Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE GIRL WHO KNEW ) June, 1990
❝ I fucking knew it! ❞
◯
Devon's body rocked in time with the tumultuous song, his twisted arm delicately holding a crumbled piece of paper which was scribbled with his smudged notes. His lips mumbled the steps, watching the dancers with incredible intensity as he mentally took notes in his brain. Another week had passed and the young man was certainly feeling better after reconnecting with Janet. Even the pain on his wrist began to subside, so much so that he barely even noticed it. With that and his new unofficial role as assistant choreographer, Devon began to see the brighter side of things.
"Stop!" Dev yelled, the pen in his mouth muffling his words. The dancers complied, looking towards the black male with a trifling obedience. "I think y'all are rushing through everything, let the moves marinate a little," Devon said, his eyes urgently scanning across the crumbled piece of paper. "How is that possible? The song is too fast," Anthony jumped in, looking at the young man with disapproval. "You ain't listening to the background properly," Devon answered back, his noticeable confidence taking the older man by surprise.
"Listen to the beat again," the young black male commanded, his finger twitching across the stereo's 'ON' button. Once Devon saw that he had everyone's attention, the dancer proceeded to flick on the song. He watched the others dauntingly, studying their expressions to see if they were catching the slower beat pulsating underneath the main tempo. "You hear it?" Devon impatiently questioned, his head automatically bobbing in sync with the music.
"Actually, yeah... I do," Anthony grunted, his face slashed with interest. Devon cracked a smile, quickly returning his attention to the dancers, "Just follow that speed, aight?" The young man announced, "Try it again." They happily nodded, skipping off into their positions with dazzling enthusiasm. "Hey Dev!" One of the musicians yelled, jogging towards Devon who chewed on the pen in his hand. "Think you have time to check out the arrangements for the songs?" He questioned, giving him a friendly pat on the back.
"Yeah sure, I'll check 'em out when I'm done here," Devon responded, giving him a detached nod. The man happily skipped off, not noticing that Devon barely took in anything the man said. The dancer's mind was scattered across the room, unable to properly register his words when his brain was sizzling with flashes of dance moves and beats from the speakers. Devon had no idea that spraining his arm would lead to even 'more responsibility than before. "From the top guys, remember to follow the tempo," Devon announced, tucking the clipboard under his arm.
Once the routine kicked into motion, the black male's insightful gaze started to pick up every move that was out of place, and every step that was behind beat. Under his breath, Devon muttered critical thoughts, prompting his body to twitch at the tempting urge to join in with his dancing comrades. Unfortunately, his wrist was not yet fully healed. "You're really getting the hang of things," Anthony said out of the blue, popping up beside the young man.
