Expecting rage or offense, I don’t know what to do with his resigned sigh. He looks at my legs on his lap, then up at my face and smiles, continuing to throw me off.
“While I respect your decision, and the likely justifiable reasoning behind it, I can’t promise that I won’t try to change your mind.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not joking around when I say I see you as my wife. If it takes a little time for you to see the vision, too, I can be patient.”
I’m trying to see what game he is playing at, because there is no way he can be this devoted this quickly. Yet every minute I’m with him, he makes it more and more clear that he wants me. Even though I can’t let myself want him back. Not when he threatens to force me to acknowledge every insecurity brought on by my mother.
“I don’t know what to say to that.” I stand up, catching my reflection on his TV screen. My edges are fucked up, but you can’t hate a man that sweats out your edges.
“Just say you will continue to see me, even as your friend.”
Having watched Farrah fall in love with Errol after they became friends, I know how dangerous a friend can be.
“Or we can keep doing this,” he says.
Tempting as that offer is, I can’t take any chances.
“You will be around the people I hang out with, so we can be cordial.”
“Damn,” he says, pressing his palm to his chest.
“Maybe we can work up to being friends once I no longer remember what that monster looks like.”
He swings it back and forth, reminding me that it’s big even soft. Like the soreness between my legs isn’t reminder enough.
He tells me he won’t be there to see us leave, so this is our goodbye. Because of that, I let him kiss me once more before I walk out to the cab. He watches me go, and I keep looking back at him. I don’t look forward until the car turns the corner.
I don’t want to think that this is the last time I’ll see him. Yet, even being everything I could want in a person, he is everything I fear in a man, and I won’t take that risk for him.
Chapter 7
Hit,hit,step,slide,reverse, kick, and drop.
Watching the choreographer run through it one more time, I repeat the steps in my head. She told us she would only show us twice, and then it would be up to us to replicate it. If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s picking up dance moves. I used to spend hours in my room watching music videos and learning the choreography every day after school. So even though it’s my first audition back in LA, it’s going to be easy.
“Are you ready?” she calls out, turning towards us.
Everyone begins to stretch, moving into position. Then we start.
Hit, hit, step, slide, reverse, kick, and drop. Repeat.
It’s hip hop, so you have to hit it hard, yet still flow through the movement. Gliding into each sharp move with ease, I feel it in my bones that I’m pulling this off.
“Okay, thank you,” she says.
And just like that, it’s over.
“We will keep 3,7,9,14, and 21.” Having remembered my number, I don’t even need to look down to know that I’m one of the peoplestaying. I try to push some excitement into my steps, but the glee isn’t there.
“This time we can see you better. Let’s run it again.”
I don’t even need to repeat the steps this time in my head. I know them like I have been practicing for months. Now it’s my turn to add a flair that really makes me show out. Even without being able to see the other people, I know that I’m the best.
“We can only choose three, so we will be going with 3,7, and 21.”
I nod in appreciation, trying to find that same joy I felt two years ago. When I can’t, I still jump up and down, giving the best performance of my life. Everyone around me is smiling so brightly, it’s like they are the lights shining down on the stage of our show, which only makes the dimness of mine so much more evident.
