“Wow,” Tatiana breathed, and Vic hung back, wondering if Tatiana knew she had left her bedroom. She thought anxiously for a second about how to get Tatiana’s attention, but then Tatiana turned and faced her. “This is an incredible view.”
Vic smiled, relaxing. “Yeah, it’s the best part of the apartment by far,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. She bent in front of the wine rack and examined the selection. “Red or white?”
“White, please,” Tatiana replied, gazing out the window again.
“Okay,” said Vic. She wavered between two bottles before selecting a 2004 Château Beaucastel, something her parents always drank, and stood to get two glasses from the cupboard.
“Have you ever had this before?” Vic asked as she headed back into the living room. She uncorked the bottle and filled the two glasses before settling on the couch. “It’s my all-time favorite white.” Vic realized she was talking just to talk, and to shut herself up, she picked one of the glasses and took a long sip, catching herself before she refilled the glass on autopilot.
Tatiana turned from the balcony and walked over to the table. She picked up the bottle, examining the label, then shook her head. “Truthfully, I’m not much of wine person,” she admitted, taking her glass by the stem and sitting on the other end of couch. She drew her legs up beneath her.
“It’s totally up your alley,” Vic said. “Really sweet.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come on,” she said. “Everyone at CS knew not touch your poorly hidden candy stash for fear of retribution.” She took another sip of wine and adjusted her body toward Tatiana, folding her knees close to her chest.
“And yet, like clockwork, several pink Starbursts went missing every Friday afternoon, which just happens to coincide with your cheat day. Hmmm,” said Tatiana, raising her eyebrows in a contrived expression before she and Vic both burst out laughing.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Vic asked once they had both calmed down.
Tatiana shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “It wasn’t a huge deal. Plus it was just easier than getting into another stupid fight, especially with crazy ass Lacey breathing down our necks.”
“True,” Vic said with a laugh. The conversation eased as they both sipped from their glasses. A comfortable warmth spread through Vic’s body, and she stretched her legs out in front of her, the bottom of her feet gently grazing Tatiana’s thigh. Vic opened her mouth to apologize, but Tatiana interrupted.
“It’s fine,” she said. Tatiana took another sip of wine and studied Vic’s face as she drank, finally snorting a laugh that almost sent her mouthful of wine spilling out onto her boatneck sweater.
“What?” Vic asked, scared she'd done something to embarrass herself.
“Nothing, it’s just—I was just thinking how funny it is that I’m here. That we’re here,” she said, gesturing first to herself then Vic. “I was so worried that we’d become that couple in the office, and then so scared that you would never talk to me again, and now...”
“Wait,” Vic interrupted. “Which couple?”
“Oh,” Tatiana said. “I don’t know. I just felt like, that night at the work outing in August...it just felt like there was something there. Between us, I mean. Like maybe there was a possibility for us to...I don’t know.” Tatiana stuttered, embarrassed. “But I was so excited for work, and really wanted to be taken seriously...I just didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up.”
Vic was quiet with surprise. Was it possible that she’d read the past few months all wrong? Had Tatiana combed through their first encounter as many times as Vic had, obsessing over gestures, looks, offhand comments? It now dawned on Vic that while she had interpreted that night as something exciting, a shining possibility, Tatiana had instead seen something potentially dangerous, and worked overtime to snuff it out.
Tatiana continued. “I don’t know— maybe I just imagined it.”
“No,” Vic said firmly. “You didn’t.” She met Tatiana’s gaze, her relief now quieting all her nerves. Buoyed by the wine, Vic climbed onto her knees and crossed the cushion separating them, softly taking Tatiana’s face in her hands once she was close enough. She held her there, the two of them breathing the same pocket of air, before Tatiana leaned up and kissed Vic deeply, with none of the gentle restraint of their first kiss. Tatiana twined her arms around Vic’s body, drawing them closer together. They kissed a little while longer on the couch before Vic pulled away, remembering Diane and Elise.
“What?” Tatiana asked, lacing her fingers at the small of Vic’s back. “Did I do something?”
“No, no,” Vic said. She slid her hands from Tatiana’s face to her shoulders. “It’s just...I have two roommates,” she finished sheepishly. “I would never hear the end of it if either of them walked in on us.”
