Chapter 3 June 1998 #4
When he hit play, five women stood in the center of a stage.
The women were wearing more of those really colorful outfits.
As they sang about spicing up their lives, I darted my eyes down at him, trying to be inconspicuous.
He was kind of bopping along to the music, and with his hands at his sides, he was moving stealthily following along with them.
When the redhead flung her hand forward, pointing at the crowd, Kent moved his arm slightly.
As the lady with the ponytail rolled her hips around in a circle, he followed along, but on a much smaller scale, making the bed shake.
He was dancing. Kent Fox was dancing with them, and he knew every move.
His face was still as a stone, like he was hiding away his happiness because he was scared it might peek through.
I wanted him to. He deserved to shine. More than anything, I wanted to see him dance.
To see him lose himself in excitement. His hand rested on the mattress, forefinger pointing out alongside one of the women.
She had big, curly hair, just like his. I realized I still had his hand in mine, and I didn’t want to let it go.
“You know the moves?” I said. He winced, like he thought I was making fun of him. I would never. “Will you teach me?”
His jaw went slack, mouth gaping. “Really?”
“Yeah. Yeah, Kent. Show me.”
He stood up, his hand squeezing mine, as he pulled me along for the ride. He hit pause and stared at me. “You promise you won’t laugh?”
“We’re friends. Friends don’t make fun of each other. You don’t have to worry about that with me. Not now, and not ever.”
His smile spread again, and he gave me a nod. Turning back toward the TV, he stared at the women on screen. Ruffling his shoulder like a peacock, he said, “Alright, so when they get to the chorus—that’s the part where Scary Spice starts talking about people of the world—”
“Scary?”
“Yeah, the one with the curly hair.”
“She doesn’t look very scary to me.”
Kent rolled his eyes. “No, that’s her Spice name. Scary Spice. My favorite is Ginger, though. Which one’s yours?”
I stared at the women paused on the screen.
Was he asking me which one I thought was prettiest?
Because the longer I looked, the more confused I got.
Trevor was always talking about which girls he thought were pretty, and all the creepy, nasty things he’d like to do with them.
Stuff with private parts and mouths and tongues.
I tried to picture myself doing those gross things with girls, but I felt nothing.
Turning back to Kent, a picture popped into my head.
Kent and me. Kent and me hugging. Kent and me kissing each other on the cheek. Kent-Kent-Kent.
“The blonde one!” I said with too much force.
He smirked. “Baby.”
I whimpered. Why the heck did I whimper?
“Huh?”
“Baby Spice. That’s Emma.”
“Oh,” I said, not sure where the disappointment rushing through me had come from.
“Anyway,” he said, shoving his mound of curls over his head and to the side, exposing that pale, creamy-skinned neck of his. It was redder than usual, and I wasn’t sure if it was down to the temperature, or if he was feeling all of those strange feelings I’d been feeling.
“Alright. Just follow along.” Kent closed his eyes, tilting his neck until it cracked. He was a dramatic stick of dynamite, Kent Fox, his every movement drawn out with sizzling explosions, leaving the air around him smelling of sulfur and sass.
“To the left,” he sang, slamming his arm down at his side.
“To the right,” his hip popped out to the right, arm following alongside the women on the screen.
“To the front!” I snorted when Kent humped the air in front of him, pumping his hand forward like the lady with the ponytail.
As the women swayed their arms in the air like they were doing the tango, Kent followed in their footsteps, arm stretched high as he twirled his wrist. He grabbed the VCR remote and pressed pause.
“You got it?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Alright, Collins. Let’s do this.” He hit play, and we danced. Gosh, we danced.
After an hour of Kent teaching me choreography, he put the tape back in its case and slid it under his mattress, telling me his daddy wouldn’t approve of it, but his momma didn’t mind.
“We should take our showers now so we don’t have to waste time after dinner,” Kent said.
For reasons I didn’t understand, he leaned closer and sniffed under my arm, looking up through his lashes.
