“I can’t accept this,” Ezme pushes away the piece of paper that Daniel hands her, “I barely know you-”
“Ah but you know this is a deal you can’t turn down,” Daniel teases. If he were better looking, I bet all the girls at this school would be swooning over this ‘American Boy’, born and raised in South Detroit!
Ezme’s expression is the human equivalent of a rabbit caught in the bright yellow headlights; backed and trapped into a corner. I’m starting to think that maybe she is descended from a mouse or a rabbit; the way she acts sometimes is very animalistic. And frightened. Very frightened.
“You ain’t scared, are you?” Daniel jokes, but does a double take at her expression. “Hey, you are, aren’t you?”
Ezme’s reply is hard to catch, from my position at 10Cs window (I take pleasure in being invisible sometimes, if it means that I can loiter around in my enemies’ rooms), her voice quietened by her timid-rabbit-feelings.
“I’ve never performed properly…”
“Yeah but you humour those freaks with the ‘Francis Dance’. I know, I’ve seen you. You’re a natural born performer and you don’t care what they say.”
“I’m an actor, Daniel-it is Daniel, right? - that’s why I came to this school, because of their facilities for acting. It’s all different when it comes to singing…It’s just, well, I-”
But she is cut off by the end of lunch bell. A shrill signal to scream the beginning of afternoon torture-I mean, lessons!
“Here, doll, take the number: Business only.” And with that he winks at her and swaggers off, eager to join his mates in their next class. Though, somehow, I know he won’t tell them of this meeting.