Tatiana laughed. “What, you’re not into that kind of thing? ” she teased.
Vic laughed. “We could move to my bedroom?” She gave Tatiana a shy smile. “If that’s what you want,” she added quickly.
Tatiana tilted her face to kiss Vic again. “That’s what I want.”
Vic slid off Tatiana’s lap and they walked to her bedroom, kissing as they stumbled through the door and fell onto her bed. Vic laid down and pulled Tatiana on top of her, both of them gasping as one of Tatiana’s legs settled between Vic’s thighs. Tatiana slid her palms beneath Vic’s shirt and up her stomach, cupping Vic’s breasts. In the windows behind them, the moon was high and full, bathing the room in its bright white light.
“Is this okay?” Vic whispered, toying with the button of Tatiana’s jeans. Tatiana nodded, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, and Vic continued, slipping her hand downward. Tatiana let out a low moan as Vic’s fingers moved against her, slow at first and then faster.
Vic panted, her head falling backward as Tatiana kissed the exposed column of her neck, tracing a path to the sharp point of her collarbone. As Vic felt Tatiana’s hand slip between her legs, she registered in some distant part of her mind that she hadn’t been delusional all along, and her requited crush record was back up to 100%. When Tatiana sat up to pull off her sweater and unhook her bra, Vic decided to push those thoughts out of her mind—she had plenty of time to congratulate herself up later.
Afterward, Tatiana hooked a leg over Vic’s, nestling close to her side. Vic giggled to herself, running her hand over the round of Tatiana’s hip, down to her knee, and back up again.
“What?” Tatiana asked, drawing even closer.
“Nothing,” Vic said, cupping Tatiana’s knee. “I guess I didn’t really think you’d be such a cuddler,” she said.
Tatiana pushed at her playfully. “Shut up,” she said. She laid a palm flat on Vic’s stomach, and Vic placed her hand on top of Tatiana’s, holding it there. They stayed like that until Tatiana finally sighed and pulled away.
“I should go,” she said, glancing at her delicate rose gold watch. “I have to get to work super early tomorrow,” she said. “Some bank is having their holiday party and they made a huge order of rectangular cupcakes shaped like excel spreadsheets.” Tatiana pulled a face, feeling around beneath the sheets for her clothes.
“That sucks,” Vic said. She had tomorrow off, and was looking forward to sleeping in.
“Tell me about it,” Tatiana grumbled as she got dressed.
“If you hate working in at the bakery so much, why don’t you quit?” Vic said with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head. She pulled on her tank top and scooted to the edge of the bed.
Tatiana snorted. “Because I need money? Do you know how many other PR assistant jobs I’ve applied to? Fifty-seven,” she continued before Vic could guess.
“Wow,” Vic said. “That’s insane.” She hadn’t really thought about looking for another PR job after getting fired from Clarke Stein, and Maid to Order had fallen into her lap before she’d had to apply to anything.
“Yeah,” Tatiana said. “Lacey’s totally blackballing us from the fashion PR world,” she said. “I heard she's like, telling people she stopped us from pouring pig’s blood all over the gown.”
“Ugh, Lacey would,” Vic said. “But if your new job makes you miserable, you’re definitely not living your best life.”
“Living my best life,” Tatiana repeated slowly, buttoning her jeans. “Vic,” she said with a laugh. “Not everyone lives...like this.” She gestured to Vic’s huge apartment, the balcony off the living room, and the Lower East Side beyond it. “I have student loans and I don’t have parents who can pay my rent while I’m figuring my shit out.”
“I—” Vic broke off. She wanted to say that she paid her own rent, but somehow it seemed even worse to admit that she was only paying nine hundred dollars a month because she and her roommates were renting from Diane’s parents. “I didn’t think about all of that,” she said quietly instead. She reached out to gently touch Tatiana’s hip, and Tatiana gave her fingers a brief squeeze.
“Yeah,” Tatiana said, an undercurrent of something Vic couldn’t quite identify in her tone. “I’ll text you later,” she muttered, and then she turned toward the door and left.