“You’re smelling pretty funky.” I gaped at him, but he just tossed a wink at me.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Come on, I’ll show you where the bathroom is. You can go first, then I’ll take one.”
He led me to the bathroom, carrying my overnight bag with him. He unzipped my bag and started digging through my things. At first, I wanted to object, but then he pulled out a pair of my underwear, his eyes darting back and forth at my waist and at them.
“Dang, Gray. I didn’t take you for a boxer-briefs kind of guy.”
I grabbed them out of his hand and held them behind my back, but I couldn’t hide the smile spreading across my face.
I gave him a shrug, because I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
He kept going through my bag, pulling out my night shirt and sleep shorts.
His fingers traced Tommy Pickles from Rugrats’ face and beamed at the fabric.
I blushed, worried he’d ask me what a teenager was doing watching a baby show, but he just turned to me and held them out to me.
“I’ve always been a fan of Anjelica, myself.”
“But she’s a bully.”
“I love a good villain,” he said with a smirk. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Tell me,” I blurted, grabbing the shorts, my finger tingling when it touched his palm.
“I like to root for the bad guys when I watch television. It drives Mom crazy. She says she thinks I’m filled with the devil, sometimes.”
“Are you?” I didn’t know if it even mattered at that point. I had a friend. A real friend who didn’t care that I wore little kid pajamas or that I danced like a fool.
“You’re just going to have to hang around long enough to find out, aren’t you?” Kent turned toward the bathtub and twisted the tap, holding his hand under the faucet until the water was warm enough for his liking.
Was he going to shower with me? Is that what was happening?
I hadn’t had a friend in a long time, but I didn’t remember shared showers being a thing.
While I worried, I stared at the back of his shorts.
They clung to him like a second skin, and I took in the sight of him.
I enjoyed the stitching. The outline of the pockets across his butt.
A peculiar thing to notice, but that’s what I’d done.
Noticed it. Focused on it. Stared at it like it was going out of style.
He looked over his shoulder at me and stared, I lifted my eyes until they met his, and I gave him a smile.
There was something in his gaze I couldn’t make out.
Something hidden in plain sight, but the message lost on me.
He flashed me another smile before walking past me.
Stopping at the door, he pointed at the cabinet hanging over the toilet.
“The towels are in there if you need one.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. Of course, I would need one. Did he think I was just going to drip dry for the rest of the night? I chuckled to myself before walking to the door and shoving him outside.
“Don’t take too long,” he said, scrunching up his nose.
“I miss you already.” Kent stuck his tongue out at me as he jerked the door shut behind him.
I reached for the knob, meaning to lock it, only to find there wasn’t one.
A rush of panic flooded my veins, because locks were a must at home.
Trevor never met an unlocked door he didn’t open.
I’d made the mistake only a handful of times, usually when I was peeing, only to jump and spray urine all over the toilet.
I definitely didn’t want to pee all over Mrs. Fox’s toilet.
“There’s no lock,” I shouted, hoping Kent was still on the other side.
The door cracked open, and Kent wedged his face between the door and the frame. “Don’t need one. No one will bother you.”
I stared down at my feet. “You’re sure?”
Kent’s cool hand against my face took me by surprise.
I jerked my head in his direction, my eyes widening.
“Promise.” He drew his thumb and forefinger together, pinching my cheek.
“No one’s going to sneak a peek at your privates.
Not on my watch, buddy.” He gave me another nod, and then he was gone, the door crashing closed behind him.
Once I was dressed, I opened the door and found him sitting against the wall opposite me. He had a book in his hand, giving it his undivided attention. I cleared my throat to alert him that I was done.
“Feel better?” he said.
I nodded. “So much better. Gosh, you’ve got a neat bathroom. Your soap is liquid!”
He snorted. “Yeah. Mom used to get the bars, but then I reminded her that I wash my nuts and my butt with it, and asked her how in the world that was sanitary.”
I cringed, because his logic both made sense and made me sick. The words also sent a rush of heat through my body. I kind of wanted to find that bar of soap of his and hide it in my bag so I could take it home with me.