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“Fourteen,” I answer.
“And your name?”
“Pen.”
“You’re calledPen?” He grins again, snorting with mirth.
“Short for Penelope. I hate it. So call me Pen,got it?” I scowl a little, hating the fact he finds my name so amusing. I like Pen. I don’t like Penelope.
“Yeah, got it,” he retorts, holding his hands up in mock defence, watching me with his night-time eyes.
“Good.” No one’s gonna make me feel small. Besides, I’m used to kids throwing their weight around. It’s kinda what we do here on my estate. You either show the bullies that you’re a badass or you let them walk all over you. Despite my lack of height, I’m not a victim. Never will be. Besides, I’ve had plenty of practice dealing with shitty people, my brother’s the biggest bully on the estate and he takes great pleasure pushing me around. Blood might be thicker than water, but it means jackshit in my house. I hate him.
“Are you gonna tell me your name then?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting.
“It’s Zayn.”
“Zayn?” I snort with laughter, immediately thinking up rhyming words. “Zayn, the pain… in myarse.”
Zayn scowls. “I could be arealbig pain in your arse if you say that again.” He steps forward, puffing out his chest and staring down at me, the smile gone. For a moment, his black eyes don’t look so friendly. Now it’s me who’s backing off, though I don’t think he’d actually hit me like some of the arsehole’s my brother hangs around with would.
“Whoa, just kidding. Chill, man.”
“Iamchill…” He seems to shake himself. “Just don’t take the piss, and we’ll be good. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He makes a funny grunting sound that only makes me bite back another laugh. “So,Zayn, you were gonna prove to me you’re not some weirdo coming onto me, and can actually dance…” I say, standing back and folding my arms across my chest.
“What, right now?”
“Yeah, right now. It’s only fair.”
“There’s no music…”
“And?” I question. “You don’t see me wearing fancy headphones, do ya? I can remember a beat well enough. I got all the music I need up here,” I shrug, tapping a finger against my head.
To prove my point I start tapping my foot, swaying my body in time to the rhythm in my head.Filthyby Justin Timberlake starts to sound in my mind. When the first beat drops I lift my arms up and slide my foot across the floor, folding my body over as I turn my head to face Zayn. Giving him a quirk of my eyebrow, I make quick, jerking movements, keeping my hips still and torso stiff whilst moving the rest of my body robotically. Occasionally, I’ll intersperse my jerking movements with a smoother flow, my head rolling on my shoulders, my arms floating in the air as I spin on the ball of my feet. This is a dance I’m perfecting. A mash-up between contemporary and hip-hop, I guess. Well, at least I think it is given I only have YouTube to go by. Zayn watches me, a sudden light flashing in his eyes as he bops his head in time to my movements.
“Sick moves,” he says appreciatively.
“Thanks,” I respond, grinning back. Apart from my little sister, no one has ever complimented my dancing. Mum thinks it’s a waste of time and my non-existent father doesn’t even know my name; let alone the fact I love to dance. My brother, David, he just mocks me any chance he gets, all the while holding onto his fucking cross as though that absolves him of all his sins. Urgh. “Come on then, start moving…”
Zayn swaggers towards me. “Alright,Pen. Demanding, ain’t ya?”
I stand my ground as he lifts onto the balls of his feet then shifts back onto his heels as he moves from side-to-side. He smirks then flicks his right arm out to the side in a wave that undulates back up his arm across his shoulders and to his left arm, his body following the movement.
“That’s all you got?” I question. It’s customary to provoke another dancer, and something about the arrogance he’s showing makes me want to do just that. I can already tell by this one simple movement that he’s a good dancer, he has rhythm. I just ain’t gonna let him know that.
“I got it all, Pen. I got it all,” he responds, taking the bait.
Zayn crosses his legs and spins on his feet, working his shoulders and snapping his wrists in time to a beat only he can hear. When he holds his arms out wide then smirks, I know he’s about to throw an impressive move. I wait, holding my breath. My skin prickles as he flips forward onto his hands and lifts his legs up in the air, scissor-kicking before flipping over and landing before me, kicking up dust and tiny grains of stone as he moves. He straightens up, panting, then crosses his arms over his chest and gives me this cute little smirk like he knows he’s the shit.
Heisthe shit. This boycandance.
“Believe me now?” he asks, meeting my gaze.
“Yeah, I believe you.”
