The students get to choose the music for the group routine, according to the After School Dance Fund, the nonprofit that administers the competition. Titanes has selected an eclectic mix: “Yo No Pido,” a bachata by Dominican crooner Teodoro Reyes; “La Economía,” a hard-charging salsa about inequality by the now-defunct band La Excelencia; and a hip-hop number, “Menea Tu Chapa,” which roughly translates to “Wiggle Your Behind,” by Miami rapper Wilo D’New.
Dancers will be evaluated not only on their precision, stage presence and chemistry, but on whether they capture the essence of each dance style. Salsa, rooted in the Spanish melodies and African rhythms of Cuban son, should be energetic and precise; bachata, from the Dominican Republic, sensual and full of longing; merengue, originating in the Dominican and Haiti, flirtatious and frothy like its namesake, meringue; cha-cha, a Cuban ballroom dance, crisp and poised.
Manuel and the seven other varsity dancers draw inspiration from multiple sources: YouTube clips of professional salseros and bachateros; dance “congresses” that draw professionals and amateurs alike; and the alumni team, Einstein graduates who compete in their own category at Strathmore.
“Practice makes permanent,” Alicia Escoto tells the group one afternoon. A communications major at the University of Maryland, Escoto is a competition veteran at 20. “If you do it sloppily here, then you’ll do it sloppily that night,” she says.
A few days later, the dancers explore formations they hope will appeal to the judges. After pulling up a dance formation app on her iPhone, Peró suggests the group start the bachata in a “V,” then transition to a “W” shape. This will allow the two less experienced couples to exit the stage before the salsa, a complex and athletic number with multiple formations.
After running through the routine half a dozen times, the group breaks to snack on Halloween candy and watch themselves on Peró’s iPad. “Are you together? Are your hands in the same place?” Peró asks, reminding them that the devil is in the details.
The students call Peró their “second mom,” and spend more time with her than their own mothers before competition. Fellow teachers marvel at the number of unpaid hours she spends not only at practice but chauffeuring students home afterward, to Westfield Wheaton mall to alter costumes and shop for accessories, and to Baja Fresh in Wheaton on Tuesday nights, when the restaurant donates a portion of its profits to Titanes.
Born in Argentina, Peró, 36, graduated from Bethesda’s Walter Johnson High School in 1995 and studied education at the University of Maryland. She signed on to be the LASU sponsor after being hired at Einstein in 2000, partly because her husband, Miguel, worked long hours as a chef. Thanks to a more reasonable schedule, Miguel now tags along to practices and occasionally cooks for Titanes and their parents.
Peró, who isn’t a dancer herself, says the students raise the bar each year. “They’re constantly pushing themselves,” she says.
Will these kids someday be professional dancers? Probably not, Peró says. But they’re learning how to be comfortable in their own skins and around members of the opposite sex. Titanes Salseros “teaches its members to respect one another,” Peró says.
When the music’s playing, it’s difficult for Manuel to stand still. Short and lithe with an understated Mohawk, Manuel takes charge as a dance lead in an assertive but never overpowering manner. A taskmaster during rehearsals, he’s nonetheless quick with a joke or a hug.
Despite his intuitive feel for dance, Manuel grew up playing soccer and fixing computers instead. When he arrived from El Salvador at 15, he spoke only Spanish. At first, he, his sister, Susy, and his mother, Yolanda Dominguez, lived with his uncle’s family in Wheaton. Manuel credits his uncle with keeping him away from the wrong crowd. “You’re not going to be living with this family [if that happens],” he’d tell Manuel.
Manuel’s cousin, Luis, an Einstein junior at the time, had recently joined LASU and invited Manuel to a workshop. Though he was dabbling in break dancing by then, Manuel was reluctant because everybody spoke English. But conversations with Luis and English for Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL) classes at Einstein helped, so he kept showing up at practices.
