Instructions for Dancing(44)
She shakes her head, but I catch a glimpse of a small smile. “Complete idiot bitch,” she says.
“I’m sorry I was a complete idiot bitch,” I say, smiling back at her. “I didn’t mean any of what I said. I’m so happy you guys are happy.”
Cassidy beams. It might be the first known beaming in Cassidy history.
“You’re beaming.”
She scowls. “I don’t beam.”
“Yes you do,” says Sophie.
And then Cassidy does another un-Cassidy-like thing: she blushes.
We all stare at her.
“Fuck,” she says.
We spend the rest of the day catching up. Martin’s right that Sophie and Cassidy are charter members of the public displays of affection fan club. And the word babe needs to be exorcised from their vocabulary. And it really is strange watching them touch and kiss.
But I can’t deny that they’re happy. Really happy.
I wish I could make it last for them. That’s the superpower I should have, making love last forever.
We keep hanging out until it’s time for me to head home for dinner.
Sophie pulls me into a hug. “We missed you, Evie.”
Cassidy joins the hug. “Next time we won’t forgive you so easily.”
“This was easy?”
“You still have all your organs,” Martin says, wrapping his arms around all of us.
“That’s true,” I say. “I missed you guys too.”
CHAPTER 35
Bachata Monday
“I’M GLAD YOU made up with them,” X says as soon as he walks into the studio on Monday evening.
I texted him last night to tell him I fixed things with Sophie and Cassidy.
“Me too,” I say. “You were right.”
He pulls me into a hug. “I’m right a lot. You’re going to have to get used to that.”
“Oh, shush,” I say. Our eyes connect. The air between us shifts from teasing to wanting.
“When I said get to know each other, I did not mean biblically,” Fifi says loudly and with a cackle from the doorway.
We spring apart. Fifi cackles more.
“Danceball is only six weeks away. Is time to get serious.”
We practice for two hours straight. By the end, X and I are both sweaty and exhausted.
“That was best practice yet. Chemistry is much better,” she says with a wink. “But unfortunately, need more than chemistry to win.”
She sets us a grueling practice schedule. Mondays are for bachata. Tuesdays are for salsa. Wednesdays for West Coast swing. Thursdays for the Hustle. Since Argentine tango is the hardest, she schedules three days of practice: Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
After we agree to the schedule, she claps her hands together. “Now is time to see what you two are really made of,” she says.
CHAPTER 36
Salsa Tuesday
<Tuesday, 12:13 AM>
X: Fifi is not in her right mind
Me: More caliente! More caliente!
Me: I think caliente is the only Spanish word she knows
X: How many times do you think she said that?
Me: Fifty or sixty
X: Maybe more
X: So I’m reading that book you told me about
Me: Which one?
X: Cupcakes and kisses
X: I wasn’t expecting it to be so DIRTY
Me: You’re at the first bakery scene
X: Frosting belongs on cake
Me: So narrow-minded you are
X: What are gorgeous mounds of flesh?
X: I didn’t learn about that in bio
Me: They only teach that stuff 2nd semester senior year
X: Ouch
Me: Sorry
X: For real tho, I don’t think this thing with the frosting is sanitary
Me: Goodnight X
X: Never going into a bakery ever again
Me: I’m sleeping now
X: Who even knows where those cookies have been
X: Secret sauce my ass
X: You still there?
Me: Yes, sorry. I was dying of laughter
X: I like making you laugh
Me: You’re pretty good at it
CHAPTER 37
West Coast Swing Wednesday
I’M FAST ASLEEP and dreaming when my phone chirps at me.
X: You up?
Me: Yes
X: Can I call you?
Me: Yes
My phone rings right away. “Hi,” I say, trying to sound like I wasn’t just fast asleep and dreaming.
It doesn’t work. “Oh man, I woke you up,” he says.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, blinking into the dark. “How are you? How’d your show go?”
“Show was fine,” he says. He doesn’t say anything for a while. I hear the rustle of his sheets and I tug my blanket up under my arms and nestle down into my pillows and wait for him to go on.
“My pops called. We got into it again,” he says.
“About what?”
“Same thing we always argue about. How I’m throwing my life away with the music nonsense.”
“I’m sorry, X.”