“This one is for the boys with the boomin’ system, top down, ac,  with the coolin’ system—“ She liked the song ironically, thanks. But she put her own spin on it. Her voice broke as she created a beat herself—her lips replicating the sounds of her turn tables. “When he come up in the club, he be blazin’ up. Got stacks on deck like he savin’ up.” Showers were meant to get clean, but they were also meant to lay down some sick beats. The lyrics weren’t hers, but she was totally making her own tune to it—and if you asked Davina, she’d say it was pretty ill. Maybe she shouldn’t have been dancing though. “He got that boom-ba-doom- ba-boom, that superbass.” Her fingers snapped to the music in her own head and voice, dancing beneath the spray of the shower. Her hips rolled to the music; no one would ever see this. It was extremely uncool to dance, unless you were dancing alone. Because that’s what awesome people did. No one—no one would, should, ever see this.