Instructions for Dancing(14)

“Since never,” I say, turning to look. Sure enough, Danica’s here, outfitted in full tennis gear. White bandana, white T-shirt, white pleated skirt, white tennis shoes. She would look ridiculous if she didn’t look so fabulous. Her new boyfriend, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me—it’s something active, to do with sports or hunting—is dressed exactly the same way, except for shorts instead of a skirt.

Martin sinks low into the booth. He stabs my leftover waffle with his fork and moves it to his own plate.

“Who is that guy, anyway?” he asks.

“Archer,” says Sophie. Sophie always knows everyone’s name.

I’m suddenly frustrated with Martin. When’s he going to give up on Danica? It’s not like love is worth all the pain.

“Can we just go back to planning?” I ask, louder than I mean to.

Sophie and Cassidy exchange a look.



Martin slumps down farther into the booth.

“What’s going on with you, Eves?” Sophie asks.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Just tell us what’s wrong,” says Cassidy.

I don’t know where to start. I definitely don’t want to have to explain the visions to Sophie and Cassidy. First I’d have to prove to them that they’re real, and then I’d have to explain why I haven’t told them since the beginning.

“Really, I’m okay,” I say, and give them a big smile. “Sorry I’m being such a downer.”

I look down at the map and give it (and our plans) my full attention.

After about an hour of planning, Sophie and Cassidy take off. Cassidy has to go to a “sucky fundraiser in Beverly Hills” with her parents, and Sophie is judging a second-grade science fair at the California Science Center.

“Sorry I snapped at you,” I say to Martin once they’re gone. I tell him that going to La Brea Dance didn’t help. “I don’t know what else to do. How do I get the visions to stop?”

He pours both strawberry and blueberry syrup onto his waffle before answering. “Remember that movie I told you about, Big? He doesn’t get to change back into a little kid until he’s learned his lesson,” he says. “All those movies are like that. You’re supposed to learn something.”

“Okay, but those movies are fiction. This is my real life.”

“I know,” he says. He’s quiet for a while and then says: “I think you should go back to the dance studio.”

“But why?”



“There’s a reason their address was in that book. Try again. Go with the flow. You don’t have anything to lose.”

I make a sound between a sigh and a groan. He’s right, of course. I have to go back. I don’t really have any other options.

“Maybe you’re supposed to learn to dance,” he says once we’re outside on the sidewalk.

I unlock my bike. “That makes no sense at all,” I say.

“I know, but I’m sure I’m right about this,” he says. And then, because he’s actually an old man, he bursts into “Dancing Queen” by Abba. “You are the dancing queen. Young and sweet. Only seventeen.”

He laughsings three more verses before I finally, finally get him to be quiet.





CHAPTER 13





Dancing with the Flow



“OH, IT’S YOU, girl without dance partner,” firecracker woman says when I get to La Brea Dance after school the next day. “Nice to see you.”

“Hi, it’s nice to see you too,” I say. “I’m Evie,” I add, even though I told her the last time I was here. I’m hoping she’ll use my actual name and not forever refer to me as “girl without dance partner.”

She nods, and there’s a tiny smile at the corner of her mouth that makes me think she knows exactly how outrageous she is.

“Did not think I would see you again,” she says.

I don’t confess that I didn’t think I’d see her again either. “I was hoping to sign up for a trial lesson.”

“Wonderful. Which one?” she asks, looking down at her computer. “I pull up schedule.”

“What’s the easiest one you have? I’ve never done this before.”

She looks up and peers through the window at me. “Oh, you are nervous, I can hear.”

“Maybe a little bit,” I admit.

She springs up from her chair. “No, no, not to worry. Not everybody can dance good, but everybody can dance.” She leans closer to the sill. “You have time now?”



I start to say no and that I only dropped by to sign up, not to actually get started, but I stop myself. Yesterday Martin told me I needed to go with the flow.

“Sure, I have time,” I say.

She enters my info in the computer and then takes the bell out of her desk drawer and puts it on the sill. “I hate you,” she says to it.

I laugh and she does too. She leaves the office and waves for me to follow her. “Lucky for you, my Intro to Bachata class starts now. Not to worry. Is easy dance, and this is beginner class.”

She takes off down the hallway. Her outfit today is a deeply purple, mid-thigh-length asymmetrical dress with gold shoes that are at least three inches high. I don’t know how she walks in them, much less dances.