Renee must notice my reticence regarding the woman I'm currently watching as she collects her prize from the stage before moving toward the shiny black marble dance floor that occupies the center of the hall in the center of the hall, right in front of the raised stage.
"You're going to break a tooth if you don't release the tension in your jaw. It's just a dance, Gen," she says low enough that I'm the only person that would be able to hear what she's saying.
The quartet begins playing their own rendition of Photograph, by Ed Sheeran. It would be beautiful if I wasn't lit up with rage at the moment. I watch as they gracefully glide across the floor, chatting all the while. Lexington leads her effortlessly making them look like ballroom dancers with very little effort. I suppose it could be worse. It could be a tango. If that were the case, I think Brooklyn and Renee would have to team up to hold me in my seat.
