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Angelina looked through each picture as if she was seeing it for the first time. She seemed to notice things in them that she perhaps hadn’t caught before. After she had gone through every one, some twice, she fished out one picture of herself alone, flashing her beautiful pout for Billy Bob’s eager shutter. She grabbed a pen from off the night stand by the bed and scribbled something on the back. She then thrust the picture in my direction. In scrolling, loopy handwriting, she had written, “You will remember tonight. Angelina.” Before the words could fully register, she leapt off the bed with such gusto that I nearly toppled off. “Ooh! I love this song! C’mon,” she said, grabbing my hand insistently yet again. “You dance, don’t you?”
My feeble “not really” didn’t faze her. I expected her to just start bogeying in front of me, and I was thoroughly surprised when she began to slither around me, dancing seductively to a song with a moderate, pulsing groove; I believe it was a song by Aaliyah. She swayed fluidly to the music, and for a moment, I paused to watch.