When Faizan started sleeping over, Abbie had hidden her paint swatch calendar under her bed. It was too much of a monument to her relationship with Dan, every other day marked with some memory or milestone. Dan’s second performance review, for example, was scribbled on just as prominently as their first kiss, first major American holiday together, and first mutual cry. The Abbie of six months ago would’ve been anxious to celebrate these pseudo-events with him via FaceTime, but not anymore. Hiding the calendar had been the point of no return for her, the point when she realized her relationship with Faizan was more important to her than anything she had left with Dan.
But she’d forgotten she was the only one privy to this information, and when Dan brought up his upcoming trip to the city for the holidays, Abbie had to hide the surprise from her face. Luckily, Dan didn’t notice. Abbie had never realized how much Facetime muted their interactions until now, when she saw how easy it was to keep any evidence of her tryst with Faizan off her face and away from Dan.
Dan texted Abbie immediately on arrival, sending her a Snapchat of him waiting for his luggage, the JFK filter decorating the bottom third of the frame. They’d never explicitly discussed whether Abbie would meet Dan at the airport— it was just a given that she would. But when it came time to plan the specifics, Abbie had weaseled out of it, saying that she had to stay after school late to prepare for her students’ holiday play. In reality, she ended up spending that night alone in her apartment, recording a crochet braid tutorial and wondering if Faizan was ever going to text her back. The next day, when Dan invited her to his parents’ Park Slope brownstone for his welcome back dinner, she sent him a pic of herself surrounded by crafting supplies and he’d replied with some variant of “distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
After another few days of delaying their reunion with lackluster excuses, Abbie decided to woman up and see Dan, convincing him that the first time that they saw each other should be at her favorite restaurant, the Times Square Cheesecake Factory, for added romance. The truth was that she wanted to see him in public so he couldn’t make a scene. As much as she knew the breakup would hurt him, she’d already unknowingly mourned their relationship’s end long before she’d started seeing Faizan. She didn’t want Dan to drag things out the way he might in the privacy of her apartment.
For their meeting, Abbie wore a suede burnt sienna mini-dress she’d borrowed from Yasmine over sheer black tights and her trusty booties. Her hair was curly and full around her face: after much internal debate, she’d decided that Dan deserved the courtesy of one last fresh twist-out. She toyed with debuting the daytime cat-eye she’d learned from Yasmine the weekend before, but opted not to debut any of the new makeup looks she’d learned. She didn’t want Dan to have a heart attack, and she knew he’d be softer to her if she was sporting the “natural” no-makeup look he loved so much.
Dan, to Abbie’s surprise, was already at the restaurant when she arrived. She was so used to the opposite, saving his spot for whatever event while he ran predictably late, but today he sat there waiting, his phone screen down on the table as he scanned the room in anticipation. Abbie looked him over as she approached the booth, taking in his dark jeans, button down shirt, and worn pair of desert boots. His new haircut was even more flattering in person than it had been on camera, and he looked healthy, a flush of red at his cheeks. Typically, this kind of classroom cute look would drive Abbie wild, but today she was able to coolly acknowledge and disregard it. She had only one goal for this dinner: finally be honest with Dan about her emotions, and she couldn’t let herself get distracted. Dan smiled tentatively when he saw Abbie and stood to greet her.
“Whoa,” he said, stepping towards her. “That’s a sexy outfit.” He put his hands on Abbie’s hips and examined her face.
“It’s just a dress and tights,” she said lightly. “The usual.”
“You look stunning,” he said. Dan pulled Abbie into a hug and she took in a breath of his Polo Sport cologne. The smell triggered so many warm, innocent memories that Abbie had to force herself to pull away from the hug before sideswiping his attempt at a kiss.
“Should we sit?”
Dan wrinkled his face in confusion, then laughed. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”
Abbie opened her mouth to respond, but a waitress approached their table and interrupted. “Ready to order?” she asked, her tone pushy as she glanced at Dan’s open menu. He must've been waiting for a while.
“The usual?” Dan asked Abbie.
“Actually, let’s just do drinks.” Upon seeing his baffled expression, she added, “To start,” with a broad smile.
“I’ll have the Asian pear martini.”
“A whiskey neat for me,” Dan said tersely, handing his menu to the waitress.
