Home > Darling, Dance with Me

Darling, Dance with Me
Author: Aisling Magic



“Donkey’s fudge, Kaci, you’ve got nice clothes,” Candee raves, inspecting the Roxy T-shirts Mom got me last summer.

Three things about Candee. First, she’s my new roommate. Second, she’s an old Goodreads friend. And third, she’s got some interesting swear words which have been keeping my mind off certain people lately, namely my ex-boyfriend and my supposed best friend.

“My mom got me those,” I admit, debating whether I should open my shoebox now or later. “And I kind of like them all, so that’s why I brought them.”

She chews on her lips for a few seconds. “Just so I know, okay? Are you a supporter of clothes swapping between roommates or not?”

Her question makes my lips twist up. She’s been eyeing my clothes since they got out of my suitcase. “I’m a supporter.”

She jumps out of her bed and throws herself into my arms. “And this is the exact instant I fell in love with you,” she whispers with earnestness, eliciting a laugh from me.

“You’re welcome to share my stuff, but I have rules.”

She crosses her arms. “I’m all ears.”

“No borrowing of underwear.”

She scrunches her nose at me. “Of course not. What has graced your butt crack will not be near my butt crack.”

That’s such a horrible image, but it’s Candee, so it’s not surprising. “Second, please ask before you take anything because I might have already decided to wear it.”

“Of course. I was planning to ask anyway. I’d never take something without permission,” she confesses and then lifts her index finger. “Maybe I’ll take your food without asking for permission.”

“That’s fine unless you start starving me to death.”

“That’ll never happen,” she swears. “And I guess the last rule is to return the clothes washed.”


“Great.” She jumps back on her bed. “Those are easy ones. My clothes aren’t as cool as yours, but you’re welcome to borrow mine anytime—same rules.”

“Great.” I clap my hands together. “Glad we settled that.”

Candee grabs her notebook and crosses another item off her checklist. She came prepared with a list of things that needs to be done before college. I’m glad Candee turned out to be the organized one. She’s cool, she’s open, and she doesn’t believe she’s in competition with the rest of the female population.

Last week, I caught my boyfriend (I guess we can call him ex-boyfriend now) kissing my ex-best friend, so with my acceptance to Russell University in hand, I packed my bags and hightailed it to the beautiful town of Wishme. Luckily, the dorms were open early for us to move in. With Candee by my side, I’m sure I’ll be able to find a remedy for this heartache. So far, her company has been delightful. My major is English literature and language, while Candee chose communications and media. Another reason why I feel she’s going to be the perfect roommate.

“So, number six is staying physically healthy,” she reads from her notebook and looks at me. “In other words, practice some kind of exercises.”

My nose wrinkles. I’m not a huge fan of exercising but I do love to run. It gives me the solitude that helps clear my head.

“According to Google, physical fitness boosts your mental capabilities and helps fight college stress,” she continues, putting the notebook down to help me separate my T-shirts, jeans, and shorts.

“My bones may be too lazy for this sports stuff,” I admit.

“Seriously? According to Google, men who don’t exercise have floppy dicks, and I don’t want to be amongst the poor females who’ll deal with those willies.”

“I didn’t know that, but how does it help me? Last I checked, I still fall in the female category.”

Candee huffs out an annoying breath. “Men who go to the gym and exercise have a firm meat popsicle. And, on the other hand”—she raises her index finger—“those who do not exercise have floppy ones, right? So, if we go to the gym, we’ll, you know, be friends with the good ones.”

“Okay. We’ll have access to the college gym, so I guess we can exercise then,” I grumble, placing the separated clothes in the closet.

“But then we’ll never know the locals, the town, or the different places here. All we’ll know is college, which will be as sad as a skunk’s ass,” she pouts, looking at me with puppy eyes. “And aren’t you interested to know what happens in a town that’s named Wishme?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Maybe wishes come true here.”

I’ll admit, when I was researching Russell University, I wanted to know more about this Wishme town, but after what happened back home, I lost interest. “Fine. I guess we can see what Wishme has to offer.” I finally get to the box of shoes. “These are my shoes. Flats, sneakers, and heels,” I say, standing beside the box, knowing she’ll crush me if I stand between her and the shoes.

As expected, she rushes to the box and opens it like a child opens a Christmas present. She squeals. It’s amusing to watch her excitement, but at the same time, it saddens me because I know Candee can’t afford a lot of things—Dad did a little background check before finally declaring her “safe” as my roommate.

“I promise I’ll keep them safer than my underwear,” she promises, caressing my velvety, royal-blue, ankle boot to her cheek. “Can I try?”

“You should,” I prompt, “so you know whether they fit or not.”

“Eeeee …” She throws her ass on the bed and wipes her sole with her hand before sliding the shoe in. “It’s a little loose, but I can wear it,” she says, lifting her shoulders a little.


She places the boot back in the box and goes back to her bed. “Now, for our physical fitness, I saw a studio when I went to the store yesterday, and their board says they have some classes starting next week, including a Zumba class, which I find interesting. What do you think?”

“Zumba? Yeah, why not.”

“Do you think we can go tomorrow? I have some stuff to buy at the store too,” she asks, folding her legs.

Back in the box, I slide the shoes underneath my bed. “Sure. Tomorrow’s good.”







“So,” Candee starts, curling her legs on the bed as she reads from the list. “I have to buy a desk lamp, a laundry bag, a shower caddy, and an ethernet cable.”

“I’ll drop you at the store, get us enrolled in the Zumba class, and then pick you up,” I answer, dropping my purse and phone in my mini backpack. Today, we’re buying the few things Candee is missing and crossing number six off her to-do list: figure a plan to stay healthy—#ForSexyBoys.

“Great, let’s get going,” she says, flipping her ponytail.

I’ve chosen to wear a gray cotton T-shirt with the words “Don’t Cluck with Me” written in yellow—the T-shirt was gifted to me by an author, who loves chickens, at a signing event—and a pair of faded denim shorts because I don’t want to squeeze a gallon of sweat out of my clothes by the end of this trip. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve already learned that Wishme is an oven in summer, so I’ve twisted my hair into a messy bun. In short, I look like I just stepped out of bed, but that doesn’t matter. It will be a short trip.

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