A Little Bit Ninja

12: Birth of Kung Fu Dancing

A/N: This one is dedicated to @MFerrill who has read and supported my story from the beginning, and even sends new friends my way. He's got an epic story called All Are Broken that I would suggest you people check out. I'm not in much of a fantasy mood lately, but I really like this one.

Chapter 12:Birth of Kung Fu Dancing

Of all the people in the room, Landon looked the most at ease. He sauntered over to the corner at the front of the room, slid down into sitting position with his legs spread wide and his forearms resting on his knees. Landon was ready to enjoy a show.

Anton swung his jaw closed and quickly resumed his previous nonchalance, even giving a small smirk that said, “Prepare to be wowed.” Only the frequent bobbing of his Adam’s apple betrayed his nerves, as he swallowed small gulps of air. And I doubt anybody else noticed. Well, maybe Landon did, considering how minutely he was studying everything about Ant.

Actually, Paul was watching Anton just as closely as Landon.

“So you’re all ready to dance?” Erica asked in a flat tone that I wasn’t used to hearing from her.

“Yep. Five minute warm-up guys!” I shouted over the music blasting though the subwoofers.

I could still hear some part of our hostage’s anatomy feebly knocking against the closet door, so I couldn’t afford to turn the music down.

“Wearing that?” Erica yelled, and gestured to my cashmere shirt and red accent belt.

Of course she was right. Dancing in a three hundred dollar shirt is highly unusual, but I couldn’t possibly go change my outfit and leave my innocent friends in a room bordering the closet where I had my deepest darkest secret stashed. A rather loud, secret I might add.  

She then turned her scrutiny to Ant’s black skinny jeans, probably trying to discern whether it was a spandex blend that might be capable of withstanding dance moves—without seams rupturing.

Alright, dancing in skinny jeans isn’t very feasible. And because the jeans didn’t stick to his legs like chewing gum, as is the spandex trademark, I was pretty sure his jeans weren’t very stretchy, which means they would be more prone to burst a seam if he kicks too high.

Anton had already removed his black blazer leaving just a gray V-neck shirt beneath. Whatever else could be said of the supposed choreographic artist, he certainly knew how to dress. I might even classify him as a metro-sexual, and I don’t use the term lightly.

“Oh, Ant, I have something you can wear,” I offered. I was thinking of the one pair of pants that were in the closet with our little friend.  

He looked at me skeptically.

“You have guy’s pants?”

“Well, dance pants are practically one size fits all.”   

“You two are so cute!” Millie had turned her attention to our outfits as well. “Did you guys plan it?”

I looked back and forth from my black, thigh-length T-shirt, and gray leggings, to Ant’s gray, v-neck T-shirt and black, jeans. 

“People don’t actually do that, do they?” Ant snorted.

Millie furrowed her eyebrows at him as she tried to discern whether he was truly ignorant that girls world-wide participate in wardrobe coordination on a regular basis, or if he was joking. And truthfully, I think Millie was once in the top ten percent most active participators in that pastime. In junior high school she was in the habit of matching her outfit to mine, sometimes down to earrings and fingernail polish.