When the waitress turned away to head back to the kitchen, Abbie folded her hands on the table and began before Dan could even open his mouth. “Dan, first of all, it's so good to see you.” It wasn’t until she’d spoken that Abbie realized how true this was. She had spent the subway ride downtown brooding about how neglectful and condescending Dan could be, but looking at him now, she couldn’t deny that she still felt an immense fondness toward him, even though those feelings were no longer romantic. Abbie steeled herself. Dan sat oddly still, and Abbie wondered if he knew where this was going. “But I have to be honest with you. I feel like our relationship has run its course.” She could hear how rehearsed she sounded (since she had, of course, rehearsed), but continued anyway. “I’ve been seeing someone else, and it’s honestly just been so good for me. I think finding the right person could be good for you, too.”
Dan’s face crumpled before turning into a scowl. “What? You’re seeing someone else?”
Abbie pulled at the strands of her twist-out and sighed. “Yes,” she said. “You and I have had incredible times together but—”
“You cheated on me?” Dan’s face was Kool-Aid red, and the word ‘cheated’ came out in an embarrassing squawk. Abbie looked around anxiously at the surrounding tables, afraid they were about to be that couple.
“Cheated?” Abbie had been so fed up with Dan that she’d never really thought of it that way, but she started getting queasy as the idea took root in her head. “I wouldn’t call it that exactly. In my head we were already broken up.”
“In your head?” Dan repeated incredulously. “You didn’t think to send me any notification that you had already broken up with me in your head? We’ve been together for five years.” Dan’s enraged voice turned soft. “Abbie, we were each others’ firsts.”
The waitress arrived as Dan sputtered this out in a wounded whisper, and Abbie took the break in the conversation to fortify herself. She took a long, deep drag of her martini as Dan stared at her intently, practically vibrating with the force of his feelings. His reaction was kind of getting to her. She was surprised to see him so affected all of a sudden, giving her the attention and vulnerability she’d been so desperate for while they were together, but she knew she had to stay firm. She remembered a time when this visit was the single most important thing on her calendar, a time when she clung desperately to Dan’s monosyllabic responses as proof he was still invested in their relationship, and there was no way she was going back to that.
“Dan, listen,” Abbie said, fishing a twenty out of her handbag. “I do hope we can stay friends. I really think this will be good for us both, honestly.” She stood and pulled on her jacket.
“Abs…” Abbie looked away as Dan’s eyes became misty with tears, feeling a tug in her stomach as she shouldered her purse. She dropped the bill on the table, and Dan took his head in his hands.
As she walked away, Abbie considered using her power to calm Dan. She had never seen him so upset before, and it was tempting to know that she could reset his emotions, erasing any sense of betrayal or hatred, even if it was only temporary. But Abbie decided not to. Her powers had gotten her into enough trouble with Faizan, and Dan deserved to grieve their relationship on his own. “Take care,” she said softly, and then she turned and walked out of the restaurant.
A few days later, Delali examined her face intently in her dressing room mirror. She turned to check that her highlight was subtle and her foundation was the right shade, blending seamlessly with her neck. “Jacques?” she called.
Her makeup artist scurried in from the side room, where he had been taking a call, and placed his hand over his phone’s mouthpiece. “Yes, sweetie?”
“I think I need something more... virginal on the lips,” she said after thinking about it. She wiped off her lipstick with a Kleenex, careful not to smear her foundation. “This is too fuchsia. Let’s do something pinker. And more blush?”
“Ah of course,” Jacques replied. “You're exactly right.”
Jacques’ tendency to agree with everything Delali said usually annoyed her (she paid him to make her look good, not inflate her ego), but today she was too distracted by the pressure of her interview to be bothered. She’d be talking to Lesley Stahl in just under thirty minutes, giving her an exclusive account of her expulsion, complete with personal details and headline-ready quotes, just as she'd practiced. So far, the news had only made it into Bloggsworth, the campus news outlet, and the Twitter accounts of a couple of notable NYC journalists. Judging by the neutral tone of the reporting, Delali figured she was still ahead of whatever Toggsworth was planning, but she was still anxious to act fast.
