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Alice Yang
Yang is a contributing columnist for the Fort Bend Star.
She is a student at Stephen F. Austin High School-FBISD.

This column expresses the personal opinions/views of the writer. If you would like to express your opinions/views regarding the column, write a SIGNED letter to the editor. Name can be withheld by request with a valid day time phone number.
 
Dancing Queen  

Iíve known her for a while but weíve never hung out.

She, a crazy extroverted ministerís daughter whose rebellious escapades introduced me to a whole new world; I, a sheltered good girl who could only wish to have those kinds of experiences.

We didnít match.

She didnít care about school. I did. She listened to rap and hip-hop. I, to rock. She could dance. I, well, look like a stumbling elephant when I do.

A group of us went out to a late night fiesta a couple of weeks ago. Since it was raining, and no one wanted to drive, all of us packed into two cars. The fast reggaetŘn music was pounding, the raining was drumming, and inside the car, all of us were laughing as the boys zig-zagged down Westheimerís racing each other.

She started to dance. Bobbing her head, shaking her chest, and just moving to the music. I was next to her, feeling a little awkward for my stiffness. But I didnít want to move either, for fear that I would look silly in front of the group of guys.

So I ended up watching how naturally she moved to the beat and feeling the pulse of music in my heart. When we got there, both of us went to the restroom. While checking out our images in the bathroom mirror, I asked her if she took dance lessons.

She didnít. But she was in a hip-hop dance group and just liked to have fun. I told her I was embarrassed by my own awkward dancing and she laughed.

ďAll you gotta do is feel the rhythm and just let go.Ē

I asked her how she could dance to any kind of music, and she replied that she didnít know. Then, she thrusted her body back and forth imitating hip-hop, swung her hips around doing salsa, and pinched her nose and shimmied down, reminiscent of the good olí Oldies.

I laughed, and we went out.

The party was great. We stuffed ourselves full of fajitas, and the legal guys got tipsy over margaritas. There was music playing and after about three hours, she and I went out to get some fresh air.

It was still drizzling and biting cold as we put on our hoodies and laughed at each otherís wind-bitten cheeks. We talked about her family, her friends, mine, and how we needed to hang out more.

It was funny, despite our differences, I had a great connection with her. Sheís one of those fun, carefree and confident girls whom everyone liked and wanted to know. As we laughed about our mutual friends and past secrets, I felt freer. I let my guard down, and just abandoned myself to the music, the party, the dance.

On our way home, the guys took the long route to prolong the drive. Everyone was tired, tipsy, and content. The music was still booming and the rain thudded against the windows. She bobbed her head to the beat, and after a few seconds, I did too. The guys laughed and followed.

It was one of the greatest drives back home. Past midnight, six of us squeezed into a car, music pounding along with the rain, and for a full thirty minutes, none of us said a word except to slur lyrics to the song.

Yang is a contributing columnist for the Fort Bend Star. She is a student in FBISD.

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   Last Update:  March 07, 2007