#genderqueer!murphy

The dance instructor had been more insufferable today than he’d been that whole week. As the play drew nearer and nearer, the old man had started showing signs of nervousness, something that look too much like doubt, and it had set Murphy on edge. It wasn’t like this was some high end, most anticipated show of the year kind of thing anyway and Murphy had the mind to remind the instructor that this was just some play for their church. If any news were to be going around about it, it would most likely remain local.

So Murphy hid. It wasn’t like the instructor was going to look for her. She’d already proved that she memorized every step with every beat, dancing with her partner with a grace that only had come from years of studying ballet. The other girl didn’t show the same finesse, and though Murphy felt a little sorry for leaving her behind to take the instructor’s hard criticism, Murphy felt if she stayed in there any longer she’d start to tear her hair out.

Plus, if the girl kept messing up, then Murphy would also look like a fool, and Murphy had too much fragile pride to look like a fool in front of at least 500 people.

Murphy found a quiet place to squat, a place underneath the trees and out of sight of the church. She knew she could get in a lot of trouble for smoking on holy grounds and being underage as it was, but her nerves were crackling, fingertips tingling. She had just gotten out in time before this became a full blown panic attack and she ignored how her own smoke laden breaths came out in shaky huffs. She tugged her jacket around her tighter, keeping the autumn cold from chilling her body. Murphy probably should of thrown on her sweats over her tights before heading out, but the moment the instructor back was turned, she went out the door.