Justin looked down to check his watch. 9:30.

‘Great, just fuckin great,’ he muttered walking down the hall to the dance studio.

It had been two days since he woke up in the penthouse suite covered in his own puke and smelling like a brewery. Though he only had a few flashes of what happened that night, the only thing on Justin’s mind was why, even though he’d taken the car and run off, Trace didn’t freak out on him. In fact, he’d done the exact opposite and went along as if nothing had happened, which only made Justin even more nervous as he waited for Trace to start screaming or at least lecture him on responsibility. With each hour that passed, Justin became increasingly antsy and wallowed in an even fouler mood; he missed appointments, canceled appearances, and was now thirty minutes late for dance rehearsal.

As he reached for the door handle, it swung out, almost catching him in the face.

‘The hell?’

‘Oh, sorry I – hi, Justin.’

He froze, eyes wide with surprise, and stared as the woman in front of him ran a hand through her familiar, dark chocolate curls in agitation.

‘Hey can I, um, talk to you for a second…In private.’

Before he could snap out of it, Grace gently reached for his arm and pulled a stunned Justin into the studio’s back stairwell.

She quietly shut the door behind them then turned to face Justin, who had composed himself and was now seething with anger.

‘What in the motherfuckin hell are - ’

‘Wait!’ said Grace, throwing up her hands as if she could physically stop his words.

‘Look, I know you’re angry and hate me and stuff, but just lemme get this out, ok? Then go ahead and cuss me out, but just hold on – Ok. Um, I’m not sure if you remember this cause you were pretty out of it, but that night in Miami, I took you back to your hotel and before I left, Trace and I…talked. He said you needed a dancer and I know we’re not the best of friends or whatever, but it was either keep working three jobs just to get by or take his offer and make more money in three months than I do all year.’

Grace took a deep breath and continued.

‘I know we have,’ she struggled to find the right word, ‘…some history, but for the sake of the tour and the fact that we’re going to start seeing a lot of each other, can’t we just, I dunno, not kill each other and try to be polite? I’d rather not have to explain our constant fighting to those people in there.’

She looked up at Justin, who silently stood, thinking about what she’d just said. Deep down, he knew Grace was right, but for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he didn’t want to change their angry, back and forth relationship.

After a long pause, he finally said, ‘I’ll admit, you’re right, despite the fact that you decided to conspire behind my back with my best friend rather than talk to me about it yourse -  ’

‘Like you were in any state to discuss a business proposition! Look, the minute I signed on, I became invested in this tour and will do whatever it takes to have it succeed. If it means moving away from my home, my job, my boyfriend, fine. If it means I have to get here at five every morning and bust my ass to learn in three weeks what y’all have had months to prepare for, fine. And if it means being around you for the next three months, then so be it. I’m going to suck it up and be professional and I suggest you do the same. I’ll see you inside.’

And with that she turned on her heel and strode back into practice.

For the second time that day, Justin stood speechless.

 Well, you gotta admit, the girl knows how to make an exit. 

Justin stood there for a few moments then gave a resigned sigh and slowly walked towards the studio.

When he entered the room, the music stopped.

‘Mr. Timberlake! How kind of you to drop by!’

Justin mumbled an apology then shuffled over to throw his duffle bag against the wall.

Marty Kudelka, his eccentric, overly-dramatic choreographer, stalked towards him, giving him an evil smile.

‘Oh you will be sorry after I finish working your ass. And on today of all days, when we have a new member joining us. This is Grace, the newest member of our little ensemble; she’ll be replacing Michele for the North American leg of the tour. Now before you say anything, our little Grace is very good at what she does and has already learned the routines for a couple of the songs.’

Justin turned to her and gave a curt nod, getting a small polite smile in return, and went back to putting on his shoes, ignorant of the inquisitive eyes watching their interaction with keen interest.

‘Alright people, off your asses. The king has arrived, now it’s back to work. We’re starting with Sexyback on three and so help me Kristen, if you fuck up that ball-step-change again, I’ll kill you myself.’

Two hours later however, it wasn’t Kristen, but Justin that continuously messed up the routine.

Erratically sliding to the left, he bowled over Eddie, another one of his dancers, whose face constricted in pain.

Marty jumped up from his chair, ‘Christ on a crutch! Justin!!! Sweetie, where’s your head? Ed, are you okay?’

Getting a slight nod from Eddie, Marty slid a glare over to Justin before snapping,

 ‘Okay again from ‘wrote you a love note’ and five – six – seven – and’

My Love started again and Justin began the slide-hit-turn-step number, glaring at himself in the mirror, silently daring himself to make another wrong move. As the chorus began, Grace sashayed up to his left, grabbing his hand for the next move in which Justin was supposed to spin her into his arms then out again. Though he had been trying to shake off his nerves all morning, Justin paused at Grace’s touch then, realizing his hesitation had thrown them off beat, tried to spin Grace even faster to make up for time. Unfortunately, he only succeeded in practically throwing into the other set of dancer, sending them all into a heap on the floor.

