Chapter 2. Pride Dance

All characters and events depicted are purely fictional and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Clapham Common Park was alive with the sights and sounds of London in early summer: the soft rustle of leaves in the light breeze, the distant hum of traffic, and the occasional shout from a nearby group of skateboarders trying their best to defy gravity and common sense. It was 6 pm, and Proudington's first Pride rehearsal was set to begin. But, as was often the case with this colourful lot, there was one small problem: nearly everyone was late.

Juan, Rooney, and Nathan stood by the small fountain at the centre of the park, glancing around impatiently.

"Well, this is a bloody disaster," Rooney declared, folding his arms across his chest with a dramatic sigh. “Philippe said 6 pm sharp. Not ‘6 pm whenever you can be bothered.’ Honestly, I feel like we’re herding cats. Really disorganised, glitter-covered cats.”

Nathan chuckled, his easy smile breaking across his face. "Oh, come on, Rooney. It’s only been five minutes. This is Proudington we’re talking about. We’re lucky if people show up on the right day."

Juan, who had been tapping away furiously on his phone, looked up with a mock-serious expression. "Darling, I don’t mean to be a diva, but I could have been halfway through my second mojito by now. Do they not know who I am?"

Nathan snorted. "I’m sure they do, Juan. And that’s probably why they’re late."

Rooney laughed. “Or maybe they just heard that you were coming in those neon-pink shorts again, and decided they needed more time to adjust their retinas.”

Juan glanced down at his shorts and struck a pose. “Excuse me, these are not just any neon-pink shorts. They are ‘Limited Edition Pride Fabulous’. I’m practically a walking rainbow of delight.”

Rooney shook his head with a grin. “You’re a walking something, that’s for sure.”

Nathan chimed in, “At least the shorts are hard to miss. Maybe Philippe will see them from a mile away and hurry up. What’s the bet he’s somewhere, casually tossing his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial?”

Juan waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, he’ll be here. Philippe loves being the centre of attention almost as much as I do. He’s probably just making a grand entrance, like some kind of French Beyoncé.”

Rooney tilted his head, considering this. “Or maybe he’s polishing his choreography notes. You know, Philippe takes this sort of thing very seriously. I mean, he was a professional ballet dancer. That takes dedication.”

“Not just any ballet dancer,” Nathan added with a grin. “He was apparently the best in Paris. That’s like being the best cheese in France.”

Juan clapped his hands together. “Well, if he can make any ballet look that good, imagine what he’ll do with us. Though I doubt even he could make some of these boys dance in sync.”

“True,” Nathan nodded. “Colin’s idea of rhythm is…well, questionable at best. He dances like he’s trying to shake off a spider.”

“Don’t be mean,” Rooney protested with a chuckle. “Colin tries his best, bless him. Besides, it’s all about having fun, isn’t it? It’s not like we’re auditioning for the Royal Ballet.”

Juan raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself. I, for one, plan to be the star of this show.”

Nathan laughed. “You’re always the star in your head, Juan.”

Before Juan could reply with another witty retort, a figure appeared in the distance, coming towards them. The group squinted through the fading sunlight.

“Is that…Omar?” Rooney asked, shading his eyes.

Nathan nodded. “Looks like it. And true to form, he’s probably rocking some trendy outfit.”

Sure enough, Omar approached them in a sleek, fitted jacket with a vivid pattern that looked straight off a fashion runway, paired with jeans that seemed almost too stylish for a casual park rehearsal.

“Hello, darlings,” Omar greeted them with a warm smile. “Sorry I’m late. I had to find something suitable to wear. One must look good even when dancing in the park.”

Juan laughed. “Trust you, Omar, to turn up dressed like you’re about to star in a GQ photoshoot.”

Omar shrugged nonchalantly. “Fashion is an attitude, my dear. Now, where is everyone else? And more importantly, where is Philippe?”

“Good question,” Rooney muttered. “We’re still waiting. Maybe we should just start warming up. Does anyone remember the routine?”

Juan rolled his eyes. “Of course not, Rooney. That’s what Philippe is for. He’s the brains, we’re the…well, we’re here to shake our bits in time to Sabrina Carpenter.”

Nathan chuckled. “Not sure about the ‘in time’ part, but close enough.”

Just then, another figure appeared, walking towards them with an unmistakable swagger. It was Miles, looking cheerful as ever, a pair of bright green trainers peeking out from under his workout gear.

“Hey, guys!” Miles called out, waving. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare. But don’t worry, I brought snacks.” He lifted a small bag triumphantly.

Juan threw his hands up in mock despair. “Oh great, because nothing says ‘serious rehearsal’ like a bag of crisps.”

Miles grinned. “What? They’re low-calorie. And besides, dancing burns calories, right? I thought I’d bring something to balance it out.”

