Knowing she’s right, I give her a smile. Liking sex isn’t a crime, and I hate that guys have shamed me for it in the past.
“You’re right. Even so, I want to focus more on my studies and Zumba classes. Maybe even find an internship.” I give her a confident nod.
She presses her lips into a straight line. “Just don’t stop having fun with guys because of that one asshole. Maybe try going on a regular date?”
My smile disappears at her words. I unfold her shirts faster. “I don’t have time for a boyfriend Em, you know this. It wouldn’t be fair to the guy or me if I force myself into being in a relationship just for the sake of having one.”
She raises both brows and says nothing else. Her and I know what this is truly about. It comes down to one guy and one big mistake made on a summer night over two years ago. But it isn’t something I like or talk about often, if at all.
As if reading my mind, she speaks up. “Okay, let’s put on some music and stop talking about guys.” She stands and connects her laptop to a speaker.
“Valerie” by Mark Ronson featuring Amy Winehouse sounds through the small but loud device. Em sings, her voice on key as always. Once I join in, the beautiful melody is drowned out by my terrible pitchiness. Em lets out a small laugh while we continue organizing her things.
After I finish helping her unpack, we decide to go straight to bed, exhausted from the long day. My first Zumba class is tomorrow,and just thinking about it makes my heart race a little quicker with excitement and nerves. I pop in a melatonin and pick my mystery novel up. A couple of hours later, I wake up looking forward to my first, hopefully perfect, day of junior year.
Chapter Two
KAMILA
“Hey, everyone, my name is Kamila, but you can call me Kami. This is my first time teaching Zumba at Driscoll, but I do have teaching experience, so I promise you’re in good hands. This class is about an hour long. After every?—”
“You’re Kamila Morales, right?” a girl in the front row asks, catching everyone’s attention, including mine.
It’s not her knowing my last name that confuses me, that’s on the gym’s website. It’swhyshe’s bothering to ask that catches me off guard. I don’t know the girl.
“Um, yes, I am. As I was saying, after every three songs, there will be a very short break?—”
“Are you still friends with Jacob Greymoore?”
Shit. That’s why she was asking.
Jacob, or Jake as he likes to be called, is standing in the back along with Em and Levi. He’s around six-foot-three, but in a room with thirty people in rows in front of him, he’s hard to spot. It’s when I make the stupid mistake of making eye contact with him that everyone seems to follow my line of sight.
This is why my class is fully booked on the first day.
Jake tries to play it cool, yet I can clearly see that he’s slightly uncomfortable. Before anyone is able to get another word out, orworse, go up to him and ask for a picture, I clap my hands together as aggressively as I can.
Some students flinch, all of them rearing their heads back to me. The girl who started it all is wearing an insane-looking grin, and it takes all my self-control not to kick her out now. Not wanting to embarrass Jake further and yell at everyone for not having manners, I emphasize my next words.
“If there is anyone in this class who is going to interrupt or try to get out of line for anything that’s not an emergency, putting other people’s safety at risk, please leave. Now.” After a few seconds, when no one leaves, and all grins are gone, I head to where my phone is waiting with the class playlist. “Mayor Que Usted” by Natti Natasha, Daddy Yankee & Wisin & Yandel comes on as I face forward toward the large studio mirror and smile, my body vibrating and ready to move to the music.
“Let’s have some fun then.”
In the blink of an eye, the first half of the class is over, and I set a three-minute timer, running over to where my friends are.
“Hey guys, how am I doing?” My question comes out breathy.
“You’re doing great, but I can’t keep up for shit.” Em is panting and wiping sweat off her forehead.
“Like I said before, just have fun.”
I turn to Jake, who is also sweaty but doesn’t look half as tired as Emma. He glides a hand through his dirty blonde hair, revealing a smile that would make any girl weak in the knees.
“You look good up there. I’m keeping up okay.”
I’m about to apologize about the girl who’s still in the front row before he lifts his index finger.
“Don’t you dare apologize. I’m used to it. If anyone is apologizing, it should be me,” he emphasizes.
