“Ricky,” Silvia said with a sigh. “I didn’t realize he was standing there until after it happened. I had to run down the street to catch him, which gave me about two seconds to figure out what I was going to say, and all I could think about was how hurt you would be.”
“Why didn’t you think about that before you kissed her?” he demanded.
Silvia’s expression was wounded, which made his heart ache even worse. When she tried to touch him again, he walked around the counter to get away from her. “It’s not just that,” he said, his pulse matching the pace of his thoughts, his body and mind in unison at last. “Like, I get why you’re so protective of your parents. But you’ve gotta think of other people too, you know?”
“I always try to.” Silvia swallowed. “What exactly do you mean?”
“Ricky!” he snarled. “You showed up at my birthday party like everything was okay. And he was on the verge of death!”
“I’m the one who saved him!” Silvia cried in defense.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know that he would pull through! What if he’d died? While we were all having a grand ol’ time, like nothing was wrong. We danced together, for fuck’s sake! My mom still has that stupid photo of us in the dining room, but now every time I look at it…” He shook his head in disgust.
“I made sure to tell you,” Silvia said, her chin trembling. “Remember? When we went up to your room? I asked you to call him.”
“Yeah, but not until later.”
“He was fine! Why are you getting mad at me for something that didn’t happen?”
“Because it’s not just that,” Omar shouted. “It’s everything! I keep thinking back to when you broke up with me just because I let my best friend believe something that wasn’t true. Which is hilarious, because you’re the freaking queen of lies! What else haven’t you told me? Do you actually feel anything for me at all? You sure as hell didn’t say it back to me the first time. And I thought you weren’t going to on New Year’s either.”
“I do love you,” Silvia said, pressing her hand to her chest. “I just took longer than you to get there. And I keep trying to do the right thing, believe me.” She shook her head helplessly. “I messed up. I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” Omar said with a lump in his throat. He went to the door and grabbed his skateboard. Then he turned around to face her. “I know I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but you make me feel like an idiot.”
Silvia’s expression was pained, like he was breaking her heart. And somehow that made it hurt even more. He had to get away from her.
“Wait!” she pleaded as he stormed around the corner. She tried to grab his arm but he slipped out of her grasp. “Wait!”
He didn’t. Omar slammed his shoulder against the door. Then he dropped his skateboard to the sidewalk, got on it, and kicked until the wind was in his hair and the tears on his cheeks had blown away.
— — —
Keisha walked around the stage of the school auditorium, enjoying herself more than she had earlier in the production, since all she had to do now was fine-tune the choreography. She moved from pair to pair as each song played, stepping in where she saw the need for improvement. Or in some cases, dancing with them for the sheer pleasure of it. She couldn’t help but smile as she approached Hope, who saw her coming and angled her body toward Keisha in invitation. At least, that’s how it seemed to her. She was trying to be more cautious about how she interpreted such things.
Silvia had called her crying the other night. Keisha drove over to see her and had sat in her family’s garden while Silvia attempted to put her feelings into words. Omar was angry and upset. Silvia was overcome with guilt. And she wasn’t alone. Keisha insisted on taking her share of the blame. Had she not pursued Silvia, despite knowing she was taken, or blabbed about them smoking pot together… Then again, Keisha had honestly thought she was helping a closeted lesbian find herself and some peace of mind. Hindsight was humbling, but also useful, if you learned from it. So even though Hope looked smoking hot in a tight leather jacket that ended at her midriff, her short hair flinging left and right as she lost herself in the rhythm, Keisha tried not to make any assumptions. No matter how much she wanted them to be true.
“Am I supposed to start on the left foot or the right?” her partner asked when the song ended.
“You’re supposed to mirror me,” Hope said, eager eyes moving to Keisha for approval. “Right?”
“Yes,” she replied. “So if Hope starts on her right, you start on your left.”
“But to me, her right is my left…” The guy blinked. “Right?”
Keisha thought about it and nodded. “Right. I mean, correct. Don’t think in words, since they can obviously be misleading. Follow the motion. If she goes that-a-way…”
“I do too,” the guy said.
Keisha thumped him on the back. “You got it!”
“What about me?” Hope said, batting her eyelashes. “Any tips?”
“Yeah, try to tone it down or nobody will be watching the stars, you show-stealer.”
Hope bit her bottom lip while smiling. Keisha struggled to tear her eyes away, although a distraction soon came to her rescue.
“Hey!” Faith said, dragging a guy along by the hand until he stood in front of her sister. “This is Alan.”
Dark clouds moved across Hope’s expression. “So?”
“So he’s a good dancer,” Faith said before turning to her usual partner. “Do you mind switching?”
“Excuse me,” Keisha said, raising a hand, “I sure mind! We’re not switching partners this late in the game. And he’s not even yours to trade. You insisted on being with Troy, remember?”
“It would only be for a dance or two,” Faith snapped. “What’s the big deal?”
“I’m not interested,” Hope grumbled. “That’s what!”
“Sorry,” Faith said to Alan. “I swear she’s not always like this.”
“Umm, that’s okay,” Alan said with burning cheeks. “I’m just gonna go…” He pointed to where a girl was standing without a partner. “See ya.”
Faith rounded on her sister as he wandered off. “Would it kill you to at least try? You need a boyfriend!”
“Why?” Hope shot back.
“That’s a very good question,” Keisha interjected, “but no matter the answer, you’re here to practice, so let’s—”
She was interrupted by shouting from elsewhere on the stage.
“Back the fuck off!” a familiar voice roared.
“Now what?” Keisha said as she orientated on the source.
Diego and Troy were up in each other’s faces.
“Excuse me, please,” she said before marching in their direction.
Ms. Deville got there first. “What precisely is the issue here?” she demanded.
“This jackass keeps getting in my way,” Diego snarled, gesturing with disdain at Troy, whose tone was sickly sweet when he replied.
“I’m really sorry about that, ma’am. I’ve never been in a play before, so I guess I get a little confused.”