by Sara Wolf
Barbara winks. “So I’ve been told before.”
“Why do you slap the mint leaf before putting it in a drink? Why not simply crush it?”
“Crushing makes it all icky and bitter,” She says.
“Of course!” I muse. “The bitterness must be caused by the chlorophyll breaking down in the leaf’s cellular membrane.”
Barbara trills a laugh, and puts her head in her chin. “Oh, I know you. You must be Alice. Ranik told me a lot about your sweet little brain. You’re so much prettier in person!”
“Thank you. But he insists on calling me Alison here.”
“Right-o. Alison it is. What can I get you?”
“I don’t drink. But he said you’d have ‘the basics’ for me.”
“That’s right. Naomi!” Barbara calls over the crowd. A woman with fiery red curls comes over. “Watch the bar for a sec, would you? I’ve got a friend I wanna dance with.”
“Sure,” Naomi smiles. Barbara comes around the counter and wraps her huge warm hand about my own, leading me to a space just off the now-crowded dance floor.
“Okay, so we’re gonna start with watching, because the best dancing comes from watching,” Barbara says, pointing at a girl and a guy in the crowd. “See those two?”
The girl is blonde, with a considerable behind that she grinds into the man’s crotch with obvious want.
“What about them? They’re very dull,” I say.
“Look again.”
I watch. The blonde pulls away from the man and twists her torso gracefully, the rest of her body following the movement like a wave. She undulates like a sidewinder snake, oozing grace and elegance and seemingly effortless sex appeal. The man quickly pulls her back into him, and the grinding resumes, but the image of the undulating stays with me.
“That’s what you’re going for,” Barbara interrupts my thoughts. “That cute, sexy little liquid move. It’s real basic, and easy to master in no time.”
Barbara pulls it off right in front of me with no hesitation. Even without a woman’s curves to back it up, the movement is hypnotizing and flawless.
“Now you try.”
“I-I have no coordination.”
“It’s easy peasy!” Barbara comes up behind me, positioning my hips and shoulders for me with firm yet gentle hands. “Now move your chest like you’re breathing in deep, and let it roll out to your butt.”
I screw my face up and try it, but I simply end up woodenly lurching. Barbara frowns, and positions me again. I try it again, with equal results. She points a few more girls doing it out to me, and I watch intently and we try the move together, but it doesn’t go over well. Finally, Barbara frowns.
“Hmm. How can I explain this to you better?”
“It’s alright. I’m hopeless,” I say. “You should go back to the bar, or dance with someone else. You’re just wasting your time here.”
Barbara’s large hand bops me on the head chastisingly. “Don’t be silly. We’ll get through this together. Oh! I know! The pectorals.”
“What about them?”
“You’re into science, aren’t you? You start by tensing the pectorals, thrusting them out as far as you can. Then you bring them in, making them as small as you can, and you flex your upper abdominals, making them bigger and then smaller, and then the lower abs, and then finally you flick your, um, your hip bones.”
“Os coxae.”
“Yes, those. Try to envision it like an anatomy model, if that helps.”
I watch Barbara do it again, and focus. Suddenly it’s so clear – I can picture the various muscles contracting as they work together to move the torso in a fluid motion. I try it, slowly at first, then faster. Barbara claps her hands and squeals.
“You did it! That was perfect!”
A surge of warm pride, like the kind I get from aceing a question on a test, floods my veins. I do it again, and again, and Barbara takes her time pointing out other dance moves girls are doing. Simple ones, primarily. She breaks them down as best she can, with my help naming them, into lists of various muscle clusters and bone segments. Together, we teach my body basic dancing, and when Barbara’s satisfied, she pulls me onto the dance floor.
“C’mon, sweetie! Time to put it into practice!”
“But I’m –” I look around at the dancing crowd, afraid someone will notice how rudimentary I am. Barbara grabs my hands and sways them around.
“If you care about what people think, it’ll show. The dance will be all tense, and not right at all. You want it to be right, don’t you? You want it to look good for this boy you want to impress, right?”
