So today after school, I hurried home to rush through my homework, scarf down dinner and change into something that felt appropriately Frances "Baby" Houseman. My outfit included thick, sparkly nude tights that I borrowed from my cheerleader friend Katie, black character shoes that my lab partner Meghan (who does musical theatre) leant me, my favorite pink bathing suit and a flowing black skirt that I took from my Mom's closet.

I biked back into town for my 6pm Intermediate Ballroom Class. After speaking with Mrs. Yana Stolovitsky on the phone, I decided on this class for three reasons: I have some prior dance experience that I felt made me something more than a beginner, it fit into my work and school schedule, and Johnny Castle taught ballroom dancing.

Clearly it was a no brainer!

When I arrived in front of the florist shop, the sound of a Viennese Waltz lured me up the steep, narrow stairs to the second floor space where The Stolovitsky Studio is located. Huffing and puffing from the bike ride and the stairs, I shirked off my coat while I opened the door with my shoulder. Sixteen wrinkled faces turned at the cacophony of my entrance, which interrupted the elegant piano music they were gliding around the room to. They all froze as the door slammed shut behind me.

My eyes scanned the elastic-waisted denim, loudly-patterned acrylic sweaters, polyester stretchy-pants, floral twinsets, and orthopedic shoes in dismay.  Either I was entirely surrounded by eight pairs of the wallet-stealing Schumachers, or I had unknowingly entered the 80s film Cocoon instead of Dirty Dancing!

Despite being half dressed in my bathing suit and flimsy skirt, the room felt hot as my face flushed with embarrassment. It only added insult to injury that not only was I the only person under the age of seventy, but I was the only person not in regular street clothes.  The final nail in the coffin (not to be morbid around so many folks actually approaching the necessity of said item) was that I was the only person without a dance partner.

"What have I done?!" I mumbled to myself as I turned around to make a hasty retreat. 

But a heavily Russian-accented voice halted my flight. "Ahhhhh you must be Melissa! Welcome, welcome!"

I turned to find a tall, lean man smiling at me. He looked very much like a ballroom dancer in his heeled black shoes, tight black pants and brilliantly-white man-blouse. He reminded me a bit of Neil Diamond with his brown eyes, bushy dark eyebrows and fabulous mane of obviously dyed black hair.

"Hi. Mr. Stolovitsky?"

He nodded as he took my coat from my arms and hung it on a hook on the wall. "Please call me Sergei."

I stretched out my hand. "Nice to meet you Sergei."

He accepted it and lifted my arm over my head to twirl me around three times bringing me further into the room. I felt dizzy and knew there was no hope of escape now.

It was very quickly apparent that I was not at the same level as my classmates. I guess four years of dance classes with Miss Juliet's Juniors didn't prepare me at all for The Stolovitsky's rigorous instruction technique.

At first Sergei tried to use me to illustrate a few more advanced maneuvers. I guess he was excited to have a student whose bones weren't brittle, so he attempted to bend me in dips and twist me in spins that I bungled horribly. After I accidently kicked his shin hard, he passed me off to one of the husbands and twirled away with the snickering wife.

Thus began the process of circulating me around the room to the different elderly gentlemen. Eventually I would step on a toe or knock into someone and Sergei would come back over to swap me out again. I swear I was not trying to break anybody's hips, even though that was what one of the men accusingly huffed under his breath at me.

The more nervous I got, the more mistakes I made. The more mistakes I made, the more nervous I got. It was a vicious cycle. I always seemed to be two steps behind whatever move everybody else was doing, no matter what I tried.

Within thirty minutes I had been partnered with everyone and Sergei was glowering at me.  He turned, and swearing quietly in Russian, click-clacked across the wood floors toward the back office. "Nikolai!" he bellowed.

The door opened and I found myself ogling the most gorgeous physical specimen I had seen since Patrick Swayze himself. Nikolai had golden blonde hair, a perfect tan and broad shoulders that tapered to an obviously rock hard stomach. The black tank top tucked into his black jeans completed the look perfectly.

"Yes Papa?" he said. They spoke softly in their mother tongue for a minute as Sergei gestured towards me. I snapped my gaping mouth shut when he walked toward me smiling.

Good Lord he even had dimples like Patrick!

My heart did a jitterbug even though the music playing was a tango.

"So my father tells me that you're struggling a bit today." He had the tiniest hint of an accent that I found adorable.

I nodded. "I have a bit of ballet and tap experience, but I've never worked with a partner before. And then there's the whole moving backwards thing..."

Nikolai put his arm around me. His hand was splayed on the small of my back. He grasped my other hand in his. "Don't worry about it. This was a tough room to start in. These couples around you have been together for many, many years. They know each other inside and out. They can practically read each other's minds at this point."

He started to move me around the room. I looked down at our feet and he tipped my chin up to look back into his green eyes. "My father forgets what it's like to be young like us, exploring life and trying to find our soul mates."

I flushed. "Young like us... How old are you?"

He pulled me against him and hitched my leg up onto his side as he dipped me. "Eighteen."

My stomach dipped too and I smiled. "How come I've never seen you at school?"

Nikolai righted me. "I've been home-schooled. It allows me to train and compete." He blushed and nodded toward a full trophy case in the corner.

"Wow!" I exclaimed.

Then he whipped me around in a tight circle, away from the case, and started forward. His thighs pushed gently against my hips so my legs naturally wanted to follow his body's movement.

He cleared his throat. "As far as moving backwards... It does require some trust to move blindly about a room. And why should you trust someone you just met? Right?"

I confessed, "It does feel..." He spun me out and then pulled me tightly back into his arms with my back to his chest. "...awkward." I looked over my shoulder into his eyes.

He smiled. "Well some people are born to lead and others to follow. You just have to decide who you are." Suddenly he lifted our twisted arms over our heads so that we were shoulder to shoulder and we circled around each other counter-clockwise.

I laughed. "I guess it depends on who is asking me to follow."

Then from across the room, Sergei briskly clapped his hands twice. "Thank you dancers, until Wednesday!"

Class was over. I had survived.

Nikolai dropped my hands. "You should come to the Beginners' Class on Wednesday at 4pm to brush up on some basics. I'm sure you'll catch on quickly enough. And then we'll work on getting you a regular partner."

(I wonder if Nikolai needs one.)

I'm definitely giving this day two thumbs up! I can't wait to tell Tara tomorrow!