Rooney laughed. “At this rate, we’re going to need more than crisps. Maybe a few energy drinks or a full-on catering service. It feels like we’re waiting for the second coming.”

Nathan raised his hand. “You know what they say, good things come to those who wait. Or at least Philippe, who might as well be a diva in his own right.”

Omar looked around, a little worried. “We do need to start soon. If we’re going to nail this routine, we need every minute of practice.”

“Agreed,” Rooney nodded. “And I really want us to look good. It’s London Pride, after all! The whole city will be watching. We can’t just be a bunch of randoms flailing about.”

Juan smirked. “Speak for yourself, darling. My flailing will be nothing short of fabulous.”

Miles laughed. “Well, we’ve got to make sure our flailing matches the beat. And don’t worry—when Philippe gets here, he’ll whip us into shape in no time.”

Nathan checked his watch and sighed. “He’d better. We don’t want to be known as the club that tried and failed to dance to Sabrina Carpenter. The shame would be too much to bear.”

***

Just as Juan began to complain, yet again, about the growing chill in the air and the fact that his neon-pink shorts weren’t exactly designed for chill British evenings, a group of latecomers finally appeared at the far end of the park. At the front, Philippe, the new dance coach, was waving his arms dramatically, his sandy blonde hair bouncing with every step. Behind him trailed several familiar faces, all chatting animatedly, their hands clasping takeaway cups from Pret A Manger.

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Juan called out, folding his arms in mock indignation. “What happened, Philippe? Did you take a detour via Paris?”

Philippe quickened his pace, his blue eyes wide with a mix of excitement and mild panic. "Oh, mon Dieu, I am so sorry, everyone!" he apologised, his soft, sexy French accent as smooth as the creamy foam topping the lattes they all seemed to be clutching. “We stopped for coffee at Pret nearby, and… well, we lost track of ze time! You know ‘ow it is with good coffee and even better conversation.”

Nathan grinned. “Sure, Philippe, we all know how distracting those Pret croissants can be. They're practically hypnotic.”

Philippe gave an exasperated shrug, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks. “Oui, but let’s not waste more time! We ‘ave to start ze rehearsal right away!” He clapped his hands, attempting to restore some order. “Now, everyone, let’s get into our places! We ‘ave a dance to perfect, and only a few weeks until Pride.”

The group began to shuffle around, taking their spots in a vague semblance of order. Miles, always eager to help, started pushing a few people gently into their positions. "Come on, guys, we need to get moving before Philippe decides to abandon us all for another coffee," he joked.

Colin, ever the perfectionist, stood at attention, trying his best to look focused. “Right, so what’s the plan, Philippe?” he asked. “Is there a particular routine we’re following, or are we just going with the flow?”

Philippe took a deep breath and ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Alright, listen up! Ze song is ‘Please Please Please’ by Sabrina Carpenter, and we ‘ave to be fabulous, energetic, and, most importantly, in sync!” He clapped his hands again. “When ze beat drops, you must feel it in your soul, your ‘eart, your…everything!” He twirled dramatically on the spot, then struck a pose. “Like zis!”

The group watched, half in awe, half in confusion, as Philippe demonstrated a series of quick, sharp movements with a grace that made it clear he had been a professional dancer. His feet moved effortlessly, his body flowing in perfect rhythm with an imaginary beat. He finished with a flourish, striking a final pose, and the group broke into applause.

"Bravo!" Omar called out, his dark beard twitching with a grin. “That was magnifique! But, uh, do we need to be quite that…good?”

Philippe laughed. “Non, non, don’t worry, Omar. I ‘ave been dancing since I was a child. For you, we will start simple, yes? A few easy steps to get ze feel of ze music.”

Juan raised a hand. “Can we start with a basic step? Like, left foot, right foot? I don’t want to pull anything on my first attempt.”

Philippe nodded, chuckling. “Oui, okay. We start with a simple step. Everyone, follow me!” He began demonstrating a basic move, a kind of step-tap, step-tap, as if they were back in dance school.

The group tried to mimic his steps, but it quickly became clear that not everyone was blessed with the same natural rhythm. Nathan was doing his best, but his legs seemed to have a mind of their own. Rooney, meanwhile, was gamely trying, his face a picture of concentration, but he seemed to be dancing to a completely different beat. Colin moved with a sort of robotic precision, and Miles, while enthusiastic, was clearly more interested in making everyone laugh than actually getting the steps right.

“Non, non, non!” Philippe exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “You must feel ze music, not fight it! Look at you, you are all stiff, like you ‘ave never danced before!”

Miles couldn’t resist. “Stiff? Speak for yourself, Philippe. I’ve been told I have the flexibility of a well-cooked spaghetti strand!”

