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Chapter 7: Yes, Sir, We Got Trouble
Part 1: Sophie
Her eyes had gone gritty from staring at blurry cell phone videos for the past two hours. While her wrist was already 2 weeks into its 6-8 week stint in a cast, her brain was firmly stuck in the past. Sophie could not let go of the question haunting her – how did that fall happen?
People almost always filmed flash mobs, and loved to post the videos online. It had taken all of her spare time across three evenings this week to find the two snippets of video she had been staring at on loop. Neither was good quality – apparently people in Williamson weren’t interested in the latest camera technology in their cell phones. She couldn’t complain, though; she didn’t care, either.
What she could see in the videos was too unclear to give an answer. Sometimes it looked like Ryan just lost his balance. Other times it almost looked like whoever was behind Ryan had bumped him. She scoured her notes and her memory, but no one should have been that close to a lift except the spotter. She was no closer to the truth but much closer to a headache.
With a heavy sigh, Sophie wrenched her eyes away from the computer and started plotting their next dance. The first practice would be tomorrow night, back at the warehouse she still had permission and access to use. She was hesitant, after that noise complaint, but the subsequent two practices had gone off without a hitch. With no good reason not to, she decided it made the most sense to keep using that space.
One decision she hadn’t made? What song they would dance to next. She felt a tug to do another Imagine Dragons piece. She did love them, after all, and they wrote some amazingly powerful songs that were also fun and high-energy to dance to.
Sophie pulled out her playlist she used to collect ideas and started scrolling through. So many fun ideas! ‘Warriors’ by Imagine Dragons was definitely on her radar. She liked ‘Thunder’ but was struggling to visualize the dance. ‘I Bet My Life’ definitely had the speed, rhythm, and energy she liked. She also loved the message of redemption and totally throwing yourself into a love you didn’t expect.
Maybe that was her answer. She slipped in her earbuds and shoved the coffee table against the loveseat to give herself as much room as possible. Then she listened to the song on repeat at least half a dozen times, moving however her mind encouraged. At the end of a half hour of dancing, she was sweating and breathing hard, but she’d migrated from rave-like, unchoreographed movements to something more refined.
She enjoyed finding body motions that communicated the heart of the music. Curved shoulders and a bowed head demonstrated the pain the singer put his loved one through. Then in the chorus, flinging that bowed head back and throwing her arms open showed the complete 180 his heart had gone through, that he was now ready to give everything for her. She was stumped as to how to present the line where the singer whispers a begging for forgiveness that tugged at her heartstrings, but she knew it would come eventually. They wouldn’t get to that part tomorrow, anyway.
By 10:00, she was exhausted and starving, because of course dancing was more urgent than dinner. She snarfed a protein bar, showered, and flung herself under the covers.
And then she stared at the ceiling. Or the backs of her eyelids. Or the ceiling some more. Then her pillow. Out the window. Her closet door.
When the time on her phone flipped to midnight, annoyance set in. She was generally patient with sleep. It came when her body was ready. But now her body was dead tired while her mind spun out of control.
So it was that she found herself once again staring at those blurry cell phone videos from their ‘Big Dreams’ dance while mentally replaying every horrible moment of her fall. That had never happened before, not in their handful of dances here in Williamson or the several dozen she’d participated in during her college years. She supposed it could be a fluke, but she was a very careful person and credited that with preventing many an injury throughout her active years.
Her mind returned to the question of the spotter. Who had she designated for that lift? As she replayed the video, her gaze honed in on Oliver. Yes, the only person behind her should have been Oliver, and he was the spotter.
Wait a minute… She watched both videos several more times, and she finally saw it. Oliver wasn’t in place. It was hard to tell who was behind Ryan because of the grainy image quality, matching outfits, and masks, but she’d wear her cast two extra weeks if she was wrong about that being Oliver. What in the world was Oliver doing so close behind Ryan when he should have been between Ryan and Gray, ready to catch her if she fell?
If Oliver had bumped Ryan, why would he do so? Was it an innocent mistake? Oliver was a good dancer – maybe less experienced than some, but still unlikely to make such a mistake. More to the point, what should Sophie do about it? She could confront Oliver, show him the video and ask him what happened. But she was terrible at ferreting out the truth. She’d likely have no idea if Oliver was pulling the wool over her eyes.
Ultimately, there was nothing she could do to fix it, and now she huffed a sigh of frustration that she had introduced doubt into her relationship with Oliver. She vowed to keep a close eye on all of the dancers tomorrow night to see if anyone aroused suspicion, while deeply desiring to put the best construction on everything. Ugh.
Well, Sam was always telling her to be more wary, so here went nothing.