Instructions for Dancing(16)

“Not to worry,” she says. “I have perfect someone.”





CHAPTER 14





Dance Number One



THE PERFECT SOMEONE isn’t there when I show up at the studio after school the next day, but the owners—Archibald and Maggie—are.

“You must be Evie,” Maggie says as soon as I walk in.

“That’s me,” I say, giving them a small wave.

I forgot how striking they are. He’s wearing a gray tux. She’s wearing a glittering fuchsia gown and bright makeup. Unlike last time, her locs aren’t pinned up. They cascade around her shoulders.

“Fifi didn’t bully you into doing this, did she, dear?” Archibald asks.

“I am not bully,” Fifi protests.

“Did she guilt you?” Maggie asks.

“No bullying or guilting,” I say. Maybe my suspicion from yesterday is right. The studio does need money. “I just thought this would be fun.” And it’s true that I think it could be fun, but that’s not why I’m doing it.

“Well, that’s wonderful, dear,” says Maggie. “I want you to know there is no pressure for you to win.”



“There is itsy-bitsy little bit of pressure,” Fifi interjects. There eez eeetsy-beetsy leetle beet of pressure.

“Fiona Karapova, don’t you dare—”

But before Maggie can start scolding Fifi, the studio door opens behind me.

“Ahh, here is partner now,” Fifi says.

I turn around. It’s the boy I met in studio five the first time I was here. Xavier. X.

“It’s you,” I say.

“It’s me,” he agrees.

“But why?” I ask.

“You mean that existentially or what?” He smirks and raises an eyebrow at me, displaying not one but two Classic Romance Guy Characteristics.

Maggie interrupts our staring contest. “You know each other?”

“No,” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “Yvette, right?”

“He stole my bike,” I explain, stomping out the infinitesimal and completely uncalled-for spark of happiness I feel that he remembered my name.

“Borrowed it,” he clarifies.

“So he could break up with his girlfriend,” I explain some more.

“We were already broken up,” he clarifies some more.

“She bought a prom dress,” I remind him.

In my periphery, I see Archibald and Maggie watching us with mouths slightly open.

I know how this looks. It looks like we’re bantering, like sparks are flying between us like in witty, old romantic comedies. It looks like the start of something. But I promise you, there are no sparks. Nothing here is on fire.



Archibald chuckles. “Well, Evie, this is our grandson, Xavier.”

“It’s just X, Gramps,” X says. He gives Maggie a hug.

“Come,” Fifi says to X. “Stand next to girl so I can see you together.”

By “girl” she means me.

X walks his long legs over to me.

“We will have to do something about clothes,” Fifi says as she scrutinizes us both. “But they are good match height-wise,” she says to Archibald and Maggie. “And both very good-looking. Especially X,” she says, and waggles her eyebrows like some sort of demented cartoon character.

“Fiona, be a dear and don’t undress my grandchild with your eyes,” says Maggie.

“You prefer I should use my hands?” asks Fifi.

Archibald guffaws an actual guffaw.

X cough-laughs into his fist.

To be fair, Maggie kind of walked into that one.

After we’re done laughing, both Archibald and Maggie explain how the competition works. We’ll be competing for the Top Studio Amateur prize in the Nightclub Dance category. Nightclub is made up of five dances: bachata, salsa, West Coast swing, hustle and Argentine tango. Westside Dance Studio, their main competitor, wins the prize every year.

“But not this year,” Maggie says with a determined nod.

They—Archibald and Maggie—touch each other the entire time they’re explaining. A small hand squeeze here, a quick caress to the face there. You can practically see love bubbles floating out of their eyes when they look at each other.



After they’re done, they wish us luck and leave the studio, arms around each other’s waists, laughing about something.

Fifi waits for the door to close before turning to X. “Forty-three years your grandparents have been married, yes?”

“Sounds about right,” he says.

“You live with them. Tell me something: they are so lovey-dovey at home too?”

X nods and laughs. “Never seen anything like it either. They’re the real deal. My pops says they’ve been like that his whole life. They won the love lottery when they found each other.”

I make a note to myself to avoid seeing them kiss at all costs. I don’t want to know how it ends for them.

“Now,” Fifi says, “we get to work, but first we talk about clothes.” She points at X. “What is horrible thing you are wearing?” She looks at him like he’s a boil she wants to lance.

X looks down at himself. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”