Avery

Jamal pauses in the middle of the dance floor, watching the colored lights swirl around him, revealing small swatches of skin here and there, disembodied limbs dancing in the darkness. Bodies writhe, crawling over one another to the pulse of the music. Everyone is intimately close, breathing in one another’s breath, illuminated by the floating strobe lights. Someone has released a stream of sweet-smelling smoke into the air, and it curls sensuously around Jamal’s wrists, pulling him back into motion. He raises his arms above his head, twisting his body around, trying to make eye contact with someone else who’d dared to come to the club alone.

A boy bobs in the center of a bubble of clear space, towards the left of the dance floor. His messy hair is probably blonde, but the colored lighting makes it look flourescent pink. His letterman jacket is falling off of one thin shoulder, dragging his plain grey  t-shirt along, exposing his collarbone to the hungry wolves floating around the room, but the boy doesn’t seem to care. He continues dancing with his eyes shut, a dark, lullaby energy radiating from him. He looks too young to be here, but something in the way his slender frame skillfully avoids groping hands speaks otherwise. He dances like he's been trained, not like he belongs here. His eyes open, violet in the strobe lights, and he locks gazes with Jamal. The boy’s bubblegum lips mouth something, and he turns away, pale hand trailing behind him as though he’s beckoning Jamal to follow.

Jamal surges forward, parting people like Moses to the Red Sea, seeking out the dancing boy, but by the time he gets to his destination, he’s become lost. He wanders through the crowds-

Jamal jerks upwards with a rough gasp, hand to his chest. He sits, breathing hard, for a moment, trying to get a handle on his surroundings, then gradually relaxes. He's woken up alone for once. His left hand grips the familiar sheets, the other coming to rest on top of his curly mess of hair. He glances at the electric analog clock by his bedside, blinking fire alarm red. 12:15.

Jamal's bleary brown eyes stare at the clock for a full minute, glazed over with a misty film of confusion. Slowly, blinking, the numbers gain meaning. "Ah, shit," Jamal grumbles half-heartedly. He falls back onto his bed in a discouraged, college mess.

His first class started thirty minutes ago.

Jamal thrashes about in his bed, silently cursing whatever gods that may have failed him, then picks himself up from the mattress.  While collecting his books and laptop, he checks the arrival time for the next bus. 12:45. He moves with a bit more haste, smearing toothpastes onto his toothbrush while searching for a pair of clean jeans. Jamal stubs his toe, wastes all of the time he should spend eating cursing at his table, then leaves, holding his shoes in his hand.

He sticks headphones into his ears on the ride down the elevator, blasts some Beyoncé to walk to. He shoves his white sneakers onto his feet, checks the time. 12:30. Perfect.

As the elevator putters its way to a halt, doors peeling open with a prehistoric screech, Jamal bursts out. He jogs out of the lobby, almost all the way to the bus stop. Cars and people strolling the streets pass by in a blur, with the exception of one cute girl, who earns a quick wink.

Upon arriving at the bus stop, Jamal leans against the side, panting, and checks his watch. He has three minutes to spare, pumps his fist into the air. He then begins to dance to Single Ladies, and is disrupted halfway through by a sharp tug on the stained sleeve of his sweatshirt.

Jamal pulls a headphone away from his ear, and looks to his left. His eyebrows raise. The boy from his dream stands next to him, short with big, blue eyes. His hair really is pink, a faded sort of bubblegum glob, rumpled from sleep, and he wears a faded varsity jacket. His bag is green crumpled paper against his small frame, a second, plumper athletic bag leaning against the bench.