Second Line, First Dance by Farrah Rochon #4
After we’re given the rundown of the menu, another member of the catering team comes by with a tray of freshly made beignets and pralines.
“So, there will be someone making the beignets fresh at the extravaganza?” I ask as I bite into one of the pillowy-soft French doughnuts.
“Made-to-order beignets is a boss move,” Tabitha said.
I look over at her and nod. “I agree.”
I catch Kendrick’s expression out of the corner of my eye. His lips tilt up in a grin that sets off a bunch of flutters in my stomach. Before I can figure out what he’s doing, he reaches over and brushes his thumb against the corner of my mouth.
My breath catches in my throat.
“You have a little powdered sugar there,” he murmurs. The softly spoken words reverberate along my skin. Our gazes lock, and the effect it has on me is something I can’t describe.
“Thank—” I have to take a breath before I can finish. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he returns, his voice still soft.
I try to look away, but it’s not happening. It’s as if the connection between my eyes and my brain has snapped.
“Earth to Jordyn.”
I jump to attention at the sound of Tabitha’s voice.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“She asked if there are any other dishes you had in mind for the extravaganza?” Tabitha says, pointing at the caterer.
I shake my head. “No. No, I think this covers it. There’s a good variety of the traditional Cajun and Creole dishes that attendees will expect.”
“So, you’re okay with traditional foods, but not with the tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians?” Tabitha asks. “Make it make sense.”
“What!” the caterer shrieks. “No Mardi Gras Indians? Why even have the party?”
I try very hard not to roll my eyes.
“Face it, Jordyn. You’re outnumbered,” Kendrick says.
“The caterer doesn’t get a vote,” I whisper to him.
“Why are you being so hardheaded?” he returns. “Dr.C told you that your ideas were dull.”
“She did not say dull.”
She’d said dry, but what was the point in getting into a battle over semantics with him?
“Stop being so stubborn, Jordyn.”
“Stop being so bossy, Kendrick.”
He shakes his head, but I notice the amusement lifting one corner of his mouth.
We finish up with the catering meeting and I leave the building. I need to do a bit more research on Mardi Gras traditions in the library. I know if I search deep enough, I can find something that will add that spark to the extravaganza that Dr. Cornwall believes is missing.
“Jordyn!”
My steps falter at the sound of Kendrick’s voice. I hadn’t noticed him following me.
He approaches with his hands raised in a plea.
“Just hear me out,” he begins. “There’s a second line Uptown this Sunday.
Come with me. Once you experience what Black Masking Indian culture is all about, you’ll understand why it needs to be included in the extravaganza.
I know how important this event is to SGA’s fundraising, Jordyn.
Don’t you think I want it to be successful, too?
” He hunches his shoulders. “I need you to know you’re not alone in this. Will you come with me this Sunday?”
Do I have a choice?
I know I do, but it is beginning to feel as if I haven’t been making the correct one. Dr. Cornwall made it clear that I’m on thin ice. Putting my trust in Kendrick seems as good an idea as any other.
But that isn’t the only reason I want to join him. The prospect of spending a Sunday afternoon with Kendrick sends all manner of tingly sensations racing through me. Deep down I know I want to be with him, even if I’m not ready to admit it to him. Or to myself.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll join you on Sunday.”
His eyes light up a second before an equally bright smile streaks across his face.
“See you Sunday.”
The air is electric.
I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a party girl, but I’m not a homebody either. Give me a cookout in Lincoln Park on a nice spring day and I’m in heaven.
That’s what this feels like. The family atmosphere. The brilliant, beautiful colors. The lively music, joyous dancing, kids laughing; it is all so much more than I had anticipated.
I look over at Kendrick and can’t help my smile. He’s different today. Still fine as ever, but there’s a playfulness to him that I rarely see when he’s on campus. It’s a combination that my heart is having a hard time resisting.
We stand on the sidewalk of a tree-lined street in New Orleans’s Uptown neighborhood.
I experienced more than a little embarrassment earlier when I was forced to admit to Kendrick that I had only been to this area of the city twice in the three years since I started at Xavier.
I exist in the bubble the university creates, and I rarely leave it, which explains why my dad constantly gets on my case about the Uber Eats, DoorDash, and Instacart charges to my credit card.
But after this afternoon, I can see myself venturing to other parts of this city. I’m ready to discover what else I’ve been missing out on.
Kendrick leans to the side and speaks into my ear.
“You see that guy, the one in the front leading the pack?” he asks.
It takes a second for me to process his words. My brain wants to focus on how it feels when his lips brush against my ear more than it wants to focus on what he’s saying.
“What about him?” I ask.
“He’s called the Spy Boy. He’s the lookout. It’s his job to alert the rest of the tribe if trouble is near.”
I whip around and stare at him. “Why would there be trouble? You didn’t tell me these parties were dangerous, Kendrick.”
He breaks out in a laugh that has him doubling over.
“Calm down, Jordyn. Damn.” He laughs again. “You’re not in danger, I promise. It’s all part of the customs that were passed down from the Indigenous people. And, no, it is not cultural appropriation.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say.
Kendrick rolls his eyes, then he clamps his fingers around my wrist and gives a light tug.
“Come here,” he says.
I follow him as he leads me down a side street, about ten yards from where the second line procession is taking place. The revelry is still loud, but not as deafening.
