I begun to protest with random gibberish, the only coherent word I was only able to blurt out was, "But!"
Both Mama and Papa were both giving me a thumbs-up. I knew that refusing my parent’s only request of the night would not do me any favors.
I gulped and began walking over to him. It’s strange how in a few seconds my mind could turn into the equivalence of a bowl of tapioca. I had no idea what to say, and now that he had already noticed me it was impossible to chicken out now.
“Uh,” I paused about three feet away from him, knowing that his first impression of me would be an idiot. His hands went into his suit pockets, and continued to not make any eye contact with me.
“What?” He questioned in an irritated tone. He stared at the wall, then the ceiling. “You come to ask me to dance too?”
Now that I was close enough, I could tell why he never made eye contact. He was fed up, tired of being asked to dance, tired of girls being interested in looks and never his talent. He was like a book, a completely open one with printed letters like neon signs.
“Actually,” I uttered much louder than I intended to, causing him to glance at me for full second before losing interest and looking away.
“I don’t want to dance with you.” This made him finally look at me in the eye. He raised an eye brow, in confusion and surprise.
“I, uh,” my face flushed, and I quickly bent over in a respectful bow, “I think that your piano playing was really good, and I really, really liked it!”
Before James even had the chance to respond, I had retreated back to the table for cover. As I sat back down, I looked at him from the corner of my eyes.