Page 15 of A Shot at Love
It’s not because we’re WNBA players, though a couple gazes latch onto Jadea as if she looks familiar. It’s because out of our group—me, Jadea, Olabisi, Allyson, and Taherah—Taherah is the only one under six feet tall. Jadea is a staggering 6’4” and Allyson’s lanky Australian frame comes in at 6’5”. They’re two of the tallest people here, gender notwithstanding.
The other girls make a beeline for the bar, with Taherah already shouting about some new craft root beer she wants to try, but Jadea loops an arm through mine and shouts in my ear, “Let’s try to find Daniel.”
I must give her a slightly panicked look because she smiles too brightly in response. Fire Town is my least favorite of our usual haunts for several reasons. It’s the hottest: the thermostat is set at 80 degrees, and a huge fire feature in the middle of the room keeps the dance floor scorching. It’s the loudest: a mammoth DJ stage sits in the back, and the bass is pounding at all times. It’s swanky: drinks here are well past twenty dollars, and my unrefined palate wants one light beer the entire night.
Jadea pulls me around the fire feature, which makes me immediately erupt into my first sweat of the evening, and towards the outskirts of the dance floor. There are small booths there for people who are not into dancing or who need a cooler reprieve. They’re very dark, with just a small fake flame candle sitting in the center. I’mscanning the booths for Daniel, but Jadea finds him first. “Over there.” She’s still shouting in my ear, though I can barely hear her. She gestures to a booth in the corner, a very distinguished spot in Fire Town. Though it frequently slips my mind that Daniel is somewhat famous, I bet the hostess at Fire Town was not so forgetful.
As we get closer, I notice he’s not alone. He’s with another guy and they’re talking quietly as they sip their drinks. He’s Indian American, and I’m pretty sure his name is Jeff. He’s a part of Daniel’s production team. A writer, maybe? We’ve hardly spoken, though I know he’s friendly with some of my teammates.
Daniel looks ridiculously handsome, wearing what is the official hot-guy uniform of Fire Town. A black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the collar unbuttoned, showing off his smooth chest. He’s paired it with black jeans and—to my secret delight—black high-top sneakers that match my own.
I wish I could see the back heel of the left shoe. Daniel always loved my wacky clothes, but he hardly ever wore anything besides track clothes or sweats. If he had to dress up, he wore black. However, some wave of nostalgia made him unusually attached to his black high tops. I once doodled a tiny basketball and track cleat on the white part of the sole, right on the heel, and though I know they’re probably a new pair, that rebellious part of me is obsessed with the idea that he might have kept the pair I personalized.
We arrive at the edge of the booth, and I smile, trying not to look nervous. That he’s dressed so well. That his curls are already slightly damp with sweat. I don’t know if it’s the smile or if he just wasn’t really looking at first, but he does a full double-take, and the two cut off their conversation. His eyes trace me up and down, and I suppress a shiver. Stupid, rebellious body.
Perusal over, Daniel’s gaze turns. “Jadea! Great to see you!” It’s a little quieter over here, but he’s still almost shouting. “Do you want to dance?”
I feel like I’m having whiplash. Did he just ask Jadea to dance? He knows I don’t dance, because Ican’tdance, but he also knows Jadea is my best friend. I used to talk about her all the time. My horror only continues to grow as Daniel tugs an equally stunned Jadea onto the dance floor. Has this all been in my head? He says he owes me, but maybe he also wanted to do this job to meet Jadea. She’s beautiful, confident, and speaks her mind. Suddenly, it seems like she has everything in common with this famous version of Daniel, and I’m just the college girlfriend he wishes he could forget.
Daniel’s friend Jeff doesn’t seem too perturbed, watching them curiously. I suddenly can’t stand the sight of them talking as they bop along to the music. “I’m going to get a drink!” I shout at Jeff, who I just barely see nod before I’m heading away to the bar.
I don’t see Olabisi, Allyson, and Taherah at first, leaning against the bar, waiting for the bartender to grab my beer. Then I notice them holding down the dance floor near the fire feature. Olabisi’s braids are whippingaround, Allyson’s cheeks are bright red, and the edge of Taherah’s hijab is darker with sweat tonight than it is at practice. They’re jumping around and screaming to the music, grabbing hands and pulling new partners in and out of their little circle. They look like they’re having the time of their lives.
