Re: Studio: Wren & Ryan
She wasn't gonna forget class. Not one bit, and she snapped her gum and grinned at the woman who took the cash, and slid over three crumpled bills that would cover it, the fee for the front desk. She was knotting up her hair in her hands before she walked into the locker-room with a hair-tie between her teeth because even Ry, she respected the class like her abuela respected church, right. It was ritual, much as it was anything else and ritual demanded her abuela on her knees on Sundays and prayers over beads when the shit went down. Ritual demanded her hair tied back, and it was sloppy, messy knot on her head that wouldn't have passed for shit in the company but wasn't loose around her neck.
Ry, she stripped quick and easy. Didn't care about naked in front of people and she wore too short and too tight to wander around with clothes she could dance in on her. She wandered to dump stuff in the lockers, shameless and she didn't wonder nothing about no one she saw familiar because classes in this kinda place moved quick. Wasn't company, wasn't the same faces every day until they got too old, or too sick or too injured to dance. College kids and women who had kids or who'd dreamed about dancing once enough to take a class.
She picked a spot in the line-up, the chatter before class. Stretched, one leg lifted high on the barre and she grinned at the woman who walked into the studio.