Kayla and her classmates perform jumping jacks on a glossy floor. The gym room is full of teens who appreciate the refreshing breeze from the windows. Fred shoots hoops with a girl. He defends the ball. His stance is wider than his shoulder-width, knees bent, his weight is on the balls of his feet. The girl dribbles, blocking Fred’s hands, which are out to his side. He does a shuffling sort of dance. He tries to swipe the ball from the girl’s grasp; she blocks this by tugging it to her chest.
Kayla stops her jumping jacks, jogging over to join them. The girl passes the ball to Kay, who easily catches it, wiping sweat from her forehead. Fred traces the ball; his eyes find it in her hands. “Nice dancing; maybe you should do ballet.”
“I wouldn’t want to steal your spotlight.” He dives for the ball. Kay evades the attack, dribbling and striding the court. “But then again... I’ll look good in a tutu.”
Kayla buckles to her knees, cackling hysterically. Fred steals the ball and runs it to the basket to dunk. “That’s not fair... you cheated!”
He reverse runs past her. “Basketball 101.” His maroon hair gleams in the sunlight as fire would. “Let’s go again. Marla, you wanna tag team?”
Marla, a tall girl, shakes her racer-back shirt to fan herself. “Sure... but we need someone else to even it out. 2 on 2.”
Fred examines the gym room, his eyes landing on a quiet boy at the top of the bleachers. This teen holds his backpack close to his body with a dismal expression. “We can ask the new kid?” He suggests. “That’ll get him out of his shell.”
“True.” Kayla treks to the bleachers. I’ll be back. Okay, how should I introduce myself? Hello, I’m Kayla. Or, Hey, I’m Kayla? I don’t want to sound too formal. I think I’ll stick with the last one. She decides, stepping up the stairs and to the aisle the boy is in. She waves at him. “Hey, I’m Kayla.”
“Oh... hey.” The chubby boy says guardedly, not sure why she’s talking to him. “I’m Luke.”
Kay sits beside him. “Hi, Luke. So... we want to invite you to play ball.” She points to Marla and Fred, who use the cue to wave. Fred does this obnoxiously, much like a wacky inflatable man. “It’ll be fun.”
Luke’s eyes lower. “I don’t know how to play. I’ll just stay here.”
“Don’t worry; we won’t judge.”
“But everyone else will...” he whispers solemnly.
“Ignore them.” She beckons to Luke, offering her hand. He’s hesitant for a few seconds before accepting her kind gesture.
After school, yellow buses line the curb, waiting for students to pile aboard. Kayla, Jia, and Mya stroll the sidewalk. Rush hour crams vehicles into tight lines. The sun scorches, revealing the girls’ impeccable skin. It’s crystal clear due to good food hygiene and restful sleep. No dark spots, and minimal acne, thanks to expensive skincare. The ballerinas must be flawless for every show and appear as a fantasy. Which they are. The majority of their peers have typical teen acne, while they appear as airbrushed celebrities.
Ahead is a busy Starbucks, the line bends around the corner. The baristas prepare drinks beyond the windows, adding cream and sugar to steaming cups. “Why is there sugar everywhere?” Kayla grumbles, upping her pace to a power walk, too seduced to trust herself from the urge.
They meet up with Darius, who awaits them on the corner. He hugs his girlfriend firmly. She locks her arms around his neck. “Hey you.”
“Hey, you.”
Darius nods to her girls. “What’s up?”
“Same old, just tons of homework.” Jia shrugs.
“Sup, lover boy.” Mya ups her chin coolly. “She’s all yours. See you tomorrow, Kay.” She retreats down the stairway with Jia.
Darius and Kayla remain embraced; he kisses her nose. “How was school?”
“Boring. How about you?”
“Fun... and sweet. Some boy sent me hearts.”
“I bet it was a boy you really like.”
“Hmm...maybe.” Kayla stares at her boyfriend with a penetrating gaze.
Okay, here it goes. I gotta tell him. Anxiety eats at her stomach. Her eyes go hesitant; bouncing in every direction as she tries to prepare her confession. Oh, I can’t! Oh yes, I can! Get it together!
She searches her mind for a different language—one she began learning at eight years old. “Je vous aime.” Kayla speaks fluid French; the words romantically roll off her tongue.
This catches her boyfriend off guard. “Huh?” Darius is clueless. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Kay simpers while strolling on. The traffic sign changes to a walking figure, guiding them safely across.
“Was that French? What does that mean?” She inverts her lips, hiding them completely. “Was it something sweet?”
“I can’t say.”
“It sounded sweet.”
The couple arrives at the towering skyscraper. “Still coming in?”
“Of course, I need to make sure you’re safe.” The vintage wood elevator lets out to the chic penthouse. “Wait here.” His protective mode activates. Darius drops her bookbag and leaves, scanning the living and dining room as he heads down the long hall. He searches the office for any intruders. Next are the closets—nothing but clothes hang within. In the bedroom, he does a 360-sweep before exiting.
The two bathrooms are inspected. He checks behind each door. The kitchen is enclosed by elongated windows, which peer down to stuffed streets. Upstairs, he scans the art studio, then goes out to a balcony where furniture and a firepit are. No one is there.
Darius descends the staircase. “All is good.”
“I told you; I’ll be okay.”
He exhales hard. “Still, you shouldn’t be here by yourself.”
Kayla stares at her feet, shifting her weight from side to side. “I know... but it’s okay.” She gives a shaky grin. “I’m used to it.”
Darius cups her chin into his palm. “I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
“Okay.”
His lips pleasantly brush her forehead. “I love you.” Kayla swallows hard. Her shoulders strain. Her eyes reluctantly drop to the floor. He caresses his fingers through her textured hair. “You don’t have to say it back.” Darius comforts her , sensing her nerves skyrocketing. “Bye.”
“Bye,” she murmurs.
Her boo boards the elevator. Kayla turns to watch him, still nervous. She musters enough courage now that he’s not facing her. Her cupid bow lips mouth the words: I love you. When the lift opens, Darius waves. She waves back as the elevator doors close.
Kay observes the quiet penthouse, her hands beating at the sides of her legs. She’s lonely and bored without his company. I wish he could have stayed, but I’d rather not get in trouble. Darius is right. I shouldn’t be here alone. Yes, the place is a fairytale; I love it... but the home part is missing.
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