Page 16 of Flirty Dancing

16

Rainy Day

Archer woke on the second Sunday of July to the gentle drumming of rain on the window. He wiggled back under his blanket with a contented sigh, letting the sound lull him back to sleep. Or rather, that was the plan, but the staccato whispers of Beau and Ben sniping at each other drowned out the raindrop patter. Archer pressed his pillow over his ear and swallowed a groan.

It was wonderful that they got back together, of course—all Mateo and Stewart’s frantic work to rearrange the partnerships aside. With things patched up between the B-Boys, and everyone on their best behavior, Stewart had tightened up their shows with a few long days of rehearsal. Everything seemed to be back in order before he left again, citing Judy’s upcoming birthday celebrations and all the work there was to be done in advance—especially because the caterers didn’t understand Judy’s specific dietary needs.

But now… Archer peeked out from under his pillow. The LIFE IS SWEET pie magnet Mateo had given him for his birthday caught his eye. It was stuck to the base of his bedside lamp, and it was the first thing he saw every morning. He looked past that to Caleb’s empty bed—gone already, as usual. The man was religious about his workout regime. Ben and Beau’s whispers grew more frantic as Archer rolled over.

“I’m awake,” Archer mumbled. “You can stop whispering.”

“Sorry, Archer.” Ben sighed.

“What, so it’s all my fault?” Beau glared daggers at Ben.

Archer sat up, raking his fingers through his hair. “Don’t mind me. I’ll get out of your way.” He collected a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie from the floor and pulled them on, ignoring their feeble protests. On a whim, he grabbed his new copy of The Hobbit and tucked it under his shirt, pulled up his hood, and ventured out into the rain. It was a welcome relief from the heat of July, and he took deep, moss-scented breaths on his way up the path.

He stopped by the dining hall for a late coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then, instead of heading back to the dorm, took the other path that went down to the center green. He was certainly not going to wade back into the hostile waters of his room, and he didn’t want to go down to the cabin, knowing all of the off-duty staff would be packed in there.

Archer stood under a tree and took in the scope of the resort laid out before him. Shady Queens was quiet on rainy days. The beach was deserted, the volleyball courts empty. Some guests would stay in their cabins for a cozy day of reading or board games, and the rest would head up to the main building for a craft or movie.

He was thinking about finding a sheltered bench somewhere when it hit him—the theater. The covered porch had padded seating, and no one would be there this far before showtime. He ducked his head and hustled over the slick grass. Shaking drops of water from his hood, Archer clambered up the theater stairs and pulled his book from his sweater. He came up short when he saw another figure who had had the same thought curled up on a bench with a view of the rippled lake.

“Oh. Hi.” Archer stopped, feeling like a big fat intruder.

Mateo looked up. “Hi.” His face was soft, no sign of irritation at being interrupted.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be sorry.” Mateo nodded at Archer’s book. “Looks like we had the same idea.”

“I can find somewhere else…”

“Archer. It’s fine. There’s lots of room here.”

Archer hesitated a split second before he took the bench next to Mateo with the same view of the lake and sat facing him. “You needed to escape, too?”

Mateo grimaced. “Yeah, there was a beer pong tournament in the cabin. You can imagine the noise.”

“I sure can. What are you reading?”

Mateo held up the Tolkien translation of Beowulf that Archer had seen on his bedside table. “I reread Beowulf every few years.”

“Nice.” Archer showed him The Hobbit . “Every summer for me, since I was a kid. That’s why my other copy was falling apart.”

A faint smile flickered over Mateo’s lips. “Well… Enjoy. This is a great reading spot.”

“Except for the interruption, right?” Archer chuckled awkwardly.

Mateo tilted his head, eyes crinkling. “I don’t mind just the one.”

Archer smiled, an unexpected heat flushing his cheeks, as he settled and flipped to his bookmark. He couldn’t resist sneaking the odd peek at Mateo as he read, making sure he wasn’t irritated, but Mateo was lost in his book.

They read in silence for a while, cocooned by the sound of the pattering rain, until Archer’s leg started to tingle. He stopped reading to stretch it out.

Mateo caught his eye. “The rain is nice, isn’t it?”

Archer looked out at the lake again, a shimmering blue and gray stretch ringed by impossible green. “I love it, actually. It makes everything else feel extra warm and cozy. When I was little, my mom would tuck me under a blanket on the porch, and I’d sit there watching rainstorms for hours.”

