as she teetered on six-inch stiletto heels.
"How's it
going?" she asked, clapping her hands and giving an excited wiggle in her
skin-tight, spandex, purple mini-dress.
I wasn't the DUFF
in our friendship, but Lashonda was definitely the more gorgeous of the two of
us with her cocoa skin and dark eyes. By contrast my skin was pale and my hair
a feathery, flyaway brown mess unless trapped in a ponytail. My frame was
slight where Lashonda had curves in all the right places. I was a pre-makeover
version of Cinderella to her Nubian princess or a wren to her peacock. Like
tonight for instance. My flouncy-skirted cream dress paired with ballet
slippers washed out in comparison to her flamboyance.
I'd long ago gotten used to the way guys
drifted from me to her almost as if I'd turned invisible.
So when she
wiggled, Lashonda drew the lustful gaze of every guy within fifty
feet—and some gals—except, that is, the gaze of the guy I thought
of as Holden. He still had his attention firmly on me.
A zing of pleasure
began as a spot in my stomach, then blossomed into a warm blush up my neck and
into my face.
"You're
having a great time. Admit it," she said.
Fixing her with my most dagger-like,
arch-browed, condemning expression possible, I answered, "I can't believe
I let you talk me into this date. Quinn's a creep."
"He's a
running back," she defended.
"The two
aren't mutually exclusive," I observed.
"I can't
believe it," Lashonda said. "Quinn told Billy, and Billy told
Juliette, and Juliette told me that he really likes you. And she wouldn't lie
to me. Cheerleading sisters' code."
"Yeah, he
really likes me all right. He's used all fifty snaky hands on me plus his
forked tongue to prove it."
"Snakes have
no hands, Eve."
"Okay, but he
has no neck just like a snake and—anyway, you get my point. Besides, I
could be studying like my dad wanted. Then at least one of us would be happy
tonight."
I had the SATs
tomorrow and Dad was so not happy I'd decided to go to this dance.
"Ackk,"
Lashonda said. "The dance is so dismal that studying would be
better?"
When I nodded, she
put an arm around my shoulder. "Sorry, sweetie. But at least you gave it a
try. You've acted like you were afraid to try romance. It's unnatural."
"Afraid?"
I scoffed. "Hardly." Even as the words escaped I knew I was lying.
"Really?
'Cause this is the first date you've had since I've known you."
"And it might
be my last, girlfriend, if this is what I've got to look forward to."
"I told you a
million times, don't call me girlfriend," Lashonda said. "It just
sounds so damn lame when a white girl uses it. You make my ears bleed."
Lashonda always seemed to sound more urban when riled.
"Okay,"
I said, conceding with a toss of my hands into the air. "I don't want to render
you deaf."
She chuckled.
"You gotta put yourself out there. Life is short."
That's what
everybody at Double Dick had been saying ever since little Franky Abbot died so
suddenly just a month before.
"Just ditch
Quinn and go after someone else at the dance," Lashonda said.
My eyes darted to
Holden and then back to my friend. "I can't do that." Could I?
"Yes you can.
I'm going to," she said. "My 'date' may be Ronny but I'm going home
with someone else if I have anything to say about it."
She tilted her head
toward the dance floor where the object of her nod— Chase —was
doing a variation of the white guy overbite moves.
"Ooooh, girl.
He has a great booty." Lashonda held up two hands grasping mounds of air.
"Chase's butt looks like two hard, denim-encased cantaloupes in those
jeans."
She made a
smacking sound with her mouth. "I could just take a bite outa those
delicious melons."
A laugh burst from
me.
"What can I
say," she continued. "My heart hums when I see yummy buns."
"You should
put those lyrics to music."
She licked her
lips. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance."
Just then Chase,
the epitome of surfer-dude, scuttled to the side and gave me a view of his
dance partner.
"I
"How's it
going?" she asked, clapping her hands and giving an excited wiggle in her
skin-tight, spandex, purple mini-dress.
I wasn't the DUFF
in our friendship, but Lashonda was definitely the more gorgeous of the two of
us with her cocoa skin and dark eyes. By contrast my skin was pale and my hair
a feathery, flyaway brown mess unless trapped in a ponytail. My frame was
slight where Lashonda had curves in all the right places. I was a pre-makeover
version of Cinderella to her Nubian princess or a wren to her peacock. Like
tonight for instance. My flouncy-skirted cream dress paired with ballet
slippers washed out in comparison to her flamboyance.
I'd long ago gotten used to the way guys
drifted from me to her almost as if I'd turned invisible.
So when she
wiggled, Lashonda drew the lustful gaze of every guy within fifty
feet—and some gals—except, that is, the gaze of the guy I thought
of as Holden. He still had his attention firmly on me.
A zing of pleasure
began as a spot in my stomach, then blossomed into a warm blush up my neck and
into my face.
"You're
having a great time. Admit it," she said.
Fixing her with my most dagger-like,
arch-browed, condemning expression possible, I answered, "I can't believe
I let you talk me into this date. Quinn's a creep."
"He's a
running back," she defended.
"The two
aren't mutually exclusive," I observed.
"I can't
believe it," Lashonda said. "Quinn told Billy, and Billy told
Juliette, and Juliette told me that he really likes you. And she wouldn't lie
to me. Cheerleading sisters' code."
"Yeah, he
really likes me all right. He's used all fifty snaky hands on me plus his
forked tongue to prove it."
"Snakes have
no hands, Eve."
"Okay, but he
has no neck just like a snake and—anyway, you get my point. Besides, I
could be studying like my dad wanted. Then at least one of us would be happy
tonight."
I had the SATs
tomorrow and Dad was so not happy I'd decided to go to this dance.
"Ackk,"
Lashonda said. "The dance is so dismal that studying would be
better?"
When I nodded, she
put an arm around my shoulder. "Sorry, sweetie. But at least you gave it a
try. You've acted like you were afraid to try romance. It's unnatural."
"Afraid?"
I scoffed. "Hardly." Even as the words escaped I knew I was lying.
"Really?
'Cause this is the first date you've had since I've known you."
"And it might
be my last, girlfriend, if this is what I've got to look forward to."
"I told you a
million times, don't call me girlfriend," Lashonda said. "It just
sounds so damn lame when a white girl uses it. You make my ears bleed."
Lashonda always seemed to sound more urban when riled.
"Okay,"
I said, conceding with a toss of my hands into the air. "I don't want to render
you deaf."
She chuckled.
"You gotta put yourself out there. Life is short."
That's what
everybody at Double Dick had been saying ever since little Franky Abbot died so
suddenly just a month before.
"Just ditch
Quinn and go after someone else at the dance," Lashonda said.
My eyes darted to
Holden and then back to my friend. "I can't do that." Could I?
"Yes you can.
I'm going to," she said. "My 'date' may be Ronny but I'm going home
with someone else if I have anything to say about it."
She tilted her head
toward the dance floor where the object of her nod— Chase —was
doing a variation of the white guy overbite moves.
"Ooooh, girl.
He has a great booty." Lashonda held up two hands grasping mounds of air.
"Chase's butt looks like two hard, denim-encased cantaloupes in those
jeans."
She made a
smacking sound with her mouth. "I could just take a bite outa those
delicious melons."
A laugh burst from
me.
"What can I
say," she continued. "My heart hums when I see yummy buns."
"You should
put those lyrics to music."
She licked her
lips. "I'm gonna ask Chase to dance."
Just then Chase,
the epitome of surfer-dude, scuttled to the side and gave me a view of his
dance partner.
"I
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