Chapter Thirteen #2
I’m not sure if she hears me. She’s watching a group of people set up drums on the beach a ways down. “They’re going to play,” she says.
We watch as a gray-haired white guy with dreadlocks the size of sausages sits down and adjusts a large drum between his legs. He and a Lenny Kravitz look-alike with a feather in his Afro tap out a rhythm. Three others join in, a not entirely synchronized harmony of drums.
Then a woman with a tambourine walks to the center of the drum circle, bounces her hips here and there, and calls for everyone who passes to join them.
Some people stay curious, standing far away, but the drum circle grows.
A mother laughs nervously as her son pulls her in, and together they swing their arms and kick up sand with their feet.
An older couple enters the circle. A few high school students.
Suddenly, alarm bells go off in my head. Anyone could be here. I scan the small crowd for a familiar face, a Bellwood student. Worst-case scenario, Miguel and Henry.
How would I explain this? Hanging out on the beach with the bathroom girl?
They’re sure something went on between us and they won’t let up.
Won’t quit asking questions there’s no answer to: Is she good?
Me dancing with her on the beach would be all the evidence they need that something really did happen between us.
I mean, I wish something had happened, not gonna lie.
You don’t meet a girl like that and not fantasize about it.
But that’s the dumb part of me. The smarter Derek appreciates the reality, what actually happened: I had a moment of relief.
Like when a boxer is getting pounded relentlessly and suddenly breaks free.
That moment. He can breathe. He can find his bearings.
He’s not gonna fall. That’s what it felt like.
Someone for one second cared, gave me a moment to breathe, and it wasn’t my friends.
My mind wanders to Tillman, and I feel bad that I scared him, feel bad that Jae was there for that. Fear will make you do dumb things.
Jae grabs my arm and tries to pull me toward the group. I stay planted. “I’m not dancing,” I say.
“Why not?”
I survey the growing crowd and don’t see anyone I know.
But still, dancing doesn’t sound enticing.
Besides the social risk, I’m more of a head-banging fist-pumper than a dancer.
In one of my spontaneous moments, I danced along with Madhuri Dixit in Devdas, just to make Mom and Dad laugh.
But that doesn’t count. The only time I’ve ever really danced was in middle school.
Suit and tie. Both hands on the girl’s hips as we slid side to side. That kind of dance.
“You want me to dance with a bunch of strangers on the beach?” I ask flatly, trying to show my lack of enthusiasm.
“Not with strangers. With me,” she says, and my heart does a quick thud-thud.
Her eyes are big, her lips pouty, and I’m thinking, Damn.
I remember her teasing voice at the pavilion.
It’s like a cat that brushes against you while it slinks by and then pretends not to care you’re there.
No, there’s something in Jae’s voice, and it makes me tingle.
And after what just happened at the water, seeing her sad and deflated, I can’t say no.
If I’m a sucker for anything, it’s those freaking dimples.
All resistance is gone and she drags me to the group, leaving our shoes behind in the sand.
The drums are pounding, the tambourine is shaking, and Jae is smiling like she’s found the lost city of Atlantis.
“This is so cool!” She giggles, winding her shoulders.
“Dancing?”
“The drum circle. I saw it on YouTube. I wanted to know as much as I could about Delray before I moved here. This looked like the most fun.”
“Really?” I laugh. It’s easy to see why she’s happy. She’s a great dancer.
“Loosen up, Derek,” she says, and I try.
Everyone’s moving differently, like they’re hearing different rhythms. So I follow my own, move my hips to the ta-tara-TA ta-tara-TA of the bongos and djembes.
Jae’s doing a sidestep, right foot out, then left, hips and arms flowing like water.
Soon the drummers give a final ta-ta-ta ta-ta-ta TA, and the crowd applauds and cheers.
People start milling around, and Jae stares at me with her head cocked, hands on hips.
“Derek, you can actually move!”
I chuckle. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“No, seriously. Once you forgot about people watching you.”
“I didn’t forget.”
She grabs my arm and shakes. “Wasn’t that fun, though?”
She lets go, but the feeling of her touch lingers. “Yeah,” I answer, but I don’t elaborate. It was fun watching her, seeing how confident she is in her body when it’s in rhythm. Like she’s infatuated with her shoulders, her hips, her feet. It’s hard not to get lost in that.