Mateo blinked, then held Archer’s gaze a moment. “Yeah. I love it, too.”

Something bubbled up Archer’s throat—something old and familiar… something hopeful and new. It was a little overwhelming. “So… feeling better about things lately?”

Mateo looked back down, fingers smoothing over the cover of his book. He shrugged. “We’ve been keeping it together, anyway. But… I can’t help but feel like something is still missing, or… or was never there.” His eyes flipped back up. “What do you think?”

“I mean… it’s been better than it was.”

“Yeah.” Mateo looked disappointed for a second, then he stood. “I’m going to get some lunch.”

Archer deflated as Mateo strode by him, feeling like he did something wrong, but… Mateo stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back. “Do you want to come?”

He snapped his book shut. “Yes.”

The rain faded into a light misting as they walked in a comfortable silence. They were approaching the dining hall when Caleb ran up.

“Archer! Hey.” He threw his arms around Archer and kissed him soundly, not even sparing a glance for Mateo. “I missed you. Where have you been?”

“I was reading on the theater porch. With Mateo.”

Now Caleb looked over at him. “You trying to steal my boyfriend, Mateo?” Neither his tone nor his eyes suggested he was the slightest bit kidding.

Archer’s face flushed. “He wasn’t—I—”

Mateo cocked his eyebrow. “Are your boyfriends stealable, Caleb?”

Archer tried again. “I’m not—”

But Caleb ignored Archer’s protests and took a step closer to Mateo, mouth in an ugly curl. “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?”

Mateo rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Caleb. I don’t have time for this. I’m getting lunch.” He pushed past Caleb and yanked open one of the doors to the dining hall.

“God, I can’t fucking stand him,” Caleb muttered once the door closed behind him. “I don’t know how you put up with that ego.”

“I don’t know if it’s ego—” Archer started to reply, but Caleb cut him off.

“Can we just not talk about Mateo right now? He puts me in such a bad mood.” He scrubbed his hair. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

Ben and Beau getting back together had solved one problem—sort of, Archer supposed—but it had done nothing to repair the animosity Caleb had for Mateo. Caleb had been mostly quiet about it with Stewart around, but the cracks were showing again, only a few days after Stewart left, when he and Grace showed up only half an hour before Retro .

“I asked you to be here an hour early,” Mateo said to them, but there was no heat to it, only resignation.

Caleb clapped Mateo on the shoulder as he sauntered by. “Don’t worry about it, Matty. We’re here.”

“Don’t call me Matty.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Matty.”

Somehow Mateo managed to swallow it down and roll his eyes, but Archer sank onto a chair, watching Caleb smirk and giggle with Grace, and he didn’t like the sense of wrongness settling in his gut. Their behavior was straight out of high school, and he was too old for that shit.

And of course, the more Mateo swallowed down, the tighter it wound him up. He was short and sharp with everyone, snipping instructions, and not bothering to sugarcoat anything, and his patience for the B-Boys’ drama had worn thin to the point of nonexistence.

Beau and Ben were fighting over their Latin routine that week, of all things. Ben had nearly dropped Beau in a lift in the early show.

“You missed the count. I always go up on four,” Beau snapped, throwing his towel onto a chair.

Ben could barely deign to respond. “I have been lifting you on five this entire summer.”

“You absolutely have not.”

“Let me know,” Mateo interrupted at full volume, so the entire greenroom could hear, “if you’re breaking up again with as much advance notice as you can, yeah?”

“We are not breaking up, Mateo,” Beau informed him, offended. “We are just discussing our choreo.”

“Sure,” Mateo said, shaking his head.

“Rude,” Beau muttered.

“So rude,” Ben agreed. “And it was on five.”

“Four.”

“Christ.” Mateo stormed off.

Archer wondered if the troupe would even be able to make it through the summer without bloodshed. Everything probably looked fine to the average guest, but nothing felt fine. After the show, Archer was off. His skin itched, his eyes were dry, and he was somehow bone-tired and jittery at the same time. He ignored calls of see you at the cabin , slow to peel off his costume and pack up his bag, and he was the last one out when he left. Halfway back to his dorm, he realized he had left the backstage lights on. He swore and turned around.

When he swung the stage door open, he was surprised to see that all of the lights were off, except for the red light of the exit sign and a white glow coming from the stage. Then he heard the music, quiet and somber, a piece he recognized but couldn’t quite put his finger on. He crept through the wings toward the stage, illuminated by a single spotlight.

