Read Online Midnight Taxi Tango by Daniel José Older - Free Book Online Page B

you is Kia Summers?”
    My heart lurches into overdrive. I suck at capoeira. And I hate standing in front of people. And. And. And. People are snickering and turning back to stare at me. Karina shoves my shoulder. Rigo searches our faces till his eyes lock with mine. He smiles that eerily perfect smile and says, “Ah, you are Kia, yes?”
    I nod, praying he’ll change his mind, knowing he won’t. Why would he call me by name anyway? What kind of . . . ?
    â€œGo!” Karina hisses in my ear. The moment has grown long, awkward. I stand, somewhat shakily, and make my way through the group to the front.
    Rigo wears altogether too much cologne. It’s something synthetic and overbearing, and it makes me dizzy. “You remember how to do a basic ginga?” he asks, smiling down at me.
    I shrug. “I mean, kinda.”
    â€œThe ginga is the basic step of capoeira, yes? Everyone has their own ginga. It is as personal as a signature. Just like everyone has their own rhythm.”
    â€œDevon doesn’t!” Karina yells.
    â€œWhen you understand the ginga, when you find your own”—Rigo swings one leg back and raises his forearm toward me, then switches sides, moving so smoothly it’s like he’s gliding a few inches above the wood-paneled floor—“it becomes like just walking down the street! You see? Natural. Come, we do it together.” I try to mimic him, sliding my left leg back and then shifting my weight to the right. I feel like a broken mannequin.
    â€œClap, kids, yes? For the rhythm?” He lifts his hands over his head, and those thick triceps glare at me. I lose my entire sense of rhythm and have to start over. “Clap, clap!” Rigo yells, breaking into a syncopated beat in time with his hovering step.
    The group claps, and I work my way back into a steady ginga.
    â€œYes, yes, very good!” Rigo yells over the clapping. “Now what happens when I go with one of these?” He spins; one foot anchors and the other flies up toward me. I know this part—I’m supposed to dodge-bend backward like in
The Matrix
and then spin into some impossible acrobatic shit and kick. I arch back and throw myself off-balance, hurl sideways, and catch Rigo’s sneaker in the face.
    Everyone in the room yells, “Oh!” as I stumble. I hear Rigomutter, “Porra!” as a whoosh of wind brushes past. Arms wrap around me. Thick arms. Rigo somehow evaporated and reappeared behind me. Again, audible swoons erupt, not all of them from the girls.
    My hands cover my eye and Rigo’s hands are on my wrists. “Let me see,” Rigo says softly. “Let me see. I’m so sorry, Kia. Let me see what I did.”
    I shake my head. I probably look like one of those deep-sea monstrosities right now. The hell I’ma let Brazilian Ken gape at me.
    â€œWe probably need to ice it. Can you see, Kia?”
    I relent. The collective gasp is all I need to tell me what an instant freak show I’ve become. Rigo scrunches up his face. “Is not so bad, minha. Let’s get some ice, okay?”
    â€œI’ll take her!” Karina yells.
    Thank God.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    In the rec center nurse’s office, Karina informs me that I have a boyfriend.
    â€œDon’t be an idiot,” I say. The ice pack pulses a numbing void against my forehead. From the wall, a cartoon condom explains, with the winningest of grins, that he’s not reusable.
    â€œI’m just saying,” Karina says. “He called that ass out by name. He was like”—she drops her voice to an absurd baritone and affects something like a Polish accent—“‘Kia Summers! Please for to come to ze front of ze el roomio.’”
    â€œKarina.”
    â€œYou in love, girl. That’s okay. We all are. Homeboy is eight feet tall and fine as fuck. And he’s packin’. I’m just mad it’s you, not me, but