Page 29 of As You Walk On

A sharp, rippling sensation moves through my chest.

Somewhere in my brain, I know if that wasmeinstead of Makayla flirting and tugging on Luca’s collar, everyone wouldn’t be whistling and catcalling. If that were me and Christian, they’d turn the other way. Pretend we didn’t exist.

I can’t tell if that’s how I truly feel or if Cole’s words have gotten to me.

The music changes: an old Nicki Minaj song.

Someone shrieks, “Theo!” Kendra from chemistry grabs my hands. “Middle school! Remember?”

I definitely do.

It’s a truth universally known that while I’m never the center of attention at these gatherings—a slot permanently filled by one Jayson Scott—I rarely turn down an opportunity to show off my sweet feet and hips. Studying choreography from YouTube videos, on top of the library of nineties Black comedies Dad’s introduced me to, shouldn’t go to waste. It’s my birthright. Besides, watching all these amateurs struggling to twerk hurts my soul.

“Let’s go!” calls Kendra.

The music’s suddenly louder. Eyes track me, waiting. It takes midway through the first verse to ignore their stares and find my groove. But after that? It’s over.

This is my jam.

I don’t go for the instant kill. Instead, I start with moves I’ve learned from K-pop videos. A shoot dance here, part of the Renegade there. All for laughs. I feed off their energy.

Once the second chorus kicks in, I’m fully committed. Winding my hips to the drumbeat. Feet shuffling as I glide across the hardwood. I even snag Kendra to mimic the choreography from the music video.

“O-M-fucking-G, marry me, Theo!” a girl shrieks over the song’s thudding bass.

Our audience multiplies. Bodies squeeze into the circle. Myeyes catch Luca’s. He surveys me with a blank expression. A weird rush of nerves vibrates up my spine until Kendra spins me.

I lose him in all the faces.

When the song fades, I turn to Kendra for a quick high five before a senior politely asks her to dance. She winks at me before obliging.

I stumble away to get some fresh air.

The endorphins buzz in my system. I’m not even mad about the sweat rolling down my cheek. It’s like I’m walking on the clouds.

Every first day of summer break, Jay, Darren, and I go to Sonic Drive-In for slushes. My favorite is blue raspberry. That first sip, sitting with my friends under a giant sun with nothing to stop us, is just like this feeling.

Phenomenal.

It takes a lot of negotiating to squeeze through the crowd. More and more people are flooding the opposite direction, anxious to flee the house for the cool promise of water and night air. I’m fighting the tide. But honestly? It’s so worth it.

When I reach the front of the house, I hear a recognizable laugh.

Christian Harris’s laugh.

Things unfold like every movie has promised: Christian slowly descends the stairs. Light from the upstairs hallway haloes over him. Some chill pop song playsironicallyas our eyes meet.

He stops on the last step, beaming at me.

“Hey, Theo.”

“Hi. Uh, hello. Christian.” My ears burn. “Hey.”

He ignores my sputtering to hold his phone screen in mydirection. A video of me dancing two minutes ago plays. “Sorry I missed the show.” He tilts his head in a genuinely amused way.

I suck in my cheeks to level out my smile. “That’s me. Future Lil Nas X backup dancer.”

“Not a bad gig.”

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