Élan watches her, long legs bent in a plié. Technically he isn't permitted to be with her in the dance room but he sneaks in once every blue moon, though it's been more frequent lately. Her instructor, the snooty Parisian lady is gone for the day. He is secretly counting down the days to her sabbatical.
Not that it really matters at the moment because Nanti is here and so is he.
He thinks her skin is his favorite thing, so brown and rich looking against the pale pink of her leotard. Her toes are pointed and one leg is outstretched behind her forming a perfect vertical and Élan's heart thumps a little louder. She's not aware of his presence yet so he has to approach her in a casual way. It's not like he has a crush on her or anything. It's not like her leotard leaves little to the imagination. It's not like his heart is drumming so intensely that he can feel the vibration pulsing his ears.
"You're in love," his mom says to him that morning and he can't keep it from echoing in his mind now. He's not in love, he doesn't even like her. They're just best friends.
She's reaching for a water when she notices him, a smile stretches across her face,
"Are you stalking me?" She asks cheekily.
"No, I just smelt something terrible coming from the dance hall and figured I'd identify it. To my surprise, it's only you."
"Very funny, dickhead. I smell like cocoa butter and palm oil."
"Wow, did you just call me a dickhead? You have no respect."
"And you have no game. Listen, if you like me, just ask me out already. We've only one year left before graduation, we're practically adults. The juvenile act is getting old."
He's taken aback. "What? I don't like you but I'm definitely realizing you're a bit on the narcissistic side,"
"Oh shove it-"
"I'd rather not."
She thinks it's his eyes, and how it contrasts with his light brown skin. They're all green, but brown too and speckled with grey; intense. Her mother says black people with different colored eyes are crazy but she never mentions how gorgeous they have the potential to be. Mama Olayi could never predict that certain someone would be her best friend, with muted cherry lips. He looks like he tastes delicious.
She shakes her head and stretches, points her toes and extends a long leg outward.
The history from sharing a bath, pudgy little stomachs, dirt caked-fingernails, and jump rope to this.
To now.
He is gazing at the seat of her baby pink leotard, how it puckers so prettily between her legs. The sweat stains that leave the two little beads at her nipples. There's a familiar tightening in his pants that makes him palm and adjust his inseam because if he thinks about Nanti too obsessively, he'll embarrass himself. He can't infatuate himself with the thought that she's wearing next to nothing. He can't dream over the thought of being that sweat, peppered so provocatively on her flesh.
"Take a picture, it'll last longer." She says with a smug look like she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I would if I could." He makes eye contact with her, only to see her eye lines quickly shift up. Was she looking at my lips?
"You want a kiss?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe yes or maybe no?"
YOU ARE READING
MAD BLACK WOMAN
Romancein which she must deal with her husband's infidelity and the love she still has left for him. in which he must find the broken pieces of the love that fell apart.
