Ineffable

47 | PUNCH YOU ON SCHNOZZLE

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Iris

"Wow, well, they improved a lot," Keisuke says to me as another dance group comes backstage, after their performance.

It is day one of the Nationals and it is just the group/trio round, later is the duet round. Keisuke and I have been watching other performances, even though our team's dance group has, already, performed. To be honest, our group dance was really good and I am so happy that all that hard work blossomed into good.

"Practice and just practice can really change everything," I reply, leaning on a wall, holding my camera.

I don't use it a lot as Mom does, but I have taken many pictures, not caring if it looks good or not. I just click it away when I feel like it. I do take pretty decent pictures but not that good.

"Recent scoreboard says that we are tied with that all-boys group," Keisuke tells me, nodding in the group's direction.

Looking over in the direction, I see all of the boys in the group are wearing tuxedos while two more guys have worn casual attire. I remember their group's performance was really good – perfect steps on beats with coordination on the point.

"They call themselves The Arrowhead." I look at Keisuke, hoping he is really joking. "I am not joking, really. They are from Virginia, last year was their first nationals."

"We didn't see them, last year."

"You didn't. You were busy talking with our then seniors about the performance. A lot of girls and some guys in our team were literally gawking them." He snorts. "Seems like it is just not our group."

This time I notice some participants are looking at them as if they are the last set of donuts in this world.

"Well, damn." I laugh, shaking my head. "Any-hoo, do you think we should—"

Keisuke interrupts me, grinning, "Fuck, is it just my imagination, or is that guy really staring at you?"

"Wha...?"

I turn again and surely, one of the two who have worn casual attire is looking at me. He has golden blonde hair with grey eyes. He has worn a red plaid shirt with top buttons unclasped and blue denim with grunge green boots.

Looking at the boots, I get reminded of Noah's black boots, which he had worn once.

"You are wearing boots?" I say to him, suppressing my smile; everyone else is talking among themselves. "I guess, that completes the bad-boy look."

Noah looks down at his boots, shrugging. "I just picked up the first thing I touched."

I laugh and he gives me a look. "Why are you laughing?" he asks me, smiling.

"What if you would have touched flip-flops?" I tell him. "That wouldn't look so good."

"You think boots look good on me?"

I raise my eyebrow at his question. "I didn't say that."

"But you think?"

"What if I do?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"I don't care about what-ifs," Noah says, stepping closer to me.

I stay in the same place, crossing my arms over my chest – well, two can play at this game. "What do you care about, then?"