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(CHAPTER THREE: DANCE OF DEATH ) December, 1988
❝Show 'em what they've been missing. ❞
◯
Focus. Devon's mind pried on the thought as he messily stuffed his duffel bag with unnecessary things, his brain like a frantic racehorse eager to get on the track. Towel, check. Water, check. His composure? Now that was something he really needed to work on. Spiralling his shoulders so that his tight physique got a feel of the foreign material of his new and improved dance clothes, Devon eyed his new outfit which only consisted of a sleeveless black singlet and matching bottoms, his sneakers and baseball cap an essential element when tying together his signature style.
Although he knew attire wasn't a big factor during a dance audition, Devon hoped they appreciated the fact that he did put time and effort into his presentation, wanting to dress to impress on his behalf. Devon shook his head at his irrelevant thoughts, the photo he had clutched in his hand none other than the nicest picture that he could ever discover, the effort to find a photograph presentable for the casting directors a duty he wasn't sure he wanted to be burdened with ever again.
At this point, it was almost laughable that some people claimed he was photogenic. "Dev!" his mother's call was a voice he'd hope he wouldn't hear that day, and for more reasons than one. Abandoning his unpacked bag and calculating thoughts, Devon exited his quaint room and headed down the wooden steps, his mother found just below his tracks, waiting impatiently for him to respond.
"What's up?" Devon mumbled casually, barely glancing at his little brother who let his head dangle from the couch cushions. "Baby, I need you to look after Arkell until I get back, I'm taking your grandmamma shopping," She explained, eyes fixed on her handbag as her hand rummaged through her belongings.
Devon swore his eye sockets widened so much that it looked as though it would pop out of his head, dread blockading his excitement as her words sunk into his dense brain. "Wait, can't y'all go tomorrow? I have plans," Devon bluntly stated, keeping his words extremely vague since he didn't want his mother to know he was attempting to try out for yet another audition, when she so desperately wanted him to move passed his dancing phase – or so she calls it.
"No, this is my grocery day," his mother frowned; head bobbing upwards as she tore her focus away from her messily organised handbag. With trembling lips and wavering brown eyes, Devon swallowed, struggling to find hope in his unfortunate event, "B-But I have plans!"
"Oh, and what's your plans? Dancing in the street?" she scoffed mockingly, leading for Devon to tighten his jaw in infuriation, unable to come to terms with his budding rage. Why, out of all the people in the world, why did he always get bad luck! "Yeah, that's what I thought. We'll be back in a few."
