Khosi threw his head back and bellowed, ‘Come on—’
‘No, you come on, chief. I have a picture of you wearing Mrs Majoro’s church wig with your hand on your hip. You can’t do your smooth boy shit with me. I know you—’
Khosi held a sassy hand out and stopped me in my tracks. ‘First of all, I slayed in that wig. Second of all, you know I could never think that. You lead, I follow. That’s the reason I was wearing the wig in the first place. It was your idea to steal it and I would have done anything to make you laugh. It was also your idea to choreograph that dance we used to do to “Khona”。’ He paused and tucked his lip between his teeth, eyes gleaming with an idea. I instantly started shaking my head, my blood running cold as I held a single warning finger up.
‘Khosi. No. Nope. I am not—’
But he was already calling to his boy in charge of the bluetooth, impervious to the curious looks of his peers, who wondered at the cross-species interaction. Popular and plebeian. Normal and abnormal. The first hits of the drum resounded through the room.
‘Turn it up!’ Khosi yelled out. I wanted to be annoyed, but my scowl had barely assembled when my smile broke through. Such was Khosi’s power. His shoulders were bouncing to the beat as he backed his way to the centre of his cleared-out living room, arms outstretched in front of him, hands rhythmically beckoning me.
‘You know I can’t dance without you, Leli.’
His face weakened my resolve. We, of course, had drawn in an audience. Letsha had pushed her man to the side and was looking at me with wide, gleeful eyes as she nodded and mouthed a ‘do it’， fortified by the knowledge of the many dances I’d made us do in her room in front of YouTube. I exhaled heavily.
‘This is your birthday present for the next ten years.’
Khosi’s smile broadened as I stood next to him and started on the intricate legwork. The room exploded into whoops and hollers as Khosi joined in, muscle memory aiding us as we fell into step, hopping and twisting and bending, arms swishing sharply through the air. We were in a years-old private conversation that felt timeless, our vocabulary complex, layered, energy gaining momentum. This was us running around in synthetic curly wigs. This was us racing each other in his family pool （ironically, I always won）。 My self-awareness fell away and I felt easy in my skin, free within it. Khosi was a little clumsier than me, slower, and eventually he stopped, letting me finish the dance on my own. I fell into centre stage. I finished to raucous applause; his cheers the loudest, his smile the widest. I’d forgotten we were being watched. He bowed before me.
I laughed. ‘Why did you put yourself through that? You know I’m the better dancer.’
His shoulder twitched. ‘I told you. Anything to make you laugh.’
The force of Khosi’s gaze pushed words back into my throat. I swallowed.
‘Khosi! We run out of ice, man!’ The sound of his boy’s voice made us both jump.
Khosi’s eyes stayed fastened to my face as he called out, ‘There’s some more in the outside freezer! In the garage.’
‘Where’s that?’ the voice intruded again.
Khosi swore under his breath and shook his head. ‘Idiots.’ He swept his thumb over my racing pulse and dipped his head to ensure I was looking him in the eye. ‘Don’t move.’
‘Too out of breath from being the Beyoncé of this party to move.’
Khosi laughed as he backed away from me, eyes dancing into mine. His bottom lip tucked into his teeth in a way that made me acutely aware of every single part of my body, before he put two hands together in prayer and lightly jogged towards the back door.
I hadn’t realised how stilted my breath had been till I’d released a heavy exhale, the thrills I’d been trying to ignore rushing to the surface and making me hot all over. The butterflies in my belly told me that my affection for Khosi had undergone a metamorphosis. Who’d have thought having a gigantic crush on the boy who once asked me if Titanic was based on a Shakespeare play would be my destiny.
‘That was cute.’
Though I only vaguely recognised the voice, it was enough to dissolve my smile and sour my sweet dreaming. I turned around to see Keeya, head at a tilt, her lips a glossy curve. Letsha had spotted the scene from across the room and was already striding towards us. I shook my head surreptitiously. Having a bodyguard would only make me look weak. I returned Keeya’s fake smile.
‘What was, Keeya?’
The sparkly eyeshadow she was wearing only made the dark glint in her eye more pronounced.