“Wow, you’ve thought about this way too much,” Josh tells me. “It’s not that complicated, Sam.”
I open my mouth to retort when I hear someone coming up behind us.
“What’s not complicated?” Kath asks, brushing past me.Fuck. My pulse skyrockets again. I don’t know what to say.
“The school disco,” Josh cuts in smoothly. “Sam’s just figuring out how to fit training around it.”
“Are you coming this year?” Kath asks, hopeful.
And that’s when I know I’m going.
I shoot Josh a look. He knew exactly what he was doing.
Chapter 6
Fifteen years old
Sam
I’m standing in a corner of our sparsely decorated sports hall wishing that teleportation was real. Is there anything as awkward as the start of a school disco? I missed it last year, but it’s quite funny watching people who can interact completely normally at school suddenly look terrified of each other. It would be fine if it was just St Peter’s people, but two of the other local schools are here too, and the confidence I’ve managed to gain over the last few years has fled my body.
I can’t believe that I can swim in front of hundreds of people without worrying, but the thought of asking someone to dance makes my palms go clammy.
“This is hilarious,” Kath says from beside me. “We basically aren’t mingling at all with the other schools, and everyone looks like they would rather be anywhere else.”
That’s my other issue tonight. Kath looks incredible. She always looks good, but tonight she’s wearing a denim skirt and a tank top, and I can’t stop stealing glances. It’s simple, but she looks beautiful. I keep spotting guys from St Vincent’s checking her out. I’m torn between scowling at them all, which is what I’ve been doing for the last ten minutes, or asking her to dance, which I definitely can’t do.
“At least Josh is having fun,” she snickers, and I look over to see Josh going outside with one of the girls from St Hilda’s. Great. Now I’ve lost one of the only other people I could talk to. How does Josh have this ability to walk up to girls and start talking to them without sounding awkward or stuttering? And why don’t I have this skill? Not that I would use it anyway. I think the last time I tried to compliment someone it sounded like I was insulting them instead.
“Lucky him,” I tell her, and she looks at me archly. I curse myself slightly. That was a stupid thing to say.
“Want to get out there?” she asks. “Chat to some girls.”
“Not particularly,” I mumble. “I’m not a good dancer.”
“You could dance with me?” she offers. “I promise it’s not as scary as you think it is.”
“I’m not afraid of it.” I am in factveryafraid. “I’m just a really bad dancer. I promise you no one wants to see it.”
“You don’t know that because you never dance,” she says perfectly reasonably. Why is she so logical? It’s unfair. “Come on, Sam. Dance with me?”
I shake my head, and she looks deflated. Enough that I almost feel guilty. But I hate being the centre of attention. I lean back against the wall and watch as Kath surveys the room. Eventually, she lets out a sigh of resignation.
“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want one?” she asks.
“I’m OK. But thanks.” I watch her leave and look around awkwardly for someone to talk to. I’m not naturally extroverted like Kath, and I have no idea what to do with myself.
Maybe I should’ve said yes when she asked me to dance. It might’ve been better than standing here by the edge of the sports hall, pretending I’m really into the playlist. Which is mostly 2011 hits; Katy Perry, David Guetta, that one Bruno Mars song everyone’s sick of but still sings anyway.
Ben sidles over to join me, his hair suspiciously perfect for someone who’s supposedly ‘not fussed’ about impressing anyone.
“Having fun?” he asks over the music. “You should ask someone to dance. Get some numbers?”
“What, like you?” I scoff at him.
He just holds up his phone. “I’ve got some. I was thinking about asking one of the girls from St Hilda’s out actually.”
He looks like he’s about to elaborate, but he stops suddenly, frowning towards the drinks table.
