Mists of the Serengeti(46)

“God, you English! Never mind. Moving on to the second word.” He sashayed like a diva across the room, hips swinging, fanning his face, and fluttering his lashes.

I was about to take a guess when Jack piped in again.

“Don Quixote,” he said, head still bent over his desk.

“That’s right!” said Bahati, holding the book up for us to see.

“How the hell is that Don Quixote?” I asked. “You pointed to your arse.”

“Ass, as in donkey. But you say arse, which doesn’t work. So then I moved on to being a hottie. Donkey hottie.” Bahati clapped his hands together. “Don Quixote.”

“That’s just . . . there’s just no way in hell . . .”

“You try to pull off Don Quixote. Besides, Jack got it.” Bahati gloated.

I glanced at Jack. He was busy writing something, but I caught the slight upturn of his mouth.

“No.” I walked over to him. “I don’t believe it. Something’s not right here.”

Jack put his pen down and sat back, regarding me with eyes that looked like rain on wild, blue forget-me-nots. “What are you saying, Rodel?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” My eyes narrowed on him. I grabbed my book and swiveled on my heels.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

God. That voice. It made me feel like I should be marching straight to his bedroom.

“Out. With Mr. Darcy,” I replied, heading for the porch. It was my favorite thing to do at the end of the day—snuggle up with a good book on the swing.

I wasn’t too far into my date with Mr. Darcy when Mr. Warden showed up, blanket in hand.

“I thought you could use this,” he said. “It’s chilly out tonight.”

I ignored him and kept my nose stuck in my book.

“Yep, definitely some frost in the air.” The porch swing creaked as he sat down next to me.

“All right, fine,” he said, after he got tired of listening to the crickets chirp. “No one ever touches those books, except for you, so everyone pretty much has its own spot. I could tell which books you and Bahati picked.”

I kept my eyes on my book for a few moments. Then I reached for a corner of the blanket Jack had brought and tugged it across my lap. Jack might have smiled, and maybe I did too, but it was just the tiniest bit. Book nerds find that kind of thing sexy—a man who knows his book shelves like the back of his hand.

Oh, my dear, dear Darcy, I thought. I’m in so much trouble. I know I’m in deep when even you can’t hold my attention. I hold my breath every time I pass his door. My skin tingles every time he sits next to me.

I flipped my book shut and cast my glance at the crescent moon. It hung amongst clusters of stars, its halo bright against the charcoal sky.

“I’m scared, Jack.”

“Of what?”

Of never feeling about anyone else the way I feel about you.

“Of tomorrow,” I replied. “After what happened with Juma, I don’t know what to expect.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“I want to show you something.” He flipped through it until he found a video. “This is the last dance performance I have of Lily’s. I recorded it a few weeks before she died. The look on her face—it’s pure joy.”

Lily lit up the small stage. She hopped off her right foot, then her left, swinging her arms in fun, upbeat moves. It was half choreographed, half free-style, and she couldn’t stop smiling through it. When she finished, she pointed to the camera and sent her dad a flying kiss before taking a bow.

“She always told me to sit in the front row, so she could find me.”

“She’s amazing.” I couldn’t bring myself to use the past tense, not with her energy and enthusiasm coming through so clearly.

“She wasn’t always easy with it. This was her, the first time she got on stage.” Jack showed me another video.

It was a different Lily, younger, but also unsure and nervous as hell. She was part of a group, and she lagged behind everyone because she was taking her cues from them. Her moves were small and stilted, as if she were dancing in a box that restrained her. She didn’t make it all the way through. Instead, she walked off the stage and slipped behind the curtains, while the rest of the group completed the performance.

“She was terrified because she looked different from all the other kids. Being biracial isn’t easy for a kid. She seemed to be okay in class, but up on stage with all those people watching, she lost her nerve. I didn’t think she’d want to go back. But she did. She watched this over and over again. And each time she accepted herself a little more, saw her own beauty, practiced the moves, gained more confidence. She asked me to record her next performance. And the next one. Then she watched those. Over and over again. Until she could go back and laugh at her first attempt.” Jack put his phone away and turned to me. “It’s okay to be scared, Rodel. I’m scared too. I stood in that parking lot, paralyzed by fear. I haven’t been able to shake it off. I don’t know if I ever will—if I’ll ever believe that the world is a safe place. Then I watch Lily’s videos, and you know what she says to me? That fear is a liar. Don’t let it whisper in your ear. Turn that shit off. Do what scares you. Over and over again. And one day, your fear will become so small, you’ll be able to laugh at it.”