" You were great this morning." I see her looking only at the lead singer when she says this.
" Thank you," he replies, "That's going to be our first single."
The drummer adds, "Not quite. We need a female vocal for the chorus, but basically that would be it."
" Well, I'll be the first one to buy a copy," Anne giggles, to my astonishment.
The lead singer looks at me, smiling friendly. He holds my eyes with his for a moment, and for no reason, I struggle to breathe, a tightness suddenly crushing my chest.
Weirdly, I notice his eyes. They are bright green and it looks odd yet captivating against his dark skin. I am unable to look away.
Anne does not bother to introduce us, and I cannot think of one intelligent thing to say. I berate myself and think irritated how seriously ridiculous I am being, just standing here, star-struck.
I watch Anne flirt shamelessly with him, but he is obviously not interested and I start to feel a little sorry for her.
The bell chimes and we all walk out into the corridor together.
When the band members are a few paces further on, ahead of us, the lead singer looks back at me. He catches my eye and for a brief second, he holds my gaze with his. I feel everything around me turn foggy and for some peculiar reason I am only aware of him.
A momentary frown flashes across his brow, and then he turns back and they walk away laughing and joking.
Once it is only Anne and I walking toward our next class, she sighs loudly and says, "What I would give to be with him. I swear I have had a crush on Vincent for a whole year already, but he just does not notice me."
I agree with her, "He is very attractive."
I am shocked though. She is confessing something so personal to me, and I am confused how she could wish to be with him-he is black. Since I was old enough to understand, my dad has warned me to never, ever come home with a black boyfriend. My dad says he is not a racist, and although we can be friends with anybody of any race, creed or colour, he puts his foot down at interracial relationships. After years of hearing this, I would never even look twice at a black boy, or even contemplate having more than a friendly relationship with him.
My dad often tells me, jokingly serious, he has nothing against white people when it comes to me dating.
Now, as I listen to Anne gushing over Vincent while we walk along the corridor, I convince myself I could never like him in a romantic way, yet I can feel an unmistakable ball in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I try to push aside, but it feels like it is digging its claws into my sides, persistent and painfully real.