I nod. Barbara smiles.
“If you can’t do it here, then how will you do it in front of him?”
Her point is so logical I can’t refute it in the slightest. I try a few moves experimentally, and Barbara encourages me with nods and the occasional ‘you go, sweetie’ and ‘that’s it’ and ‘you look so sexy!’. It should make me feel uncomfortable, but whenever she catches my eye she does a weird dance move and I can’t help but burst out laughing. She’s doing it for me, so I won’t feel so awkward, and I’m very grateful.
Eventually, I learn to stop caring. It might be the heat of the bodies around me, or the music that practically blasts all thoughts from my head, or Barbara’s teachings, but I care less and less until I’m moving on my own, without stopping, moving to the music and the beat and around people with an ease that surprises me. I spot Barbara back at the bar, and she waves and gives me a thumbs up. I see Miranda and Seth dancing with each other, Seth very pleased with the way Miranda snakes her hands around his hips. Trent’s dancing with Naomi. A guy with a pierced eyebrow and a pleasant enough face smiles at me, and motions in front of him. I don’t know him at all, and nerves eat at my stomach like acid, but dancing with someone I don’t know will make dancing with Theo seem like a breeze. Theoretically. I gather my courage and smile back, thinking of how Grace would respond, how she would move. My dancing becomes more fluid, and I feel almost comfortable as I twist. The guy isn’t complaining; a strange glazed look coming over his eyes when I move my hips. I erase his face and replace it with Theo’s, and it works so well I don’t even stop him when he puts an arm around my waist and pulls me into him. It’s then I meet familiar gold-green eyes through the crowd. The face they belong to is shocked, frozen as he stares at me.
Excited to show my teacher just how far I’ve come, I undulate my hips and make my torso wave. Look! Look at me, Ranik! Look at what I can do now! I’m dancing with a total stranger! Aren’t you proud? But Ranik’s face doesn’t light up, it only darkens. He shoves through the crowd toward me, pulling me roughly away from the guy by the hand.
“Hey! What are you –” The guy protests.
Ranik snarls unintelligibly at him, and his protests falter. Ranik pulls me away from the dancefloor and into the cool night air outside the bar, and the second he lets go of my hand he whirls and rounds on me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m doing what you told me to,” I say, trying to keep my temper in check. “Barbara taught me to dance, so I was dancing.”
“With a total douchebag!”
“And? He’s a stranger. I could care less if he’s a douchebag. I will most likely never see him again.”
Ranik’s face goes red. “You – You –”
“Did you see me, though?” I press, excitement taking over my voice. “I was trying to show you. Did you see how smooth I was? I didn’t think it was possible, but I learned how to dance! I’m not very good, but I’m at least passable! Barbara was a wonderful teacher.”
Ranik’s eyes darken, shadowed by some sudden softness. “You were trying to show me?”
“Yes. I thought you’d be happy for me.”
He goes quiet, a thoughtful silence, and then leans on a nearby car, his eyes strangely hooded.
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me again.”
“But I already did.”
“I wasn’t paying attention that time,” his voice is suddenly hard, flinty. “Show me again.”
For some reason, a blush tinges my cheeks at the command. Out here, the music is a distant thud, and there’s no heated mass of people to lose myself in. There’s only Ranik, with his blazing hazel eyes, the night, and myself. We’re alone in the parking lot, and I’m suddenly painfully aware of it as I try to dance. I stop abruptly.
“I can’t. Not like this. It’s too awkward.”
“You didn’t seem worried about bein’ awkward when you put your ass in that guy’s crotch.”
“H-How dare you,” I sputter. “You tell me to learn, and when I’m in the process of learning you suddenly get angry at me for it?”
“I told you to learn the basics from Barbara, not grind against some dude’s dick.”
“Why are you being so – so cagey?”
Ranik stiffens, his fists balling up. “I’m not bein’ cagey, I’m looking out for my fuckin’ student. Learning how to dance is fine, but dancing with some two-bit sleazer ain’t gonna help you get Theo. It’s damn unnecessary.”
