sunk deeper with every beat of his heart; it echoed in my ribs. I blinked against a perplexing stinging within my eyes.
Then, Beyonce sang , “I’m feelin’ seeeeexy ,” and I was promptly yanked out of my vortex of warm and fuzzy Nico quicksand.
There were a number of contributing factors to my rude awakening, and they occurred all at once:
The tempo of the music escalated from slowmo “True” to the substantively more upbeat Beyonce’s “Naughty Girl.”
Three women appeared out of nowhere —or rather, what felt like nowhere in that moment—and surrounded us.
Two of the women grabbed Nico’s arms.
One of the women said very loudly and very close to my ear, “Come on, Nico—we want to dance!”
Nico , looking a bit stunned, turned toward the very loud woman, and I was forced to step back; the group of three was hip gyrating and arm waving and hair flinging. I lifted my own arms to protect against incidental bodily injury and glanced around me, somewhat surprised that Nico and I were in a room full of people—because sometime during the last several minutes I apparently forgot that he and I were not alone.
I searched the perimeter of the dance floor looking for Sandra. My eyes met with a tall, brown -haired man that I didn’t recognize; he was watching me openly. Disconcerted, I glanced to his left and I met the gaze of medium-sized woman—also watching me. It was at that point I realized everyone in the room who was not currently dancing—and even some who were—was blatantly watching me. It didn’t seem to occur to them that openly watching a person was strange.
Someone pinched my elbow , and I turned to find Sandra at my side. She was shaking her booty. Next to her was a man I almost recognized, and he was also booty shaking. She flung a toothy smile at my frowning face and leaned into my ear.
“Hey —you remember this guy?” Sandra indicated with her thumb toward her dance partner. “He said you two were lab partners in biology.”
I brought the tall semi-stranger back into focus , and, once my brain started working again, I was surprised that I could confirm he was indeed Micah Becker. “Yes—oh my gosh, hey Micah—nice to see you.”
I extended my hand to him, and he gave me a lopsided grin. He accepted my hand and—instead of shaking it—he twirled me. “Elizabeth, it’s so good to see you—I didn’t recognize you until Sandra told me who you were.”
“Oh— ” I stumbled through the twirl then, once I was certain I wouldn’t trip, gave his hand a firm shake and released it. “Good to see you too—you look a lot different . . . also.”
I didn’t really remember much about Micah because we’d barely spoken during high school. He’d been even quieter than I was. I remembered that he wore flannel shirts every day with jeans and Dr Martens. His hair had been a buzz cut, and his blue eyes were hidden behind large glasses.
Now his black hair was stylishly cut, his blue eyes no longer concealed, and he stood a good six inches taller. The dress shirt he wore clearly signaled that he had a decent body. In fact, I could barely see the seventeen-year-old kid in the booty shaking man before me.
“Dance, girl .” Sandra bumped her hip against mine and smiled at Micah. “Do you think you can handle both of us?”
Micah turned his smiling blue eyes to Sandra. “No—I’m pretty sure I can’t, but I’d like to try.”
My mouth dropped open. Who is this person?
This was not the Micah I knew. This Micah was confident and sorta handsome. It’s amazing what ten years and nice clothes can do for a person.
Or, maybe more precisely, it’s amazing what maturity and adulthood can do for a person.
Sandra threw her head back in laughter and grabbed my hand as she encouraged me to dance. I complied, a little dazed at first, still feeling lingering gazes from the crowd. At first I kept my eyes on Sandra and Micah and the floor, because every time I glanced around the room
Then, Beyonce sang , “I’m feelin’ seeeeexy ,” and I was promptly yanked out of my vortex of warm and fuzzy Nico quicksand.
There were a number of contributing factors to my rude awakening, and they occurred all at once:
The tempo of the music escalated from slowmo “True” to the substantively more upbeat Beyonce’s “Naughty Girl.”
Three women appeared out of nowhere —or rather, what felt like nowhere in that moment—and surrounded us.
Two of the women grabbed Nico’s arms.
One of the women said very loudly and very close to my ear, “Come on, Nico—we want to dance!”
Nico , looking a bit stunned, turned toward the very loud woman, and I was forced to step back; the group of three was hip gyrating and arm waving and hair flinging. I lifted my own arms to protect against incidental bodily injury and glanced around me, somewhat surprised that Nico and I were in a room full of people—because sometime during the last several minutes I apparently forgot that he and I were not alone.
I searched the perimeter of the dance floor looking for Sandra. My eyes met with a tall, brown -haired man that I didn’t recognize; he was watching me openly. Disconcerted, I glanced to his left and I met the gaze of medium-sized woman—also watching me. It was at that point I realized everyone in the room who was not currently dancing—and even some who were—was blatantly watching me. It didn’t seem to occur to them that openly watching a person was strange.
Someone pinched my elbow , and I turned to find Sandra at my side. She was shaking her booty. Next to her was a man I almost recognized, and he was also booty shaking. She flung a toothy smile at my frowning face and leaned into my ear.
“Hey —you remember this guy?” Sandra indicated with her thumb toward her dance partner. “He said you two were lab partners in biology.”
I brought the tall semi-stranger back into focus , and, once my brain started working again, I was surprised that I could confirm he was indeed Micah Becker. “Yes—oh my gosh, hey Micah—nice to see you.”
I extended my hand to him, and he gave me a lopsided grin. He accepted my hand and—instead of shaking it—he twirled me. “Elizabeth, it’s so good to see you—I didn’t recognize you until Sandra told me who you were.”
“Oh— ” I stumbled through the twirl then, once I was certain I wouldn’t trip, gave his hand a firm shake and released it. “Good to see you too—you look a lot different . . . also.”
I didn’t really remember much about Micah because we’d barely spoken during high school. He’d been even quieter than I was. I remembered that he wore flannel shirts every day with jeans and Dr Martens. His hair had been a buzz cut, and his blue eyes were hidden behind large glasses.
Now his black hair was stylishly cut, his blue eyes no longer concealed, and he stood a good six inches taller. The dress shirt he wore clearly signaled that he had a decent body. In fact, I could barely see the seventeen-year-old kid in the booty shaking man before me.
“Dance, girl .” Sandra bumped her hip against mine and smiled at Micah. “Do you think you can handle both of us?”
Micah turned his smiling blue eyes to Sandra. “No—I’m pretty sure I can’t, but I’d like to try.”
My mouth dropped open. Who is this person?
This was not the Micah I knew. This Micah was confident and sorta handsome. It’s amazing what ten years and nice clothes can do for a person.
Or, maybe more precisely, it’s amazing what maturity and adulthood can do for a person.
Sandra threw her head back in laughter and grabbed my hand as she encouraged me to dance. I complied, a little dazed at first, still feeling lingering gazes from the crowd. At first I kept my eyes on Sandra and Micah and the floor, because every time I glanced around the room
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