Page 63 of As You Walk On

My eyes discreetly peek down. Wow. SpongeBob boxer briefs never looked so appealing.

None of this is helping the situation in my jeans.

When the song ends, River cheers. Luca lifts Makayla into a hug, twirling in a wild circle. “Don’t drop me!” she says, giggling.

“Withholding scores until the end,” announces River. “Team Wright Bird, you’re next.”

For a breath, all I hear is my banging heart trying to match itsbeats to Aleah’s uneven, heavy exhales. She plays idly with her necklace. I run a hand over my twists.

Why is this so hard? It’s a silly dance-off. We’re not recommitting to a lifelong friendship.

“Er...” I glance at River as they wait for our music selection. “There’s this nineties song by Montell Jordan...”

Behind me, Aleah groans, annoyed.

River grins like they know which song I’m talking about.

As I walk toward Aleah, the recognizable timbre of Montell’s voice declaringThis is how we do itrings out in the bedroom. It’s an anthem heard at almost every sporting event, old-school house party, or Black family reunion.

Aleah and I know it from another place, another time.

Back on Saturday nights when nineties Black comedies kept us up past bedtime. When Dad pushed the furniture in our living room around, then Mario would cue up a playlist of the songs he and Dad loved as teens. They’d teach us all the dances from the movies.

Unfortunately, Miles Wright’s best move is the Carlton fromThe Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. So embarrassing. It never stopped Mario from laughing and pecking kisses to Dad’s cheek when they thought we weren’t looking.

Aleah and I giddily learned every step. We’d stay up even later, practicing on our own.

The song suddenly stops. The first chorus came and neither of us budged.

Makayla sips her drink, bored expression ruling her face.

“Any day now, you two.”

“Aleah?” I try to force the apprehension from my voice.

The music begins again. She taps her foot to the melody. Reluctantly, she whispers, “On three...”

The smile curling my lips barely has time to reach full height before she’s counting down.

“One... two... three!”

We start with something remedial: the Reebok, which is basically shuffling in place while our shoulders bounce. Then it’s the Roger Rabbit. Soon, we’re cycling through every dance we learned. I’m sweating, trying to match her. The hesitation is gone. We’re in a groove. It’s like we never missed five years’ worth of steps.

I initiate our next dance: the Kid ’N Play. We can’t leave it out. Aleah syncs with me, kick for kick. She adds her stank-face, which indicates she’s really into it.

I’m caught off guard when she switches to another dance, one we’ve never performed outside my bedroom.

Almost every viral video I’ve seen paying tribute toHouse Partyfocuses on Kid ’N Play’s dance sequence. It’s iconic for a reason. As problematic as the movie is, I still go back to watch that scene, but not for them. Seconds before their big moment, Sydney and Sharane, the two love interests, outclass the guys. Only Aleah knows how obsessed I am with it. She’d cue up the movie on her phone. We perfected the whole routine in a single weekend.

A weird shame always prevented me from letting others watch me perform this routine. As if they’d think I’m wrong for liking the girls’ routine over the boys’.

Now my eyes jump to Luca. He’s bouncing in place on the carpet, grinning. He brushes hair off his forehead. Gold and pink light glitters off his black nails. I reject the humiliating sensation trying to creep into my muscles. All the lies people taught us about being a boy.

Why should anyone decide our limits of masculinity? Or femininity? Why can’t we have both? Or neither? Why do I have to hate myself for liking things that don’t fit into someone else’s parameters?

Fuck those rules.

I sidle up to Aleah’s side. Tonight’s beenawful. I don’t have a date—or a way—to prom. There’s undiscussed tension between me and Jay now. The least I can do is finally enjoy myself.

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