“It’s practice!”
“You want practice? Then practice with someone who ain’t thinking about fucking you!”
“Like you?” I scoff.
“Yeah,” He snarls. “Like me.”
“Fine.” I walk over and lean near him. I focus on the distant music, pulling it in bare threads to my ears and moving my body with it. I never touch him, hovering just out of reach as I roll and twist with more elegance than I had at the beginning. If I drown him out of my mind, I can dance without reserve, like I’m in the crowd again, with almost-Theo again. I’m so lost in it I barely hear the groan, but I certainly feel the soft pressure along my butt, my back, and my shoulders as Ranik lines himself against me, nuzzling my neck. His smell is pine and smoke, laced faintly with whiskey.
“Fuck,” He whispers. “Alice –”
His hands slot onto my waist, and he runs them down in an achingly slow v-motion along my dress and rests them on my hips. I’m so lost in imagining Theo’s hands doing it that I can’t help the pleased sigh that escapes my lips. The hot, lengthy hardness against my back is the only thing that snaps me out of it. The illusion breaks. I pull away quickly, and Ranik starts.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I –”
I cover my hands with my face wordlessly, utterly mortified.
“Princess, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –”
“I need to go home,” I murmur through my fingers.
“Hey –”
“Please take me home.”
I request it out of sheer intense need, but then think better of it. I can’t rely on him, or trust him. Not after what happened with the coffee, and the ride to school, and the call. Not after the erection in my back, betraying how he really feels. I should’ve known not to trust him. He’s Ranik Mason, and he wants to bed everything with two X chromosomes, no matter how many promises he makes.
He’s a liar.
I turn on my heel and compose myself, pulling away from being a flushed girl who dances without care and coming back to my senses as a logical, independent woman.
“Nevermind. I will call a cab. Enjoy your party.”
“Princess, wait! Princess!”
I don’t wait. I can’t wait for anyone. They will only disappoint me.
I will only disappoint them.
I walk so fast to get away from his voice I don’t notice the dark curb, and step off it at an odd angle. I cry out as my heel twists under me, the four-inch spike snapping loose. Cement scrapes my thighs and arm like a burning cat’s tongue, the palms of my hands screaming in red-hot agony. Ranik’s voice chokes off and he dashes to catch up with me.
“Alice! Shit! Are you okay?
Through the pain and scraped skin and welling blood, I look up at him, dazed.
“That’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.”
He freezes, then quickly jumps to action. He pulls his cellphone out and texts rapidly, in total silence. When he’s done he looks up at me.
“There’s blood everywhere. You got scraped up bad.” He holds up my broken shoe. “And this thing is ruined.”
“I’ll live,” I sniff. “The human body is incredibly adept at healing minor flesh wounds.” I try to struggle to my feet, and Ranik sucks in a breath.
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa, don’t try to stand.”
“I have to get home,” I say flatly and struggle harder. “And tend to the injuries before they become infected.”
“I texted Trent and Seth. They’re coming with the truck, okay?”
I hobble to my feet, and my first step confirms my worst fear – it hurts too much to walk. But I have to get home myself. I suck in a cry of pain and buckle, and Ranik’s arm shoots out, wrapping around my shoulders to hold me up. The smell of pine and smoke surrounds me.
“I don’t need your friends’ help,” I say through gritted teeth. “Or yours. Go back to your party and just leave me be.”
“Yeah, that’s a great idea. Leave the bleedin’ girl on the curb alone in the middle of the night.”
“I will call a cab. Now leave me.”
“No can do, Princess.” Ranik shakes his head. “I’m staying put right here until the truck comes.”
Just as he says that, headlights barrel down the road and a massive red truck comes to a stop in front of us. Trent and Seth get out, their faces etched in worry, I’m irritated to note. Why concern themselves over me? They barely know me. Or is their concern for Ranik?
“Everything okay?” Trent pants. Seth kneels by me, dark eyes taking in the wounds lit by the bronze glow of a streetlamp.
