Riptide - By Lindsey Scheibe Page 0,31
steps, knowing it would be easier to lose someone who isn’t my lifeblood—losing Ford would undo me in more ways than I could count.
Confused and anxious, I set my drink on a nearby cooler.
Ford’s face has turned panicky. “I promised your folks I’d take care of you.”
Damien laughs. “It’s all good. We’re not running off anywhere secret, Brah. We’re kBraign="ju dancing.” Then he points. “Right over there, in plain sight.”
Ford’s eyes turn into slits. I can tell he’s annoyed by the way he works his jaw. He needs to realize he’s not on the clock right now. I wish Dad hadn’t said anything to him—he took that whole “take care of my baby girl” speech way too seriously.
I make an uncomfortable face at him and follow Damien, to the background of Bob Marley and the Wailers. This is out of control. Ford’s gonna be pissed. But this is a bonfire. It’s fun. Flirty. No strings attached. This is my one night to party. Things have been crazy at home—I just want one night with nothing on the line. Is that too much to ask?
Damien’s got the moves. His dancing makes me self-conscious. I’m not even close to his league. He dances toward me, hips swaying to the beat. He closes in on me and all of a sudden what was a couple of feet of space between us is now a couple of inches. The heat between us is palpable as we move in unison.
What was intended to be a quick dance turns into more songs than I can keep track of. Damien’s a freaking awesome dancer. He moves to the beat, kicking in an extra one every now and then with a shake of his chest. It makes me laugh and want to dance until the sun comes up and dissolves the magic that flourishes in the night. Then he spreads his arms out wide, shaking his hips and bobbing his knees at the same time. I shake my way in closer. And the best thing about Damien? He never settles down with anyone. I feel like Cinderella at the ball, but I welcome the safe pumpkin ending, because glass slippers belong in fairy tales.
If it weren’t for the few glances I keep stealing at Ford because of the ridiculous amount of guilt gnawing at me, I’d be having a lot more fun. I feel like such a jerk. But Ford seems okay now. He went from sitting by himself in a lawn chair to picking up a guitar and playing with a couple of guys. Girls are already headed his way.
I can’t stand it. I need to go over and make sure everything’s good between us.
The song fades out, and before Damien’s hands on my hips make me forget my need to check in on things with Ford, I pull away—barely.
“I need to go check on something. Maybe I can catch another dance in a few songs?”
“Catch ya later, babe.” Then he shrugs, like no biggie. His head’s already moving in rhythm with the new song, dreads swaying to a new beat.
I walk over to Ford, winding my way through a few groups of people. He looks so cute, playing guitar. I get a big goofy grin on my face and say, “How’s it going?”
Ford stops strumming for a millisecond and then starts back up again. He says, “Oh, it’s cool. Yeah, things are real cool.”
Feeling somewhat disappointed, although I’m not sure why, I say, “Good. I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
What is up with us, using the words “cool” and “good”? Hello? We have a plethora of options to choose from, thanks to the SAT.
Feeling awkward because Ford doesn’t say a word, I say, “Sweet. Well, I’ll find you later.”
I turn around and head back toward Damien, feeling a little distant and awkward after talking to Ford. More than anything, I feel kind of lonely. Damien’s dreadlocks swaying above the rest of the crowd catch my eye. We connect once again and he nods and waves for me to come back over and dance. It perks me up a little. I strut over to him, realizing that in my absence the Betties have begun flocking. Instead of the two of us dancing, I’ll be one of a group of girls gathered around him. He laughs, and I’m not sure if it’s because of all the girls or because he loves dancing so much.
So much for flirting, so much for feeling special. I retreat and make my