“If only she were this enthusiastic about school,” Leah retorts sarcastically.
“I heard that, bitch!” Meela shouts over her shoulder.
“Good,” she quips. “You were supposed to.”
Meela’s rebuttal is two middle fingers in the air. I curl my lips together in an effort to hide my laughter, lest our feisty friend liken me to a female dog too. We traipse around the side of the house behind her, and a wooden barn comes into view. The door is open, granting a glimpse into the dimly lit interior. From thisvantage point, it looks fairly crowded inside. A group of people stand in a circle nearby, sharing a joint, Solo cups in hand. Their giggles and pungent smoke fill the night air.
“I don’t know about this,” Leah comments nervously. “Is it even safe?” She gestures toward the rickety red structure. “Look at it. It’s a death trap.”
“Quit being a worrywart!” Meela snaps, throwing her arms up. “I’ve been going to parties here for years and I’m still alive.”
I loop my arm around Leah’s. “It’s going to be fine. And look on the bright side, no motorcycles in sight. That means no Sandman or Snake.”
“They could always show up later,” she cautions, her nervous gaze shifting back and forth as if she expects Snake to jump out of the shadows.
Does he do the same things to her that Sandman does to me? What atrocities has he subjected her to? Now is not the time to ask. Maybe it’s better not to ask at all. Maybe, like me, she prefers to suffer in silence.
“Yeah, but we’re not going to worry about that right now.” After giving me the green light for the party, Sandman texted me a lengthy list of rules to follow, but he didn’t say if he was coming. I’m hoping he’s too busy doing only God knows what with his biker gang to show.
We enter the barn and follow Meela across the dirt floor to three huge beer kegs situated on top of a table. About two dozen more are stacked against the wall behind it. Reggae music blasts from a tall speaker nestled in the opposite corner. Bales of hay are strategically placed throughout the open space, providing a place to sit for anyone needing to rest their feet.
“One for you,” Meela singsongs, handing me a cup filled to the brim.
“Thank you very much,” I say and take a small sip. I grimace, my cheeks burning at the tart flavor. I’m not really a beer person, but when in Rome…
“You’re very much welcome.” Meela fills another cup, then offers it to Leah. “And one for you.”
Leah vehemently shakes her head. “I never agreed to participate in underage drinking.”
“Fine, whatever,” Meela gripes, rolling her eyes. “But what about dancing?” she asks, letting the music guide her movements. “Is that on your ‘how not to have a good time at a party’ list too?”
“Well, no, but I don’t know how to dance.”
“No worries, babes.” Meela grasps her hand and leads her to the makeshift dance floor. “Just follow my lead.”
I trail behind them, my free hand raised high above my head as I belt out the lyrics.
A bead of sweat trickles down my temple. It’s at least fifteen degrees warmer in here than it is outside due to the heat emanating from the gyrating bodies. My long passion twists hang like a heavy blanket around my shoulders, raising my core temperature even higher. Thank goodness I decided to exchange my sweater for a crop top.
“You’re too stiff,” Meela chides, clucking her tongue at Leah. “Stop and watch me.” She squats low and resumes her twerking tutorial. I’m one hundred percent heterosexual, but that jiggle is everything. “Up, down, up, down, right, left, then throw that ass in a circle. Now you try.”
I laugh behind my cup as Leah awkwardly mimics the sexually charged dance. The girl has zero rhythm.
“It’s useless.” She sighs resolutely. “I can’t dance to save my life.”
“We agree on that front. I might have to revoke your Black card.”
“At least I know how to cook,” Leah huffs, lifting her chin. “All you eat is takeout or ramen noodles.”
“No need to get all pissy, babes,” Meela quips, playfully pulling on one of Leah’s beautiful locs. “It’s not my fault you can’t dance worth shit. How long have I been begging you to come to partieswith me? I could’ve taught you to dance a long time ago. Anyway, what you cook isn’t real food.”
“Is too,” she grumbles.
Meela rolls her eyes and looks at me. “I need to recharge,” she says, then nods at my cup. “You want in?”
“Yep,” I reply, passing her my empty cup.
“I can’t twerk properly in this thot-length dress without flashing everyone anyway!” Leah yells after her.