Juan snorted. “More like uncooked spaghetti. And that’s being generous, darling.”

Philippe rolled his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh la la, you lot, you are a challenge! But I ‘ave faced worse. I once had to teach a group of Parisian nuns to pole dance. Now zat was a challenge.”

Rooney laughed, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I bet the nuns were better than us. At least they know how to follow orders.”

Omar chimed in with a grin. “Maybe we need a miracle, then. Or just more caffeine from Pret.”

Philippe sighed dramatically but smiled. “No, what you need is to stop thinking so much! Dance should be fun, no? Not like solving a maths problem!”

Nathan, still trying his best, piped up. “Speak for yourself. I feel like I’m trying to solve a Rubik’s cube with my feet.”

Juan took a deep breath. “Alright, alright, let’s try this again, and this time, can we please focus? If we’re going to represent Proudington at Pride, we can’t look like a bunch of drunk flamingos.”

The group laughed, and even Philippe smiled, albeit a little tightly. He clapped his hands. “Okay, one more time! From ze top! And remember, smile! Ze audience must think we ‘ave been practising for months, not minutes!”

They started again, and this time, there was a little more unity. The steps weren’t perfect, but they were getting there. Philippe moved among them, offering corrections, adjusting a shoulder here, a foot there, trying to pull them together like a conductor leading an unruly orchestra.

Rooney leaned towards Nathan, whispering, “If he adjusts my shoulder one more time, I might just have to marry him. It’s practically an intimate relationship at this point.”

They were starting to get into the rhythm when suddenly, a loud, booming voice interrupted them.

***

“Darlings, darlings! Fear not, your main star has arrived!” Marián announced loudly as he sauntered into the park, a radiant smile on his face and a wave of his hands that could rival a beauty pageant contestant. He was dressed in his usual fabulous fashion, this time in a tight-fitting silver top that shimmered in the evening light. His hair was perfectly styled, and he looked every inch the diva he believed himself to be.

Rooney rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Oh great, here comes Marián to save the day,” he muttered under his breath.

Juan grinned. “Our little drama queen. Always has to make an entrance.”

Marián clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, I am late, but I am ‘ere now, and I am ready to shine!” He struck a pose, his hands framing his face like a starlet on a red carpet. “Where do you want me, Philippe? Front and centre, I assume?”

Philippe, who was trying his best to maintain a semblance of professionalism, managed a tight smile. “Ah, Marián, so glad you could finally join us. Yes, we ‘ave just started, so please find a spot.”

Marián took his place, casting a glance around at the group with a playful smirk. “Oh, look at you all, trying so ‘ard. It’s adorable, really. But don’t worry, with me ‘ere, we will be fabulous in no time.”

Rooney groaned quietly. “As if his head could get any bigger,” he whispered to Omar, who laughed.

But then something surprising happened. As the music started again and Philippe began leading them through the steps, it turned out that Marián was, in fact, a very good dancer. He moved effortlessly, his steps perfectly in time with the beat, his body flowing with an almost professional grace. The group watched, half-impressed, half-irritated.

“Blimey,” Nathan muttered to Juan. “He’s actually…good.”

Juan sighed. “Oh, of course, he is. The universe is cruel like that. All that attitude and actual talent to back it up.”

Philippe seemed to notice too and nodded in approval. “Very good, Marián! You see, everyone? Zis is ze energy we need!”

Rooney rolled his eyes again. “Oh great, now he’s going to be even more insufferable.”

Miles laughed. “Well, at least we’ve got one person who knows what they’re doing. Maybe we should all just hide behind Marián.”

Marián beamed. “Ah, merci! I knew my moment would come. Now, let’s make sure we’re all ‘armonising, yes?”

Philippe, sensing the tide turning, clapped his hands again. “Yes, everyone! Follow Marián’s lead, keep ze energy up, and remember—smile! We are ‘ere to have fun and show everyone zat!

***

The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park, as the group continued to dance to the beat of Sabrina Carpenter’s "Please Please Please" under Philippe’s watchful eye. They had been rehearsing for nearly two hours, and despite the initial chaos, there was finally some semblance of coordination. Well, almost. Philippe was still darting around like a frenetic French hummingbird, adjusting arms, repositioning feet, and shouting encouragements in his lilting accent.

“Keep ze energy! Yes, good! Nathan, don’t forget ze turn! Miles, relax your shoulders, you look like you are about to fly away!” Philippe called out, his voice just a touch desperate. But there was also pride there. The Proudington group, for all their quirks and unpolished moves, were actually starting to resemble something like a dance troupe. Sort of.

Juan, now thoroughly enjoying himself, was leading a small group of swimmers who were more concerned with flair than precision. “Come on, darlings! Don’t just dance—dance like you’re on Strictly Come Dancing and you’ve just been handed a perfect 10!”

