BRICK

They come to talk me down. Kimberly and her buttoned-up little activist boyfriend. Zeke is woke, but too brainy for the real world. All ideas, no clout.

He’s the type that thinks it was Martin Luther King’s powerful speeches that changed the world in the 1960s. It wasn’t. It was bodies in the street. It was a hundred cocked guns in Oakland. It was the promise of a revolution to follow.

They come talking to me about tweets and flyers and buttons. Naw, man. Let me hook you up.

They need me.

They need me to show them how to really make a stink.

JENNICA

Brick’s party is always the place to be. Does Kimberly think I’m stupid? “It’s not a party you want to be at.” I knew what that meant as soon as she said it.

I came anyway. In time to see Kimberly and Zeke sitting right up where I used to sit. Holding court with Brick. So I’m holding court with my good friend Jose Cuervo.

Screw them. Dance.

I don’t even know what she’s doing here. Some meeting. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Brick shows up to volunteer at a SCORE meeting. They’re barking up the wrong tree. I could tell them. But no.

Dance. Dance! Screw the revolution!

I miss this, if nothing else. The freedom of turning my body loose against the music. The softness of liquor in my veins. It’s been ages. Kimberly barely ever parties, says it doesn’t agree with her. So I’ve kept off it all, too, because we have fun together. I haven’t even missed it.

Doesn’t agree with her. Ha. Right now, tonight, I remember how crazy that used to sound. How could this feeling not agree with anyone?

Anyway, here she is, trying to live the life she wants me to walk away from. Hypocrite.

“Jennica.” Kimberly. She’s here now, with me on the dance floor. She puts her hand on my arm. “Jennica?”

I shake her off. “Leave me alone.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Dancing.” I writhe toward her, then away. The beat is strong, good.

“Let’s go home,” Kimberly says. Her warm eyes are concerned, and I hate it.

“I want to stay.” She’s with Zeke anyway. “It’s cool. You should finish your date.”

“We’re working,” she says. “It’s not a date. I care more about getting you home safe.”

Bitch. Now she wants to be the perfect roommate?

“I’m fine. I’m blowing off steam. I haven’t danced in ages. Just go. Have fun.” See? I can be the perfect roommate, too.

Kimberly’s reluctant.

I turn to Zeke. “Get her out of here. Show her a good time. I’m counting on you.”

Zeke pulls Kimberly aside. “She wants to stay. She doesn’t seem that drunk,” he says.

I smile inside. I’m trying not to seem that drunk.

“I don’t want to leave her here like this,” Kimberly says. “It’s a girl thing.”

“You wanna stay?”