“If you did just a little research, you would understand that the masking crews were created as a way to pay homage to the Indigenous tribes of this area, not to imitate them,” Kendrick says.
“The Indigenous people taught the enslaved people who managed to escape how to navigate the swamps and live off the land. They played a huge role in the freedom of our enslaved ancestors, and that is why the Black people of New Orleans still honor and celebrate them today.”
My heart thuds against my chest not only at his words, but at the passion with which he says them.
He lets out an exhausted breath. “I’m sorry for crashing out like that,” he says, stuffing his hands in his back pockets and shuffling his feet. His embarrassment is obvious, but unnecessary.
“No. No.” I shake my head. “I get it now,” I say. “I do.”
His brow arches, then a hint of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Took you long enough.”
I burst out laughing and the tension that had entered the air dissipates as quickly as it appeared.
“Can we enjoy what’s left of the second line now?” he asks, holding his palm out to me.
I place my hand in his and let him lead me back to the celebratory procession. Something has changed in these last few minutes. Something I can’t name, but I can feel its significance radiating between us.
We stand on the sidewalk for a minute, but then, before I know what’s happening, Kendrick tugs me out into the street.
“What…what are you doing?”
He points at me. “Dance.”
Heat rushes over my face and neck. I am so mortified I just may choke on it.
But then I look around and realize that no one is paying attention to who is dancing or who is not. Everyone is just having a good time.
“Come on,” Kendrick says. “Like this.”
I watch as he skips back and forth, snapping his fingers in time with the music coming from the brass band. Tentatively, I mimic his steps.
And trip over my own two feet.
“Whoa. Hold on there,” Kendrick says.
He grabs me by the waist, and my breath arrests in my lungs. The heat that shoots through me this time has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with Kendrick’s fingers pressing against the strip of exposed skin that peeks out underneath my crop sweater.
I feel his lips graze my ear again.
“You okay?” he asks.
I am, and I am definitely not. I’m a jumble of sensations and emotions, unsure what to think or feel. I’m standing in the middle of the street, dancing with the person I have been crushing on since freshman year.
The wildest part in all of this?
I get the sense that this attraction is no longer one-sided. Maybe it has never been, and I have just been too afraid to see it.
“Can I ask you something?” I say to Kendrick before I lose my nerve. “Are you feeling me too?”
His head jerks back, and in that moment I would give anything for a bus to come out of nowhere and roll right over me.
But then that smile returns. The one that makes my skin tingle and my heartbeat quicken.
“It takes you a long time to catch on, Jordyn, but it’s good to know you finally have.”
He lowers his head and, in the middle of a rowdy second line, presses his lips softly against mine.
I can admit when I’m wrong.
I may not like it, but I can do it on the rare occasion when it happens. And I must admit that I was wrong about so much when it came to the Mardi Gras Extravaganza.
As I look out at the jubilant crowd that fills the University Center’s ballroom, I know I made the right call by handing over the committee’s decision-making to the New Orleans natives.
From the decorations, to the food, to the song list, it is everything a night honoring the city’s most famous celebration should be.
And the best is yet to come.
I search the crowd, looking for Kendrick. I spot him near a side door and quickly make my way to him.
“Are they here yet?” I ask when I come up alongside him.
He nods. “They’re securing the headdress on the Big Chief right now. Should be ready to go soon.”
Two minutes later, five members of Xavier University’s marching band, the Golden Sound, lead the vibrantly costumed Mardi Gras Indian krewe on a second line through the event space.
Women in ball gowns and men in tuxedos hop around with as much fanfare as those who were dancing in the street at the second line Kendrick and I attended Uptown.
I look over at him now and the happiness filling my heart overwhelms me.
A month ago, I thought there was nothing more important than living up to the expectations I’d set for myself. But there’s so much more to my college experience than checking off a list of accomplishments.
It took me a while to see it, but I finally do.
I grab Kendrick by the hand and drag him to where the others are following behind the band.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Kendrick asks, an astonished, adorable smile on his face.
I snatch a cloth napkin from one of the tables and wave it in the air in time to the beat.
“Showing you how this is done,” I say. “I may not be a native, but after living here for three years, I figure I must have a little New Orleans in me. I’m ready to embrace it.”
It’s nearly one a.m. and the last of the revelers have finally exited the ballroom. A cleaning crew will come tomorrow, but Tabitha borrowed pieces from her family’s vast collection of Mardi Gras memorabilia to serve as centerpieces, and I want to make sure they are returned unscathed.
Just as I reach over to grab a plaque of mounted Mardi Gras doubloons, a hand wraps around my waist and twirls me. Kendrick captures my left hand and holds it up, then rocks us from side to side.
“Kendrick, what are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.
“I figured now that everyone is gone, the hardworking committee chair can finally let her hair down and have a little fun.”
“Did you forget who got you on the floor during the second line?” I ask him.
“That is not the kind of fun I’m talking about,” he says.
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he lowers his head and captures my lips in a slow, sweet kiss. It’s tender and hot and everything I ever dreamed about when it came to kissing Kendrick Stewart. Knowing I will get to kiss him like this from now on makes the moment even more enjoyable.
When he finally releases my lips, I look up at him and smile.
“For future reference, I’m always up for this kind of fun.”
He laughs and kisses me again.