She’d spent every day of the past week practicing her wounded cry and well-adjusted child actor platitudes in Adrien’s Craft Chamber. They’d worked together for hours, Adrien playing the role of Lesley and drawing his inspiration from a pair of his favorite auntie’s church earrings. As much as Delali trusted her own instincts, she’d called Adrien immediately after her meeting with Toggsworth and asked him to help her plot. She couldn’t quite explain to her school friends, who took everything they saw online at face value, how important it was for her to strategize. Of course, she had Gracie, her publicist, who was currently softening Lesley up in her dressing room, but back when Deladrian was at its height, Delali and Adrien routinely beat her to the punch, and she’d become more or less superfluous over the years. In the wake of Toggsworth’s threat, it had been easy for them to fall into their old us-against-the-world routine over the course of their interview prep. If it weren’t for the weird food in Adrien’s fridge and the cruelty-free vegan brush he’d swapped for his Annie #2070, Delali would have forgotten they’d broken up.
After Jacques finished dabbing a subtle cloud of blush onto Delali’s cheekbones, she got out of her chair and inspected herself from every angle. She’d taken down her braids and had her hair pressed and barrel-curled for the occasion, and chosen to wear a powder blue Chanel skirt suit over a white boatneck blouse. She’d briefly worried that wearing a luxury brand would annoy and potentially alienate the audience, but then remembered most viewers probably didn’t know what Chanel looked like. To them, Delali would be the picture of innocence and authentic academic ambition.
“Damn, the suit is perfect.”
Delali turned to see Adrien in the doorway. “What the fuck took you so long?” she asked, barely returning his hug.
“Sorry, Colorline encore.”
“Yuck.” Delali had long gotten past the point of pretending to support Colorline. “So you think the suit works?”
“Absolutely.” Adrien approached Delali and pushed one side of her hair over her shoulder, exposing the right side of her face. “Better optics,” he explained. Delali faced the mirror. He was right; the hair over one shoulder did give her a sweeter look. “Between this suit and our practice this week, Toggsworth isn’t gonna know what hit him.”
After Lesley stopped by to say hi and let Delali know that they'd be rolling in ten, Delali finally walked out onto the set she now recognized easily from her research: what looked like the inside of a dark, cluttered mansion. The only thing that ever broke up the monotony of the dry-ass conversations with disgraced politicians (except tears, which Delali had decided to save unless Lesley went too hard on her) was the mesmerizing swing of Lesley’s earrings. Right now, Lesley was curiously impossible to read— maybe it was Delali’s nerves— but she’d been easy during the campus trip they’d made to discreetly film the footage that would be cut into Delali’s interview. Delali had spent the whole week modifying her mannerisms to make Lesley reluctantly think positive things about her (smart, fair, self-possessed) and eliminated all the behaviors that had made Lesley think of her as stuck-up or bratty. That meant better posture, fewer quippy jokes, more uncertain smiles, and a very narrow range of ways she could touch her hair. Delali straightened and took one last breath before the cameras started rolling and Lesley started to speak.
“Today we welcome someone who was first introduced to us as the adorable child genius Georgia Simmons on the beloved sitcom Georgia on My Mind,” Lesley began, giving the camera a warm, gentle smile. “We watched her grow up over the course of eight hilarious, heartfelt seasons. Off screen, she wowed us by handling the trials of tinseltown with unimaginable grace at every turn, ultimately choosing to attend an elite university instead of getting caught up in the Hollywood fame game. But, today, she joins us to explain why that decision may not have been as foolproof as it seemed. Today, we talk to Delali Tamakloe.” Lesley angled her body toward Delali, and Delali matched her.
“Delali, thank you for being here.”
“Thank you, Lesley,” Delali responded. “I can’t tell you how surreal it is to be here— I grew up with 60 Minutes!”
“And so many of us grew up with you, Delali.” Lesley gave her a brief smile before turning serious. “I think we’ll just get right into it.”
Delali nodded somberly.
“Some troubling rumors have come out over the last few days. A former New York Times journalist tweeted that you failed to complete coursework necessary for you to graduate on time. The Post is saying you were expelled. Is there any truth to these statements?”
Delali’s eyes flickered to the left of Lesley. Adrien was pacing anxiously alongside crewmembers and staring at a monitor, where Delali assumed her face was displayed. She took a deep breath.
“Well, Lesley,” Delali started. She used her right hand to hook a piece of hair behind her left ear. “I have always tried to be an informed citizen. I don’t consider myself an activist, per se—I’m much more concerned with being a principled person. I was taught to stand up for what I think is right, even if that means ruffling feathers or coming across as difficult. It’s something that was instilled in me by my parents, who have kept me so grounded throughout my career. As a student, I tried to keep my head down and focus on my studies, but when I found out that my university was invested in the Yulin Dog Meat Festival, I knew I needed to act. I made the decision to join the campus divestment group and fight for a cause I believe in.” Here Delali paused, anticipating Lesley’s low hum and thoughtful nod.
