Rise of the Wadjet Witch - By Juliet C. Obodo Page 0,33
lightly punched him in the arm. “No, tonight you’ll get a chance to see a shooting star.”
“Really? But we’re not even that high up. Are you sure we don’t need a telescope? And what makes you think that I haven’t seen one?”
“Oh, you have?” Her voice was filled with disappointment.
“No,” he quickly answered.
“Great.” She brightened up. “You’ll get to see one tonight because it’s a meteor. A type of Perseids, except it’s not a meteor shower but a single one—well, part of one. I used a meteor calculator to determine when it would fall. I’m not sure if my calculations were accurate—I was just playing around with the estimator—but I have a feeling that I may be right.” She looked up. “See? There it is!” She pointed up in the air behind him. He followed her finger and his face immediately lit up. Memphis couldn’t decide what was more amazing between him or the meteor. She couldn’t bear to tear her eyes away from him.
“Memphis, this is amazing,” he breathed. He met her eyes. The star disappeared.
“What about you? What’s your story?”
She had the sudden urge to open up to him. “I was a foster child, and I don’t remember my parents.”
“Are you Indian?”
“No,” she answered. Was he trying to guess her ethnicity?
“Italian. No, wait—Persian.”
Memphis laughed and shook her head. “I’m black.” She waited for his reaction.
He cocked his head. “Yeah, that makes sense. Ethiopian,” he mused, continuing his guessing game.
“Actually, I’m not so sure. I only discovered that I was black while I was in college.”
“That’s insane. How did you find out?”
She could see his frown under the light of the moon. She told him about the professor who took a sample of her DNA.
“I didn’t think that was possible. Don’t all humans have the same DNA?”
“Yes, at a certain level; 99.9 percent of our DNA is identical, but it’s the .1 percent that makes us different, and about 1 percent of that .1 percent is different as a function of our differing history. He used a set of 176 genetic markers selected primarily because they show the most information about physical characteristics. Most of mine were found in people of African heritage. I’ve always wondered why I was able to tan so easily,” she joked.
“He sounds like quite a talented scientist.”
“He was. He died in a car accident that year.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He sat up to caress her cheek and looked deeply into her eyes.
“It was actually a little after he completed my test results. He said he found something else of interest, but he died before we could meet.”
Lawrence looked away. For some reason he didn’t ask what she thought the doctor might have found. Was the conversation about her race making him uncomfortable? Was he just like her old college boyfriend? He’d seemed receptive to her up until now.
“When I found out that I was of African descent, it made a lot of sense. Too bad my boyfriend at the time didn’t agree.”
“What do you mean?”
“He dumped me because of my race.”
“He must have been an idiot.”
She beamed. “He definitely was.”
“Do you have a boyfriend now?” he asked shyly.
He knew very well that she didn’t have a boyfriend, but she took it as a compliment.
“No, I do not.”
“You’re not attached, are you?”
A shadow crossed his face. “No,” he answered flatly. He then clumsily changed the subject. “I love your hair,” he said, grasping one of her many curls. “It’s amazing; your curls loosen and tighten according to your mood. Right now they’re loose waves.”
He was right. Memphis was surprised that he’d noticed. Her hair had responded to her moods since she was a child. He leaned in closer to analyze her coil pattern. She took the opportunity to note how long his eyelashes were. Why were some men blessed with such long lashes? It bothered her that she had to pile on mascara while he woke up practically with falsies.
Once again he caught her staring at him, and all her thoughts flew out of her head. He was right in front of her, but his energy surrounded her. He was intoxicating. She was certain that it wasn’t the sake. She felt this way at the office without a drop of alcohol in sight.
“What are you thinking?” His eyes bore into her.
Oh, now he asks. She wanted to deflect his attention, but instead he took all of hers. He placed two fingers at the base of her throat.
Her heart raced. “What are you doing?”
He took her hand