Second Line, First Dance by Farrah Rochon #2
I spin around so fast I nearly tip my desk over. If my eyes were lasers Kendrick Stewart would be crispier than a burnt piece of toast.
He sits forward at his desk, holding up two fingers.
“Yes, Mr. Stewart?” Dr. Cornwall says.
“There are two students on the executive board who are New Orleans natives. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to have one of us head the committee for the extravaganza?”
I know he is not…
“Excuse me!” I say.
But Kendrick cuts me off. “Don’t you go home every year at Mardi Gras? Have you even been to Zulu or Bacchus or any of the other parades?”
“Why are you all up in my business?” I ask him.
And has he been paying that close attention to me that he knows when I’m on campus and when I’m not?
I absolutely despise the pinpricks of excitement that travel down my back at the thought.
He is trying to sabotage my chances to head this committee.
The only thing I should feel for Kendrick in this moment is unmitigated rage.
This rage, mixed with attraction, speckled with lust, is straight up bullshit.
“Think of it as giving Ms. Walker an opportunity to showcase how much the culture of the city has influenced her,” Dr. Cornwall says. “However, you do make a valid point, Mr. Stewart, which is why I’m placing you and Ms. Briscoe on the committee, as well.”
My hand shoots up in the air.
I don’t have a problem with Tabitha Briscoe joining me on the committee, but Kendrick? No way.
“Uh, Dr. Cornwall,” I call. “I don’t think that’s—”
“I suggest you schedule a time for the new committee to meet as soon as possible,” the professor says, talking over me. Rude.
“Lacey left you a good foundation,” she continues. “But there’s still much work to be done.”
“Dr. Cornwall, I—”
“I will check in with you in a few days to get an update on your progress,” she says.
Seriously, when had Dr. Cornwall become so discourteous?
“Remember, you will need faculty approval before moving forward on any final plans.”
“But—”
“I have office hours.” She looks to me and then to Kendrick. “Good luck.”
And with that, she leaves the classroom.
This must be a bad dream. There’s no way I’ve just been put on a committee with Kendrick Stewart.
It’s bad enough I have to deal with him for the one hour per month the executive board meets.
Serving on a committee with him means hours upon hours in his presence, and my anxiety will not be able to deal.
I spin around. “I don’t need you on this committee,” I tell Kendrick. “I can handle this on my own.”
“Yes you do, and no you can’t.”
“You heard Dr. Cornwall. Most of the work has already been done.”
He leans closer. “I also heard her appoint me to serve on the committee with you. Dr. C wouldn’t have done so if she didn’t think I had something to offer.”
“I don’t need your help.”
His brown eyes shimmer with triumph as a broad smile stretches across his lips. “That’s too bad, because you’re gonna get it.”
I narrow my eyes and give him my best you annoy me, and I don’t like you glare. His smile only widens.
I guess I should work on my glare.
Without another word, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and march out of the room.
I hear Kendrick’s deep laugh following me down the hallway, which pisses me off even more. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my irritation. It would only egg him on.
Remember the ultimate goal, Jordyn.
If I pull this off, I will be a shoo-in for SGA president. I am not going to allow anyone to get in the way of that, especially not Kendrick Stewart.
“Even hell can’t be this hot.”
I look up at the sky and say, “But I don’t wanna find out, Sky Daddy, so let’s just chill.”
I pull my faux sheepskin pullover over my head and tie it around my waist. In the three years that I’ve lived in New Orleans, I have yet to adjust to the ridiculously mild winters they experience down here.
I have a closet full of cute sweaters and wool coats that are must-haves for this time of the year in Chicago, but that hardly see any action in this city.
I jerk the wool beanie from my head—another useless piece of clothing in this sixty-degree weather—and check out my reflection in the glass double doors to make sure my edges are still smooth. After entering through the door of the University Center that faces Drexel Hall, I head for the elevators.
I’d managed to book one of the smaller conference rooms for the Mardi Gras Extravaganza’s committee meeting. We only have it for forty-five minutes, but I doubt this will take that long.
Today’s meeting is more of a courtesy to the three other committee members. Between the work that has already been done by Lacey and her team before their blowup and the ideas I came up with last night, there isn’t much for them to do.
Which is exactly the way I want it.
I’ve spent the past twenty-four hours devising a plan for an extravaganza unlike any that has ever been hosted.