When she and Adrien had started their practice, they’d toyed with a bunch of different causes. The environment had somehow become touchy, as had sexual assault, and it was a given that Delali couldn’t mention Prison Divest, which she’d actually been involved in. Even though Delali had spent much of her first club fair laughing and pointing at the Yulin Divest booth, both she and Adrien knew, without a doubt, that it was the cause that could bring America to its knees.
“I’ve been a part of Yulin Divest since I was a freshman, but this year was the closest we’d ever gotten to speaking to President Toggsworth about the issue. Like any other divest group, we set up a meeting with the administration and spent a lot of time preparing— lots of late nights, and late papers, too.” Delali paused again, and Lesley’s laughter, right on cue as she and Adrien had expected, made her kind of high, filling her with the energy she needed to finish the interview with a bang. “As much as I try to blend in with the student body and achieve that level of normalcy I’ve always craved, and as beautifully, wonderfully respectful as my peers and professors have been, there are times when I can’t escape the reality that Georgia on My Mind created for me— good or bad.” Lesley nodded soberly.
“This was actually one of those great times, where my...notability could help me help others,” she continued. “My peers chose me as the representative to meet with President Toggsworth. Of course, it was strategic, but we just wanted to do everything we could for those poor dogs in China, which are being slaughtered as if they were cows or pigs or something like that.” Off to the side, Delali could see Adrien doing a celebratory fist clench every time she hit one of her marks. “When I got to the meeting—” Delali looked down, now, then up again, as if suddenly finding a new well of strength. “When I got to the meeting, it was immediately clear that President Toggsworth was not only uninterested in the plight of the dogs at the Yulin Festival, but also uninterested in treating me like a normal student. He tried to use my...distinction to get me to back out of Yulin Divest and to get the club to retract our petition. He threatened to feed the media false stories about me, despite my spotless performance over the past three years.” Delali felt comfortable saying this with the knowledge that her interview would likely be spliced with monologues of Lesley before the 60 Minutes background, describing conversations she’d had with Delali’s professors, who all adored her.
“I was horribly conflicted. I wanted to protect myself, but when I thought of my fellow Yulin Divestors, who had been sleeping in the lobby of President Toggsworth’s mansion for over three weeks, I knew I had to refuse. When I did,” Delali continued. “He threatened to expel me. I take my education very seriously, and for someone to threaten to take that away from me…” Delali shook her head forlornly, as if she couldn’t find the words to describe such a deplorable act.
“Unspeakable,” Lesley concluded. Delali dug her nails into her arm with excitement. Adrien had put money on unimaginable, but Delali figured Lesley, who always made an effort to be succinct and unobtrusive, would go four syllables or fewer.
When the interview concluded, Lesley pulled Delali into a tight hug—had her performance been that good? “Don’t worry,” she said, patting Delali on the shoulder. “You’re a smart, strong, self-possessed young woman. You’ll go plenty far without this degree.” She bent toward Delali’s ear, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re gonna nail Toggsworth for what he did to you. Ingram’s an ex, and trust me, he should’ve gotten his due a long time ago.” Lesley winked and walked off to her dressing room, and in the next second, Adrien was by Delali’s side, holding her purse and coat.
“You crushed it,” he raved. “The delivery, the micro-expressions…” Adrien trailed off admiringly. “Celebratory drinks at Mark Bar?” He slung an arm around her waist and Delali was so buzzed off a perfectly executed PR plot that she allowed it, even though they were still in public. “Dela,” he said, and Delali looked up at him. “Mark Bar?” he asked again.
Delali nodded, taking off of her suit jacket as Adrien followed her off the 60 Minutes set. She stole a quick glance at her phone, which was alight with messages and missed phone calls. Ever since Lionel had texted her “FUCK IT UP SIS” after her first Yulin Divest mention, the buzzing hadn’t stopped. An excited chill ran through her as she dropped the phone into her purse. Fuck Cha Cha Slide— Delali Tamakloe was officially back.