The Dancers

The Dancers

A Michael Jackson story! Comment!

Chapter 1


The waterlillies were first. Alone, beautiful, and eerie in front of my mirror. If this was someone else's table, the flowers wouldn't have had a crowd around them. But instead they were on my table, and so the attratction was unavoidable. The whispers from the girls were soft, hushed, but urgent.
"Who left them for her?"
"Was it a boy?"
"Of course it was a boy! She's pretty enough."
"But isn't there a note? Why wouldn't he leave a note? He didn't have to put his name."
"Maybe he was shy."
"Maybe it wasn't boy."
"I didn't mean it that way! I meant maybe it was someone from her family."
That would have been a logical explaination, but my family wasn't here; instead, though, they had gone back to California. Even if my family was here, they would have given the flowers directly to me.
And, as far as I knew, I didn't have girls after me.
"Oh, Savannah! We're so sorry! We didn't-. You should have seen the flowers first, you know, without the gossipers", Nina said apologetically. She hadn't said a word while the other girls were talking, but studing the waterlillies, as if this was a mystery she could solve in her head.
It wasn't until she had acknowledged me that I realized my head was tilted to the right, and my arms crossed across my chest. I had been listening to the conversation, and obviously distracted, because I had forgotten to cough, or say excuse me. Anything to show I was behind them.
After Nina had spoken, all the girls got up and left quickly; mumbling quick sorries and not meeting me in the eye. I wasn't upset, however. I was curious why the flowers were there, too.
But, unlike the others, I sat in my chair, rested my head on my left hand, and playfully held one of the lovelies in my right hand. I put my nose in it and inhaled. The smell was light and cleansing, and I whispered silent thank you's to the air.
That night, I went to my dorm room, where Nina laid on her bed, watching MTV commercials.
"Ever find out where the flowers came from, anyway?", she asked without looking at me.
"No. Why did you get backstage anyway? I thought you didn't like going there because it takes the magic out of Broadway."
"Got bored."
"Figures. Oh, hey. The since the holidays are coming up, I'm going to start decorating this place", I said, putting the flowers that I had carried on the entertainment system.
"Alright. Just stay on your side. I'll do what I do on mine", Nina replied, stretching her arms and yawning.
And with that nothing more was said. I began starting my homework from poetry class, but it was useless. Poetry came to me when I wasn't thinking about it. Then Stephenie called me.
"Mills again?", Nina asked.
"Yeah", I said before answering the phone on the wall.
Stephenie Mills was good friend of mine from Broadway. Although Nina and I were blessed with ability to be calm around celebrities, which was more than what I could say about anyone else on campus.
"Hello? Savannah? Hello?", she questioned repeatedly.
"Yes!", I yelled abruptly.
"Oh, uh. What are you doing tomorrow night?", she asked unnaturally.
"Another sh-"
"I'm asking her now!", she whispered furiously, then,"What were you saying?"
"Is someone there?"
"No. So what was it."
"I was doing another showing of the 'Lion King'", I said slowly, a little unsure.
"Okay. Bye."
"Bye", I whispered.
"What was that?", Nina asked.
"I don't know."
I put on an oversized lettermen jacket that touched my knees and went out the door.
'What was that?', I thought.

The following week was followed by different sets of flowers, without notes, of all sorts: roses, sunflowers, more waterlillies. And everytime I accepted them without asking anyone who might even had the slightest idea who had sent them. I had told Nina about the conversation with Stephenie.
"And she said no one was there?"
"Someone was there. And I think that it was the person who keeps sending the flowers. She only one who can get him in and out of here without being noticed."
"Your probably right, detective."
"Fine, don't believe me."
We'd had the conversation many times that week, but the last time we did, we were behind the red curtains of the stage. An arm grabbed mine and I saw it was Stephenie's.
"Hurry!", she said smiling. "Someone wants to meet you."


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