Six months ago you were staying up for days on end in your cell because you heard the White Supremacists were looking to firebomb you while you slept. If someone told you back then that today the most important thing in your life would be whether or not a bunch of pre-teen girls win a stupid dance recital, you probably would have slit his throat from ear to ear and then cut his tongue out of his mouth to let the other hacks in Gen-Pop know he was talking shit. And yet, here you are.
You bluffed your way into this position as a jazz dance teacher after breaking out of prison because you knew you'd get caught by the Marshalls if you kept running. You needed to settle into a town and get a job as a cover while the hunt is still on. They'll look for you hiding in folks' tool sheds. They won't be looking in the Magic Steps Dance Studio.
At first, you'd just turn on a pop music radio station and tell the girls to dance however the hell they like. While they ran around and wrestled each other, you'd sit with a little mini-TV watching all of the soap operas you got addicted to while you were in the Pen. You barely even knew those girls were in the room. Not until you spoke with Dorothy.
Dorothy used to take the class with her twin sister Jill, who was a way better dancer than her. Last year, Jill got hit by a car and died. Now Dorothy's parents can't stop talking about how great a dancer Jill was and how all they ever wanted was to go to the big Jazz Dance competition and see Jill win. Dorothy told you how she just wants to learn to be as good as her dead sister, so that maybe her parents will be able to go to that competition after all.
That did it for you. Dorothy's story reminded you of how your own Dad started kicking your ass after your brother Mo died. You ended up running off and turning to crime. You weren't going to let Dorothy take the same path. YOu were going to teach that little girl how to dance. And if Dorothy's parents didn't end up loving her just as much as her dead twin sister, by God you'd find them and you'd stab them in their stomachs.
First thing you did was learn how to jazz dance yourself. You begged the instructor from a school one town over to teach you. Against her better judgment, she helped you. She always acted against her better judgment when it came to dangerous men. You learned how to jazz dance in four days.
Next, you had to win the girls' trust. After ignoring them for so long, they weren't too excited to follow your lesson plan. But then you bought them all some Bratz dolls and they eventually came around.
Finally, you had to whip them into shape and turn them into the best fucking jazz dancers in the region. Today's the day of the competition. And you're in jail.
The local sheriff glimpsed your wanted poster in an email from the justice department. He's got you locked up in his cell while he waits for the Marshalls to show. If you don't get out soon, you'll miss the entire recital. Those girls can't win if you being in jail is all that's on their minds.
"Please," you say to the Sheriff. "I'll do anything."
The local Sheriff isn't much different from the CO's at the Pen, and he agrees to let you go after you blow him through the bars of the cell. You make it to the recital just in time to see Dorothy win it all. Her parents rush up to the stage to hug her and drench her in their tears. The Marshalls show up and watch with you from the wings. You tell them they can take you back to prison whenever they want. Because as long as they let you hang on to this memory, you'll always be free.
Happy You Really Want To Teach Those Little Girls How To Dance Day!