“You can’t do anything,” I snap. Seth looks up at me with a crooked grin.
“Oh, I think I can. I’m Pre-med.”
Pre-med. I might not trust strangers, but I trust knowledge. I don’t argue as his gentle fingers feel my ankle.
“Nothing broken,” He surmises. “But it’s definitely sprained. We need to get you off your feet right away, and bandage these scrapes.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d just drop me off at my dorm. I can take care of these things myself.”
Seth fixes me with a long look. “Our place is much closer. And you need to get these scrapes disinfected as soon as possible. They’re covered in gravel.”
I wince as I try to stand again, and Ranik snarls.
“Stop tryna go anywhere, Princess! Just let us help!”
“I can’t,” I murmur. “I can’t trust you.”
“You can trust me!” Ranik insists, eyes suddenly hurt and his voice cracking. “It’s me, for shit’s sake! Yeah, I’m not your best friend, but I’m not a total stranger! Right?”
Behind Ranik’s shoulder, Trent is staring at us with a very strange, twisted look on his face. His eyes dart from Ranik to me, and then back again. When I’m silent, Ranik balls his fists. I can see anger in him, but he takes a deep breath and quickly douses it, his voice now low and steady.
“I helped you this far, Princess. All the things I’ve taught you have worked and helped, haven’t they?”
I can’t refute the truth. I nod.
“So, please,” He murmurs. “If you don’t trust me, trust what you’ve learned. When I say I’ll do things, I do them. Just let Seth bandage you up at the house, and I’ll take you home right after.”
“Right away?” I ask.
“The second you wanna,” He nods.
I suddenly feel so tired, too tired to fight. “Okay.”
Seth gets into the driver’s side of the truck, and before I can stand Trent moves to pick me up, but Ranik beats him to it, gingerly lacing his arms under my back and the crook of my knees. With surprising strength and quickness, he lifts me into the truck’s passenger seat, and I almost regret the loss of the pleasant tension of his chest against my head, the sound of his deep heartbeat. I buckle myself in, and Trent and Ranik jump int
o the truck bed. Seth stops at the club, and Miranda gets in the back with them.
I fade in and out, the pain dulling to a fiery throb. Seth doesn’t say anything, driving silently. I can’t hear what they’re talking about in the truck bed, because the window is closed, but that might be for the best – Trent looks angry as he speaks, and Miranda looks shocked. I can’t see Ranik’s face, since he’s leaning against the window, but I can see his mouth move and his head shake every so often.
Seth pulls the truck into a parking lot. The apartment building is a two-story, long and washed in pale blue with grated doors. Ranik hurries ahead, taking the stairs two at a time and unlocking the door of 205 first, disappearing into it. Trent moves to carry me, but I brush him off.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
I wobble, and Miranda snorts and shoves her shoulder under mine to steady me.
“Fine my ass.”
The stairs are the hardest, but we somehow get up them and make it to the apartment. The lights are on, the disheveled but well-used kitchen tucked in one corner. The living room has two couches and a massive TV and several game consoles. Posters of Arnold Schwarzenegger and anime and video game characters line the walls. A blow-up doll dressed in a Hawaiian shirt sits in a corner, his face doodled on with an impressive mustache and a monocle. It’s so odd a laugh escapes me, and Miranda smirks.
“I see you’ve met Mr. Pibbles.”
“He has a name?”
“Oh definitely. He’s our house mascot.”
Ranik rushes breathlessly out of a room down the hallway, clothes and papers in his hands as he motions into it.
“In here.”
The room is small and painted dark blue, with glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling. The bed is a simple queen-size, with messy plaid covers that look like he just made it. Boxes line one wall, filled with clothes and books. Except for a laptop on a desk and a chair, there’s no other furniture. Vintage movie posters line his walls, and a guitar case sits propped up in one corner. His window overlooks the city, the lights twinkling in the night through the curtain. Everything smells like pine needles and old fabric.
Miranda helps me onto the bed, and Ranik hovers uncertainly in the doorway. Seth pushes past him with a first-aid kit.