The musicians are brushing their fingers against their drums like they’re ready to start up again when a guy in a Hozier tour tee and three nose piercings saunters up to us.
He has sun-kissed ringlets and magical blue eyes and looks like he just stepped out of GQ Teen Edition.
He reaches for Jae’s hand and pulls her to a small group of his friends, and his eyes are glued on her.
He’s practically drooling. She looks back apologetically and calls me over.
“Naw, I’m good!” I say, and walk to the outside of the circle, where I sit cross-legged in the sand and watch.
It’s annoying. This guy is incredibly smooth, leaning close into her ear, finding any reason to touch her hand or her waist. I pull out my phone to mindlessly scroll, and three dances later, Jae comes bouncing back.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna dance? Brad and his friends are so nice.”
“Brad?” I huff. “No, I’m gonna go. Super hungry.”
“Wait, what time is it?” she asks, panic-stricken as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.
“Seven ten? Seven?” She stuffs her phone back, runs to pick up her shoes, and waves at Brad’s crew as he tries to holler for her number.
“Sorry!” she yells, and glances over her shoulder at me as I grab my shoes and catch up to her.
“Why didn’t you say something?” she says.
“And interrupt Brad?” I laugh. “No. When Brad has his mind set on something, no one can stand in his way.”
She tsks. “You seem a little bothered by him.”
“By Brad? No, everybody loves Brad.”
Both our feet are sinking into sand, and she starts to get out of breath. “Light, shadow, rain, sun, breathe deep, carry on,” she repeats.
“What is that?”
“Oh,” she says, like she forgot I was there.
“It’s an affirmation.” We pass a blue-and-white lifeguard tower, and then she adds, panting, “It reminds me to … just keep breathing.” It’s the way she says it that lets me know there’s more to it.
Like water becoming a part of her. There are things she’s not saying. But I’ve got my own things, so I nod.
“Who’s your favorite poet?” I ask, just as we pass through the pavilion, because poetry is the one thing that can make her words spill out.
“Right now, it’s Lucille Clifton. Sometimes I read ‘won’t you celebrate with me’ before I sleep. I think one day I’ll have something to celebrate too.”
“But not now?” I ask.
She blinks up at me. “Do you?”
We’re both quiet until we get close to the main entrance. The sky now is dimmer, a faint pink bleeding into the clouds. She stops walking, faces me with hands on hips. “We danced when the sun set,” she says.
“Huh?”
“It’s a poem. You do the next line. We danced when the sun set.”
“I think I’ve done enough embarrassing things for today,” I say, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Enough to last a lifetime.”
“What, are you really that terrible at poetry? You suck that much?” There’s a small glint in her eyes and I know she’s teasing. I take the bait.
“Fine, start again,” I say.
“We danced when the sun set.”
I lick my lips and stare up at the meandering clouds, searching for words. “Um … We danced when the sun set. It’s not something we planned.”
“The sun must have left its magic.”
“It might never rise again.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “And you say you can’t write poetry. If you keep this up, you could be famous. On-the-couch-with-Oprah famous.” Her stomach growls, and she looks down at it in shock. “Wow,” she laughs, and starts walking again, faster.
We reach the bike racks at the entrance, and I bend down to unlock mine, shiny dented silver.
“How’re you getting home?” I ask.
“Walking. I like walking.”
“I mean …” I look up and down A1A, cars passing. “It’s gonna get dark. I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
I shrug. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for me at home.
We start down the sidewalk, which is partially shadowed by trees, and she starts naming them. Then she suddenly says, “You can’t walk me all the way. My uncle can’t see you.”
I laugh. “Come on, I’m sure he’d love me.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
I gasp, clutch my heart. “Because I’m not Brad?”
“Because you have a Y chromosome.”
We’re quiet most of the way, and I can almost hear her, under her breath, stepping to the rhythm of those words, Breathe deep, carry on, breathe deep, carry on.
It’s like she’s in a trance. But it’s funny, I’m in my own, stuck on Jae dancing on the beach.
With Brad. I think, She’d look good with a guy like that.
And when my stomach sinks a little, I stop wheeling my bike so fast, it clips me in the leg. Wait. Why the fuck do I care?
“Hey!” I shout at her back. “I’ll see you later!” And then I jump on my bike, try to ignore her voice calling me, and pedal as fast as I can in the other direction.