The Dance Class – Part 1: One-Two-Three

"One, two, three. One, two, three," said the instructor.

"Ow," said Jan.

"Sorry," said Felix.

"That was my foot."

"It was in the way."

They stood in the middle of a Leipzig dance studio, surrounded by a dozen pairs of beginners shuffling stiffly round a polished floor. The class had too many men and too few women. The instructor, a stern woman in a black leotard named Frau Weiss, had paired them by height.

Jan was thirty-four, an engineer, tall, serious, with a nervous habit of counting aloud. Felix was thirty-one, a cellist, smaller, dark-haired, funny, with a mouth that kept twitching. They had both joined the class on a dare from friends. Neither had expected to enjoy it.

"Hold the frame," said Frau Weiss.

"I'm holding it."

"Elbows up. Chin lifted. Pretend you are a dignified heron."

Felix snorted. Jan, to his horror, laughed aloud. The room stared. Frau Weiss raised one eyebrow.

"Again," she said.

They tried again. This time, Jan stopped counting. He looked at Felix instead, the dark eyes, the crooked grin, and felt the rhythm drop into place. Their feet moved together. The room swung. The music poured round them.

"We're doing it," whispered Felix.

"We're doing it!"

They waltzed once round the floor, graceful for eleven seconds, before Felix trod on his own shoe and they collapsed against each other, helpless with laughter.

Afterwards, they drank coffee at the corner café, still giggling.

"Can I ask you something?" said Jan.

"Yes."

"Do you want to practise? Outside class?"

"I'd like that," said Felix. "I'm hopeless alone."

"Green?" said Jan, shyly, a word from a coach.

"Green," said Felix, beaming. "Very green. Saturday?"

Continue the story: Part 2 – The Showcase.