Miles, laughing, twirled around with exaggerated style, nearly knocking into Rooney. “Careful, Juan! Some of us are just trying to survive this routine, not audition for the West End!”

Omar, sweat glistening on his brow, shouted, “And some of us just want to look decent enough to avoid becoming an internet meme!”

The laughter was infectious. Even Philippe, who had been on the verge of losing his cool earlier, couldn’t help but chuckle. “Ah, you see, zis is better! You are enjoying yourselves. Zat is what will make zis performance shine. Passion, fun, and a little bit of glitter!”

Rooney, with a mock-serious expression, whispered to Nathan, “I think we’ve finally cracked it. All we needed was to pretend we’re at a hen party with too much Prosecco.”

Nathan grinned. “If only we’d known that from the start, we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

As they continued with one final run-through, the music seemed to flow more naturally through the group. Even Colin, who had started off dancing like a robot in need of a software update, was beginning to find a bit of rhythm. Marián, ever the diva, took his place at the front, guiding the group with an exaggerated flourish.

“Yes, Marián, good! Lead them with ze confidence!” Philippe encouraged, clapping his hands.

Marián, glowing with pride, replied, “Of course, darling. This is what I was born to do.” He spun around with a dramatic twirl, catching the setting sun on his silver shirt, casting shimmering reflections across the park.

By now, the nearby skateboarders had stopped to watch, a small crowd of amused onlookers gathering around the edges of the park, some of them even filming on their phones.

Juan noticed and waved at them playfully. “Oh, I see we have fans already! Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget!”

With a final burst of energy, the group powered through the last verse of the song. They ended in a semi-coordinated pose—arms up, faces smiling, breaths coming in heavy gasps. A cheer erupted from the small crowd, and the group couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected applause.

Philippe clapped his hands together, his face glowing with pride. “Bravo! Bravo, mes amis! You see? We ‘ave done it! We ‘ave made progress! You will all be fabulous at Pride!”

Miles wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. “We might actually pull this off, you know.”

Omar grinned. “And here I was thinking I’d be hiding in the back. But maybe I’ll get up front with Marián. I mean, he needs someone to balance out his ego.”

Marián shot a playful glare at Omar. “Excuse me, darling. My ego is perfectly balanced, thank you very much. But yes, I suppose you can share the spotlight with me.”

Rooney rolled his eyes again, but this time with a smile. “Alright, alright, don’t get too comfortable, everyone. We’ve got a swim session to get to, remember? And we don’t want to keep the coach waiting.”

Juan nodded, clapping his hands together. “Yes, and if we don’t hurry up, my neon shorts might start glowing in the dark. I can’t have that kind of attention.”

Nathan laughed. “Oh please, Juan, you’d love it.”

Philippe checked his watch and then nodded briskly. “Oui, Rooney is right. It is almost 8 pm, and we ‘ave a swimming session to attend. But I am very ‘appy with ze progress we ‘ave made today. You all did so well!”

The group began to gather their things, a newfound energy buzzing among them. Despite the initial hiccups, they were all feeling a sense of camaraderie and accomplishment.

Juan turned to Philippe. “Well, I have to say, I’m quite impressed. You managed to make us look… almost coordinated.”

Philippe laughed, a genuine, warm sound. “Ah, merci, Juan. I ‘ave to say, you all surprised me. Maybe there is hope for us yet, eh?”

Rooney, adjusting his swim bag, grinned. “Maybe we’re not quite ready for Strictly, but I think we’ll do Proudington proud at Pride.”

Miles, still bouncing on his toes with excitement, added, “And even if we mess it up, at least we’ll look fabulous doing it.”

Colin nodded, his usual seriousness softened by a smile. “Absolutely. And who knows, maybe we’ll inspire a whole new dance craze… one that involves a lot of flailing and improvisation.”

The group laughed together, feeling a wave of relief and joy at the progress they’d made. As they headed out of the park towards the swimming pool, the air was filled with light chatter and jokes, everyone already making plans for their next rehearsal.

Just before they reached the pool, Philippe stopped and turned to the group. “Remember, everyone,” he called out, “tonight, when you swim, think of ze rhythm, ze movement, ze grace. Let it flow through you, even in ze water!”

Omar chuckled. “We’ll try, Philippe. But no promises. Water dancing might be a step too far, even for us.”

Philippe laughed. “One step at a time, my friends. One step at a time.”

And with that, they entered the building, ready for their session, their spirits high and their confidence boosted. After all, if they could survive a two-hour dance rehearsal with Philippe, they could surely handle a swimming session. The night was still young, and as they all agreed, they were just getting started.

Proudington was on the move, both in the water and on the dance floor. And with Pride just around the corner, they were determined to make a splash in every sense of the word.