I grit my teeth with determination. Every part of me hates the idea of dancing in front of other people. I already stick out like a sore thumb with the hair and the height, so making a fool of myself seems likely. However, as I watch everyone on the dance floor, I have to admit that few of them look sexy and suave. Maybe I’m overthinking this.
I throw back the rest of my beer and march determinedly towards Olabisi and the girls. When I stop next to them, a brief feeling of fear overcomes me. Is everyone looking at me? How can they not be? I’m dressed like an overgrown little league player. Before I can spiral too much, the girls grab me and pull me into their circle. Taherah grins up at me, her scarlet Nike Dri-FIT long sleeve plastered to her body. She’s wearing matching scarlet cargo pants and the coolest red leather creeper sneakers I’ve ever seen. She begins jumping up and down to the beat, gesturing for me to do the same. Olabisi and Allyson are already doing it, hardly looking at me. I don’t know how Olabisi is managing it in her four-inch hot pink heels.
I rise on my toes a little, trying not to feel too self-conscious. I want to copy everyone else, but my body is too stiff. What should I do with my arms? Taherah sortof punches them in front of her, Olabisi keeps hers on her hips, and Allyson flails around mindlessly. I try to let them sort of sway with me, but it doesn’t quite match the beat of the song.
Even as my hesitation continues, I don’t quit. I keep dancing, letting the music wash over me. There are even a few seconds where it feels nice, freeing, before the anxiety creeps back in. Fortunately, my friends seem to know just what I need, dancing next to me like I’m not an ice sculpture in comparison. Allyson even spins me around once, making me giggle and more hair falls out of my baseball cap.
When the DJ’s beat finally fades a bit to transition to the next song, I hear a familiar voice up on the DJ stage. “Annie, baby, this one’s for you!”
My whole group whips around to face the stage, and there’s Jadea, alight with joy and a little sparkle of sweat. Her red braids are pulled up into a massive bun, and she’s tucked half of her t-shirt into her bra. Most of the bar has turned her way, watching her. That’s her magnetism.
She points at me from the stage. “To trying new things!” she shouts into the mic the DJ has clearly surrendered to her, and the crowd goes wild. My girls are screaming next to me, but I’m just standing in awe. When I hear the song, my mouth falls open.
“It’s Jock Jams!” I’m screaming then too, looking at my teammates in delight. They’re already jumping up and down. When Jadea and I were growing up and making shoddy dunk videos on her camcorder, we frequently played Jock Jams in the background. The firstpractice I had with the Arrows, Jadea put this mix on, and we played as if we had wings on our shoes.
I start jumping, surprised that the crowd seems really into it. Though considering their age of mostly twenty and thirty-somethings, it hits just the right nostalgia spot. With C+C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)” blaring, I feel that final bit of anxiety lift.
We’ve only been dancing for about thirty seconds when someone pushes through the crowd towards our group. My heartbeat gets louder when I see that it’s Daniel. He’s grinning, that sparkle back in his eye.
“You liar!” he yells at me.
I stop dancing, leaning in towards him. “I am not!” But I’m smiling like maybe I am.
“You’re dancing! You told me for months and months that you didn’t dance!” He grabs both of my hands, pulling me a step or two out of my dance circle. His hands feel like fire in mine. “I told Jadea all you needed was the right song.”
It’s so loud in there I wonder if I’ve heard him wrong. “You told Jadea?”
“We were brainstorming ways to get you out here, and this was our big idea. Though it seems you ventured out on your own without our help.” The chorus restarts, and the crowd is yelling “Everybody dance now!” so loudly I can’t think.
I try to clarify. “That’s why you were dancing with Jadea?” Jealousy, meet irony.
He swings our clasped hands, his smile still firmly in place. “Partially. We mostly talked about you, which was a little awkward considering that I already know you so well.” He gives me a look, and I cringe a little.
“Working on it,” I mutter.