Okay, I have never personally attended the event, so it isn’t fair to compare. Kendrick’s accusation yesterday was unnecessary nasty work, but he wasn’t wrong. I do go back home during the Mardi Gras break.
But based on what I found in the university archives, I’m confident I can pull off the best extravaganza ever.
It is imperative that I put my stamp on this event so that when election time comes around, the student body will remember which of the candidates was able to step in at the last minute and create an extravaganza for the ages.
I purposely arrive at the conference room a few minutes early so I can get my bearings, but instead of the solitude I was hoping for, I find Kendrick sitting in one of the six chairs that surround the oval table.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
His left brow arches. Of course, it draws my attention to his dark brown eyes that are rimmed in a lighter hazel color. And, of course, noticing his eyes makes my stomach flip-flop.
Why can I not control my body’s reactions when I’m around him? It is so annoying.
“We have a meeting, don’t we?” he asks. He looks down at his phone, swipes across it, then holds it up to face me. I recognize the meeting notice in his phone’s calendar.
I roll my eyes.
“Yes, we have a meeting, but it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Don’t you have other things you can be doing?”
A slow smile draws across his face, tilting up the corner of his mouth.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”
His smile broadens. “Please let me answer.”
I roll my eyes again and barely resist the urge to growl.
I practically turn feral when I’m around him.
But then something else happens, something I try to resist, but can never quite manage.
My body warms and my stomach tightens. My pulse races and my limbs grow weak. It’s maddening, yet undeniable.
Kendrick spins his chair around and jumps out of it. He walks over to where I stand, stopping a few feet away from me.
“Please, let’s talk about all the things we could be doing right now instead of being stuck in this conference room,” he says.
He holds his hands up. “Now, before that brain of yours goes to inappropriate places, understand that I’m not that kind of guy.
I like walks in the park, feeding the squirrels, finding animal shapes in the clouds. ”
I do everything I can to stop my lips from twitching because I know that will only encourage him.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he begins to pace like Dr.Benson, the philosophy professor who wears a light blue button-down with a dark blue tie every single day.
“Another thing we could be doing right now is roller-skating,” he says. He even sounds like Professor Benson. “Or, if we’re feeling adventurous, we could rent dirt bikes and ride around the French Quarter.”
“Oh, would you please shut up,” I say, unable to hold in my laugh.
He stops pacing and walks up alongside me. “What, you don’t like the French Quarter?”
“Get away from me,” I tell him.
His eyes gleam. “I would, if I thought you really meant it.”
“I do.” I nod emphatically. “I absolutely mean it.”
“Lies.”
“Jerk,” I say, but then another laugh escapes.
“You can just admit you like me, you know? It won’t hurt anything.”
Except my pride.
It’s not that Kendrick is my enemy, just my nemesis.
It began freshman year, when our paths crossed at a cringe “getting to know your classmates” activity during orientation weekend.
He tried to show me up—correcting an answer I’d gotten wrong—and I didn’t like it.
We ended up in the same math class that year and the one-upmanship continued.
I wish I could say he was a dumb jock, but you won’t find those at Xavier University of Louisiana. Being a jock comes second to academics.
Still, I will never admit to liking my nemesis, no matter how difficult it is to deny it.
The two additional committee members enter the room, and I quickly step away from Kendrick. It’s time to get down to business.
I retrieve my iPad from my backpack and pull up the agenda I’d drafted for today’s meeting. Then I attach it to the Listserv I’d created for the committee.
“I just sent the agenda for the meeting, along with the ideas I’ve come up with for the extravaganza. As you’ll see, I envision something a bit more elegant than what’s been done in years past.”
“Hold on. What’s up with this?” Kendrick says. A deep frown wrinkles his forehead. “A string quartet? For Mardi Gras?”
“The extravaganza is a black-tie affair,” I remind him.
“It’s still Mardi Gras. If you bring in a string quartet instead of a brass band people are gonna revolt.”
“I think he may be right,” Tabitha says.
“A string quartet is more elegant,” I repeat.
“Maybe we can compromise,” Tabitha offers. “Have the string quartet play during the cocktail hour, and then the brass band comes in when it’s time to dance?”
“We need the Wild Magnolias,” Kendrick says. “Or the Bayou Renegades.”
“The what?” I ask.