MONEY ON THE DANCE FLOOR

.

It was 8 PM on a warm Saturday in Los Angeles.

*Lina, Lucy, Stacy, Rexy, Erica, and Molly* were walking home after boba, taking the long cut through Maple Drive because the houses there had big yards and good music.

That’s when they heard it. 

Bass. Laughter. A DJ switching from Kendrick to Asake in one smooth cut.

A house with white lights and red carpet. A banner: _TOLU & CHIDI - JUST MARRIED_ 

*Bride from L.A. Groom from Lagos.*

“Okay that’s cute,” Lucy said. “We’re going in.” 

“We’re not invited,” Lina said, but she was already following. 

“We are now,” Stacy said, fixing her hair.

At the door, the mother of the bride stopped them. Gold dress, sharp eyes, warm smile. 

“Who are you, my children?”

Lucy didn’t blink. *“We’re the bride’s high school friends,”* she said. “From LA High. We saw the lights.” 

The woman lit up. “Ah! Tolu’s girls! Come, come! Eat! Dance! You’re family tonight!”

And just like that, they were in.

*ALL OF THEM DANCED*

The DJ was magic. One minute it was SZA, next minute it was Davido. He was mixing L.A with Lagos back to back and the whole house was moving. 

Lucy, Rexy, Erica and Molly went to the dance floor. Molly danced great, "dancing all these years paid of" she said. Stacy was filming. Lina was dragged to the dance floor by Lucy.

Aunties were singing. Uncles were clapping. It felt like two cities in one backyard.

*LADIES ONLY*

Then the DJ tapped the mic. “Ladies! Ladies only! Make way!”

The music switched. Pure Nigerian. Log drums, highlife, Afrobeats that made your waist move before your brain did.

The Lagos ladies went first. They came out in gele and gowns, dancing hard. Their hips told stories. The men lined the edge of the dance floor and started throwing money. 20s, 50s, spraying them in the air like rain. “E choke!” someone shouted. The ladies bent, spun, picked it up, danced more.

The L.A girls watched from the side. 

“Okay we have to try,” Lucy said. 

“We don’t know the steps,” Molly said. 

“Then we learn,” Erica said.

So they watched. Copied. Messed up. Tried again. 

First it was awkward. Then it clicked. The beat got in them. 

Lucy started first, then Rexy, then Stacy. Lina, Erica, and Molly jumped in last.

And the men noticed. 

Money started coming toward them too. 10s and 20s floating down. One of the uncles yelled “My LA daughters!” and sprayed them. 

They were laughing, dancing, picking up bills off the floor. No one cared that they’d learned the dance 30 seconds ago. The Lagos ladies even pulled them into the circle and taught them the shoulder move.

*DRINKS + INTRODUCTIONS*

When the song ended, everyone was sweating and smiling. 

“Drinks!” someone yelled. They went to the bar table. Pineapple juice, Chapman, and a few cocktails with little umbrellas.

That’s when the guys came over. Four of them. Friends of the groom. Fresh from Lagos for the wedding.

The tallest one stepped forward first. 

“Good evening,” he said, voice calm. “My name is *Kunle*. This is *Tunde, Deji, and Emeka*. We flew in from Lagos.” 

He looked at all six of them. “And you are?”

Lucy grinned. “I’m Lucy. This is Lina, Stacy, Rexy, Erica, and Molly. We’re from L.A.” 

“L.A to Lagos in one night,” Deji said, laughing. “We like your dancing.” 

“Especially the part where you just learned it and still collected money,” Emeka added. “Respect.”

They talked. 

Tunde asked Lina about her notebook. She said she was trying not to plan everything. He said “Try with me.” 

Kunle and Rexy ended up debating music. She put on Drake, he countered with Wizkid. They made a playlist together. 

Stacy showed Deji a coding meme. He didn’t get it but laughed anyway. 

Erica and Emeka argued about jollof vs tacos. They agreed to do a cook-off. 

Molly was quiet until Kunle’s cousin asked her to dance again. She said yes.

No one asked for numbers right away. They just talked, drank, and danced some more when the DJ played Omah Lay.

At midnight, the mother of the bride found them again. “You girls are good children,” she said. “Come back for the reception tomorrow.”

Outside, the air was cool. Kunle walked them to the gate. 

“It was nice to meet you, L.A,” he said. 

“It was nice to meet you, Lagos,” Lucy answered.

They left with money in their pockets, juice on their lips, and 4 new names saved in their phones.

The next day in the group chat, Lucy typed: 

“Note to self: crash more weddings. Especially Nigerian ones.”

Lina replied: “Note to self: stop predicting. Start dancing.”

The end