The Third Message novel · Chapter 7 of 24

Chapter 7: Studio B

Three days after I landed in Portland, my roommate dragged me out of bed at eight at night.

June Roundell was short and loud, with a red ponytail and paint on her sneakers.

She studied stage lighting and had decided on the first day that I was hers.

"Open floor hours," she said. "Studio B. You haven't left the room except to eat."

"I'm only cleared for the barre."

"Then you stand at the barre. And I'll watch from the booth and judge everyone."

I took my cane and went.

Studio B was a long room with mirrors on three walls and a floor worn smooth by years of feet.

Six people were stretching in a corner. A tall guy in a gray henley sat at a folding table by the door with a clipboard.

He did not look up when we came in.

"Sign in," he said. "Name, date, injuries."

June leaned over my shoulder. "Her injuries are a lot."

I wrote my name and left the injury line empty.

He read the paper upside down before I had finished.

"Left hip," he said. "Nerve decompression, within the last three months."

I stared at him. "How do you know that?"

"You put your weight on the right foot to walk through the door."

His eyes were brown and tired, and his beard was short.

"Miles Brenner," he said. "I'm the grad assistant. I run this floor, which mostly means I lock it."

He got up, took a chair from the wall, and set it by the barre without a word.

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