*COMPLETED* (18+) MATURE
Wrong number...usually a person would delete the number, right? A mistaken text leads to blood money and danger. Chris Johnson, a gender fluid male, receives a text from a mystery guy who shares a card number. Aware that i...
Good thing my Noka put her singing to work, things were getting touchy. I wished my dad waited until it was just us and Phil to touch on the gun subject. Chris and Reba are going through enough right now. Reba being homesick and awfully reserved. Chris is clearly debating something, he and I need to talk.
Does he disagree with the guns too?
Sam, like Phil, has a vicious aura edging around him. As if violence would solve anything. Police were the only resolution here.
A change muddles the atmosphere when the song ends-now the environment is staticky and gloomy. Uh oh. "Let's keep the show going." I stand, leaving the campsite. My mind excited about how fun this will be for all of us. What better to cheer someone up than dancing? Sadness can be thought about in the morning, not tonight.
I power walk the reservation, turning brushes and changing the path of my bare feet. Down the way, strolling alongside the river, an enormous building-a hall where many ceremonies take place. I know who's inside the brown, wooden structure. My companions. Dancers, drummers, flute players. I beam, feeling the thought brighten my spirit.
Inside, I find my tribe sporting suede fringe gear, bearing the symbol of our tribe, a circle tattoo on the left side of their bare chests, colored red, white and black. The twin water-fowls, which many Americans call a two-headed bird.
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I eye the shredded fringe hanging from the groups pants, touching down the sides of their legs, and stopping before their ankles. The women wear dark blue, long-sleeved dresses where the stringy, dangling fringe material, drops from their arms, waists, and ankles-a room of complete beauty.
Brown skin.
Strong bodies.
"Ready?" I ask my friend, Hakan, a bit tensely.
"I was born ready." He winks.
"Last time you mistook some steps..." I expose.
Hakan mouth turns into a dramatic O. "Only because you wouldn't stop trying to perfect the movements. It was late at night. Let it be." He states, imitating my dad's all-knowing voice, and taking advantage of having five inches on me, by straightening his neck to peer down.
"Stay focus, you dummies." Chenoa, the leader of the women performers, groans anxiously. "We have to be eagles at the start and butterflies at the end. Can't do that with you two bickering. Can we?" A light chocolate haired girl, whose hair matches her complexion, snaps.
"Sorry..." Hakan smirks flirtatiously.
"No, you're not." Her hands go to her hips, emerald eyes glare.
Hakan chuckles. "Yeah, I'm not...we're just fooling."
I scoff at him. "No, you did bad last time, don't embarrass the Coushatta name like that."
