Instructions for Dancing(56)

She ignored us both and then made us dance for an hour, saying the competition was ours to lose.



* * *



——

X is already holding up the wall outside the practice room when I get there.

“What’s with you getting to places on time these days?” I ask.

“Maybe you’re a good influence on me,” he says. He pushes off the wall but doesn’t give me his usual smile.



“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Nerves again?”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

But I can see it’s not nothing, so I say so.

“Just thinking about the future.”

“The one ten minutes from now, or the future-future?” I ask.

“Future-future.”

I start to tease him about living in the moment, when it occurs to me he might be talking about something more concrete.

“What’s wrong?”

“Talked to my dad last night.”

“Did you fight again?”

“No, wasn’t like that. I told him I was thinking about finishing up school and he was really happy about it. He said he’d set it up so I could come home for the summer and get it done. Get my degree.”

“This summer?”

He leans back against the wall and looks down at his feet. “Yeah.”

And I know I told him he should get his degree, and he really should. But summer seems so close now.

I feel sick. The part of me that’s been avoiding kiss visions pipes up. All relationships end.

Is this what happens to us? He goes home for the summer? Then, in the fall, I go to NYU and he picks up his life in LA, and we just fade away?

“Are you going to go?” I ask.



“I don’t know,” he says. “What do you think I should do?”

I know he’s not asking me for advice.

“We could make it work,” I whisper.

He lifts his head. “How?”

“I hear New York City has a pretty good music scene,” I say.

He moves closer to me, but not close enough. “I’ve heard that too,” he says.

“Think the guys will mind moving the band there?”

“Nah. They won’t mind at all.” He ducks his head so we’re face to face. So there’s no mistaking what we’re saying to each other. We’re promising each other a future.

“Am I moving too fast for you?” I ask, remembering how I said I wanted to take it slow two months ago.

He laughs. “No, you’re going at a good speed now. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up to me.” He holds out his hand for me to take. “Let’s go win this thing,” he says.

We follow the other dancers upstairs to the on-deck area. We can’t stop smiling at each other. His smile makes me smile makes him smile makes me smile some more. A smile cascade. Smiles like falling dominoes.

The ballroom looks the same as yesterday, except our cheering section has gotten bigger. I see Mom and Martin and Sophie and Cassidy. And Dad—in my excitement yesterday, I invited him to come. They scream like banshees when they see us.

The lead judge begins her welcome announcement, but to be honest, I don’t really hear what she’s saying. X’s eyes roam over my forehead and across my cheeks, settle on my lips and repeat the circuit. Forehead, cheeks, lips. He lingers on the lips. I can’t help but lick them. He makes a sound I want to hear him make again.



The judge finishes her announcement.

The lights dim.

And finally, it’s time.

We’re just as good as we were yesterday. Maybe even a little better, now that we have more room on the floor to dance, and two other dances under our belts. We’re breathing hard by the time we finish the Hustle. I know what’s next, but fortunately there’s not enough time for panic.

The judge makes the announcement. “And now, couples, for your final dance, Argentine tango.”

Fifi says Argentine tango is a dance of passion and release. I know exactly what she means.

The music begins.

We start to dance. Except it doesn’t feel like we’re dancing. It feels like we’re flying across the floor.

We do ochos and reverse ochos. Barrida. Media luna.

His fingers spread across my back between my shoulder blades. I dip down, then arch back up into him. I don’t have to think about what steps come next.

We’ve been dancing this dance for a while now.

We’re moving fast, and all I can think is don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go.

Finally, the song winds down. We stay with it, giving ourselves to each other, until the music ends.

For a second, there’s no sound. Our eyes meet and a kind of certainty settles inside me. This thing between us could last. The way I feel about him—the way I think he feels about me—has only gotten bigger and wider and deeper every day, the way a stream becomes a river becomes a sea.



“I love you,” I say.

He smiles, and I’ve never seen a smile this enormous on anyone for any reason.

“I love you too,” he says.

We lean into each other and kiss. I don’t hold anything back.

And I see.