trays are full she hands the bowl to me. Then she reaches across the counter and pulls three spatulas from the pile. She gives one to me and one to Angela.
“Chocolate therapy,” she says.
The three of us dig into the bowl, scraping leftover chocolate-brownie batter onto the spatulas, then licking them. Soon our faces are even more covered in chocolate, and when there’s not enough left in the bowl for spatulas, I use my finger until my hand is sticky and my stomach tells me it’s time to stop.
Angela puts the two brownie pans into the oven and turns on the timer.
“I’ll wash up, girls,” her mom says. “You two go do something fun. I’ll let you know when the brownies are ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Angela says, giving her mom a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re being really nice to me,” I say to Angela when we get to her room.
“You sound surprised,” she says.
I can’t look at her as I say, “I was kinda selfish, and I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am, but also I’m your best friend. bffs, remember? We need to help each other when we’re in trouble,” Angela says.
“Are you in trouble? Are you being nice to me so I’ll be nice to you?”
“No, idiot!” Angela frowns and plunks herself on her bed. “You’re the one in trouble, remember. You didn’t study for English at all, did you? And every day you seem more and more tired. So something must be going on.”
“I just told you,” I say, sitting next to her.
“Dana’s costume and whether or not you’ll get picked? That’s it, really? That’s making you so stressed you can’t sleep?”
It’s like Angela and I are talking two different languages. “Of course it’s making me stressed. Wouldn’t it stress you out?”
“A bit, I guess,” she says.
“All I’ve ever wanted was to dance. That’s all. Is that too much to ask?” I say.
Angela looks at me like maybe I came from Mars. Then, out of the blue, she says, “Do you remember Amala’s choreography?”
“I think so.”
“Run through it with me. I need the practice,” Angela says.
“That’s because you’ve been skipping classes to hang out with Jonas,” I say with what I hope is a light tone.
“Amala’s okay with it, you know. I talked to her, and she said as long as I keep practicing at home and I come to the last rehearsals before the festival, she’s okay with me missing a couple of classes,” Angela says.
“Really? I can’t imagine Dana saying something like that.”
“So come on; practice with me. I promised Amala I’d do it every day.”
It’s not what I want to do, but then again, maybe dancing will make me feel better. “Okay,” I say.
Angela jumps across the room and puts her phone on the stand. She fiddles for a second, then says, “Ready?”
I scramble into position. “Ready.”
The music starts. It begins with the drums calling the other instruments, which join one by one as Angela and I snake our arms around us, building energy. Then the drums trill and we twirl, almost bumping into each other in the small space. The sequence of hip drops and kicks comes back to me as we do them, and when the bit with the fast hip and chest lifts starts, Angela and I both nail the transition. The music pauses, then builds from slow to fast. Angela and I pick up our shimmies starting at the hips and moving up to our shoulders. The music takes over my whole body, and I stop thinking and start feeling the beat within me, moving every inch of my body.
The music slows, and we catch the wave of sound with a body roll, drawing the music down from the air and through our bodies to the floor. We do a slow twirl, come back to the front and end.
“Wow! I can’t believe you remembered all that,” Angela says when the music stops.
“I can,” I say. “I love that choreography, and the music.” I flop onto the bed, which is a bad idea, because from here I can see Angela’s beautiful costume hanging on the back of her cupboard.
“I do too.
“Chocolate therapy,” she says.
The three of us dig into the bowl, scraping leftover chocolate-brownie batter onto the spatulas, then licking them. Soon our faces are even more covered in chocolate, and when there’s not enough left in the bowl for spatulas, I use my finger until my hand is sticky and my stomach tells me it’s time to stop.
Angela puts the two brownie pans into the oven and turns on the timer.
“I’ll wash up, girls,” her mom says. “You two go do something fun. I’ll let you know when the brownies are ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Angela says, giving her mom a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re being really nice to me,” I say to Angela when we get to her room.
“You sound surprised,” she says.
I can’t look at her as I say, “I was kinda selfish, and I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am, but also I’m your best friend. bffs, remember? We need to help each other when we’re in trouble,” Angela says.
“Are you in trouble? Are you being nice to me so I’ll be nice to you?”
“No, idiot!” Angela frowns and plunks herself on her bed. “You’re the one in trouble, remember. You didn’t study for English at all, did you? And every day you seem more and more tired. So something must be going on.”
“I just told you,” I say, sitting next to her.
“Dana’s costume and whether or not you’ll get picked? That’s it, really? That’s making you so stressed you can’t sleep?”
It’s like Angela and I are talking two different languages. “Of course it’s making me stressed. Wouldn’t it stress you out?”
“A bit, I guess,” she says.
“All I’ve ever wanted was to dance. That’s all. Is that too much to ask?” I say.
Angela looks at me like maybe I came from Mars. Then, out of the blue, she says, “Do you remember Amala’s choreography?”
“I think so.”
“Run through it with me. I need the practice,” Angela says.
“That’s because you’ve been skipping classes to hang out with Jonas,” I say with what I hope is a light tone.
“Amala’s okay with it, you know. I talked to her, and she said as long as I keep practicing at home and I come to the last rehearsals before the festival, she’s okay with me missing a couple of classes,” Angela says.
“Really? I can’t imagine Dana saying something like that.”
“So come on; practice with me. I promised Amala I’d do it every day.”
It’s not what I want to do, but then again, maybe dancing will make me feel better. “Okay,” I say.
Angela jumps across the room and puts her phone on the stand. She fiddles for a second, then says, “Ready?”
I scramble into position. “Ready.”
The music starts. It begins with the drums calling the other instruments, which join one by one as Angela and I snake our arms around us, building energy. Then the drums trill and we twirl, almost bumping into each other in the small space. The sequence of hip drops and kicks comes back to me as we do them, and when the bit with the fast hip and chest lifts starts, Angela and I both nail the transition. The music pauses, then builds from slow to fast. Angela and I pick up our shimmies starting at the hips and moving up to our shoulders. The music takes over my whole body, and I stop thinking and start feeling the beat within me, moving every inch of my body.
The music slows, and we catch the wave of sound with a body roll, drawing the music down from the air and through our bodies to the floor. We do a slow twirl, come back to the front and end.
“Wow! I can’t believe you remembered all that,” Angela says when the music stops.
“I can,” I say. “I love that choreography, and the music.” I flop onto the bed, which is a bad idea, because from here I can see Angela’s beautiful costume hanging on the back of her cupboard.
“I do too.
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