Marty, shaking with fury, rose from his chair and screamed, ‘OH FUCK ME! That’s it, lunch break everybody. You,’ he said pointing to Justin, ‘we need to talk.’

Justin lowered his head in defeat, grabbed his water bottle, and ambled over to the seething choreographer.

Marty began to pace in front of him, ‘Jesus, Justin! What’s going on out there? I don’t – I don’t even know what to say to you. Are you purposely trying to injure the rest of my dancers? Cause I can assure you, Grace was a godsend and you only get one of those if you’re lucky. I am not gonna baby you. You’ve been unfocused and downright shitty since you got here!’

Justin looked down, his face burning with shame,  and shrugged, ‘I dunno, I’m just off today I guess. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, well, you better find some way to turn it back on, cause that shit ain’t gonna cut it! And I would rather quit right now than put on a shitty ass tour, which is what you’re going to have if you keep this up. Now, you better take this break and, I don’t know, do some yoga or take a nap or something to refocus yourself because you look more awkward than a nun in a strip club and I can’t have you doing that, honey. So just go find your mojo, okay?’

Justin, angry and thoroughly mortified, gave a stiff nod and walked out of the studio.

A few minutes later, Justin paced in the alley behind the studio, deep in thought.

He had no idea how to get his “mojo” back. Absolutely none. He’d tried deep breathing earlier on in practice, but could only concentrate on Grace and that damn vanilla shampoo she used. Every time he looked at her, a different memory surfaced. No matter how simple the memory, like Grace playing with his dogs or Grace cooking with his mom, Justin would instantly lose his focus and miss the step or sometimes stop all together.

Justin squatted down and poured the remainder of his water bottle over his head, letting the tiny rivulets cool his shoulders and chest. He needed to talk to someone, but there was no one to call. His mother still couldn’t even say Grace’s name without launching into a furious tirade about responsibility and gratitude. And then there was Trace. Justin pulled out his phone and hesitated, his finger hovering over the number three. Sure, Trace was his best friend, but Justin was mad at him for lying to him…well not so much lying as making Justin look like an ass. He sighed and looked down at the number five.

There was one more person he could call. He used to talk to her about any and everything. They could talk for hours about why Tivo was the greatest invention ever created or whether Thai food was better than Chinese, but now all that seemed to exist between them was an awkward silence. And with the whole recent Grace situation, Justin knew he’d pulled even further away from her, his girlfriend in name only, Cameron. Every time he saw her, he saw the pain reflected in her eyes that came from neither of them wanting to let go, to kill the hope of them becoming what they used to be.

With a slow, regretful sigh, Justin held down the three button and waited for Trace to pick up.

‘Hel – ‘

‘You are a backstabbing little bastard, you know that?’

He heard Trace pause and could almost see him opening and closing his mouth, trying to decided which words would placate Justin the best.

‘Justin, look. I had to do something –‘

‘Trace, I’m not saying your actions were wrong. The tour needed a dancer and I understand why you brought her on, but couldn’t you tell me? God, I stood there like an idiot while she blasted my ass!’

‘No, J, I couldn’t. How would you have reacted?’

Justin stayed silent, knowing he would have went apeshit and demanded she quit.

‘Exactly. Is everything going ok?’

Justin groaned and ran a hand over the stubble on his head.

‘God, I dunno man. She just has this…this hold on me, you know? Like I know these routines, I mean I know these steps, and today, with her around, I’ve been fucking up bad. REALLY bad. It’s embarrassing and Marty yelled at me and I don’t know how to….get back to where I was…’

The line went silent as Trace paused in thought.

‘So you admit you still have feelings for her?’

‘WHAT? No! Like feeling feelings? No! The only thing I feel for her is the urge to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze.’

‘So you do have feelings. Even if they’re anger. Well, use that then Justin. Use that anger to do well. I know this is crazy coming from me, but if you focus on the anger instead of her, maybe you can make it through rehearsal.

Think of it as a challenge. She came into your hometown, walked onto your court and she’s wiping the floor with you. If you use all the anger and shit, you’ll be able to do something, at least not fall on your face.’

Justin nodded.

‘Yeah you’re right. Anger. She comes all the way here and makes me look bad. Yeah, I can work with that. Oh and don’t take this call the wrong way. You’re still a backstabbing bastard.’

‘And you’re still a whiny little bitch.’

Justin smiled. Some things just never change.

‘Thanks for saving my ass man.’

‘Meh, I own you now. Don’t forget it.’

And with that Trace hung up, leaving Justin with a sense of calm and a game plan: Transform the anger … and get over Grace.