Every Black Girl Dances by Candice Y. Johnson

Author:Candice Y. Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Odyssey Media
Published: 2023-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

“You shouldn’t have been up so late,” I tell Myzi.

“I wasn’t really up. Sometimes, I go in and check on Mom to make sure she doesn’t need anything or isn’t in pain. Besides, I wouldn’t have seen Pops trying to dip you if I was in bed.”

“He is smooth,” I laugh.

Myzi chuckles, then abruptly stops. “I haven’t really slept much since, you know . . .”

“Yeah. Me too.” We break our mutual glance and turn back to the monitors. “Hey, I think this scene’s missing something. The rhythm’s off. Can’t put my finger on it.” I lean closer to the monitor as if that will help me figure it out.

“Kam’s missing,” Myzi says to the screen. “We need him here because this part’s all about him. The close-up of the skate’s wheels means we’re moving forward instead of backward, no matter what life throws at us.” Myzi tosses her braids over her shoulder. The soft wisps of baby hairs crowning her hairline are lightly gelled like artwork. Smooth skin sans makeup maintains a natural glow; her long, fluttering lashes finish her polished look. “We can make it if we just keep on dancing. At least that’s what Kam said.”

“Is that what you’re doing, Myzi? Dancing?”

“What do you mean?” Her brows form a perfect arch.

“All this stuff with Mayor Miller, the drink throwing, balancing school with home. I don’t know how you make dealing with it all look so easy, girl. Knocking out straight-A’s like none of it ever happened. I would’ve already snatched out half my hair by now.” Not that I haven’t tried already.

“Oh, ain’t nobody playing with my education. I figure if I get the grades now, I can collect my coins later,” she smirks. “And I don’t let scraps get to me.”

“Scraps?”

“The term haters is outdated,” Myzi sniffs. “People like that are scraps to me. They pick at my plate, but they’re not keeping me from eating. At night, I sleep pretty, and they still have to wake up ugly.” Myzi’s deadpan delivery makes me laugh. She’s so serious too. I laugh again . . . until a new text from Hudson pings my cell.

Hudson: When are we going to talk about this?

Me: Maybe when the DNA test proves you ARE NOT the father.

I spare my ex (is he my ex yet?) the six seconds it takes me to tap my fingers across the screen, turn off notifications, and place the cell face down on the desk. “Hey, maybe we can replace the voice-over with instrumental music to kind of smooth out the rough edges and make it less tedious? You get what I’m saying? Let the skates speak for themselves.”

Myzi leans forward and cocks her head, scrutinizing. “I don’t mind trying anything to make it stronger. I just want to keep Kam’s vision for this the same. He was the first one to join the skating club, and it’s not right to cut him out because he’s not here.”

“Of course,” I assure her with a hand on her shoulder.

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