upper hand!”
“Guilty.” Chad just shakes his head in disbelief. “You’ve met my sister. Is it that hard to believe that some behaviors you can’t unlearn?”
Mildly curious, Chad asks, “How is Sharpay?” The last time he saw her was in sophomore year of college, before their majors and electives took them to opposite corners of campus.
“Living her best life in Calabasas,” Ryan smirks. “She fits in there more than she’s ever anywhere else. It is, in her words …”
“Fabulous?” Chad supplies. Ryan throws his head back and laughs.
“Precisely.”
Chad had missed what is happening now. The easy back and forth they shared. It isn’t a quality they had until the summer before their senior year, but it felt like it always existed on some level. It just needed to be recognized.
It also apparently hasn’t faded away. Chad isn’t sure how he feels about it.
Finally, Chad says, “I should head home and rethink my need for limbs.” Ryan bursts out laughing again. “See you next session?”
“Looking forward to it, Danforth.”
Chad turns to leave. As he does, if he isn’t mistaken, he sees a wistful look in Ryan’s eyes.
Now if he can only determine what that means.