Mateo was dancing.

He was wearing only his black tights, as black as the shadows that ridged his every visible muscle. Archer froze, hidden in the dark. Mateo whipped around in tight fouettés, until he slowed and came out of the last one in a leisurely stretch, leg rigid, arm extended overhead in an aching curve. His face burned with emotion, eyes closed, features gleaming in the light.

Archer knew he was watching something personal, something private, and yet he couldn’t look away.

Mateo’s limbs were soft and hard at the same time, each fingertip screaming with joy and agony. He leaped and turned, stretched and filled the space with beauty and fire, passion and despair. Archer’s jaw dropped when Mateo’s grand jeté spanned what seemed like the length of the entire stage. Then another and another.

When the music stopped, Mateo did too, chest heaving and glistening with sweat, eyes wet. Then he turned and looked right at Archer. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Archer jolted, hastily wiping the tear from his cheek he didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spy… But that was incredible, Mateo.”

Mateo grunted in reply, head dropping to stare at his feet. “It was nothing.”

Archer took a few steps closer. “It took my breath away. You—You’re… Mateo, why are you here? Why aren’t you still on Broadway?”

Mateo stiffened, his face closing off. He turned and stalked over to the AV equipment, snatching a T-shirt off the ground and yanking it over his head before jamming a few buttons on the panel. The stage plunged into darkness. “None of your business.”

Archer blinked as his eyes adjusted. “I’m sorry, I—Mateo, please…” He put out a hand as Mateo stormed past.

Mateo shook off Archer’s touch and blazed down the stairs toward the exit. “Don’t.”

“I think people would love to see you again—”

“No, they wouldn’t, Archer.” He stopped at the door. “You just had this dumb childhood obsession with me. No one else misses me. No one else wants to watch me dance.”

“Mateo.” There was enough in Archer’s voice to get Mateo to pause with his hand on the door. “Have you not seen and heard the audience when you dance? Are you kidding me? They love you, Mateo. They fucking adore you. So you were partying too much five years ago. No one cares. Celebrities can get high, crash a car, apologize, and book a new job the next day. You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“I hurt Abby,” he said softly, hand falling to his side. He turned to face Archer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Archer asked.

Mateo’s eyes were wet. “I didn’t mean to,” he said in a rush. “There was one night I got drunk after the show, and Abby asked me if I was doing okay. We were friends and she was only worried about me, but I—I lashed out at her. Told her to mind her own business, that we weren’t friends at all, we just worked together, and then… I told her she only got the role because she was trans.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He swiped an escaping tear. “Which is ridiculous. She’s so talented, and she was my friend, but I… Fuck, I was such an asshole, Archer. I think I wanted to hurt her because I was hurting. I was a mess. My parents had just died and… everything felt so wrong. The fame and attention felt wrong, I felt wrong, and… I ruined it all. She barely spoke to me after that, and I kept being a jerk. Then I got fired, and I haven’t said a word to her since.”

He slid down against the door and sat there, wiping his tears.

“Mateo.” Archer came over and sat next to him. “Being an asshole for a brief moment in your life doesn’t mean you ruined anything. It doesn’t mean you aren’t a good person, that you don’t deserve to be a star. You’re so fucking talented. I completely understand that was a hard time for you, but… you could have it again, if you wanted.”

Mateo sniffled. “I don’t think so.”

“I know so. I went to thirty-seven auditions over the last few months, and you are better than anyone I saw. You should at least try, if it’s something that you want.”

There was a beat of silence. “Thank you, Archer.”

“Of course.”

“You’ve been amazing all summer. I don’t know if I would have made it this far without you.”

“Oh.” Archer flushed, then was further distracted by Mateo putting his hand on his knee and squeezing before he stood. “I’m glad I could help.”

Archer stood too, and they faced each other in the shadows.

“Um,” Archer said at the same time Mateo pointed at the greenroom.

“I actually left my bag… but it would have slowed down my dramatic exit.”

Archer laughed. “I’ll wait if you want to grab it.”

Mateo collected his bag, then they headed out into the night together, but their paths split before long, one heading up the slope, one down.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mateo said when they paused at the fork. “Thanks again, Archer.”

“You’re welcome.”

Archer’s steps were light on his way up to his dorm. Things suddenly felt a little bit more right. He slept like a log that night.