Page 106 of My Own Kind of Person

Quickly, he moves the podium against the wall and angles the tablet so it faces us.

Andi backs out of the garage. “What’s going on?”

Tony loads up a video of an older woman wearing what I think would be called a leotard. “This one has the second-highest number of views,” he says, and makes very serious eye contact when he adds, “Never trust the highest.”

Christy carries away chairs. “I’ll make space.”

Andi moves across the driveway. “Me too.”

Tony points at Andi with a fully extended arm. “Do you want Sean to win Elijah back?”

“Enough to dance?” They don’t have to think for long. “No.”

It’s not clear whether we’re joking or serious, but Tony, Christy, and I lift our legs and move our arms along with the instructor in this introductory ballet class. Mostly we stumble and laugh, but soon Andi crouches nearby and takes photos. They don’t laugh or even smile. And something about them taking photos allows me to recognize the sacredness of this moment, the four of us in our last year of high school, no idea what’s coming next, who we’ll be or even where. And it’s true that I don’t want to wait for tomorrow, but I don’t want to let go of today either. When the class ends and Tony says, “Bring it in, team,” even Andi joins the hug.

Chapter 40

Red elevator doors open to the welcome area of Steps on Broadway, where pop music plays and students of all ages pass in combinations of mesh shorts, loose tank tops, and tight tights. A hallway of glass doors leads to studios filled with light. The receptionist sits at a long wood desk.

“Hello.” I’m suddenly self-conscious of my posture. “I’d like to take a class.”

The receptionist taps on a tablet. “What level?”

“Oh.” I look at the line of postcards and flyers on the desk advertising summer camps and conservatories.

“Hey, Elijah.” The receptionist taps some more. “You’re good.”

I turn slowly. I wouldn’t say Elijah looks excited to see me.

“Hello, and sorry I’m here.” I maintain a neutral face. “What level would you recommend for a beginner?”

“The beginner level.”

“I see.” I look again at a flyer. It’s possible I never learned how to read. I pass my debit card to the receptionist. “Beginner, please.”

In what I take as a good sign, Elijah hasn’t walked away yet.

“You’ll be in Studio Three,” the receptionist says. “Dressing room is right over there.”

“Thank you.” I turn to Elijah, hoping this will get him to walk beside me. “That night at the Big Duck, you said I should try a movement class, and I think it would be a good experience to learn to be in my body more.”

“I meant a eurythmics class. It’s an entirely different philosophy and isn’t taught here.”

“Right. Well. Really, I wanted an excuse to see you.”

He pushes open the door to the dressing room. “I’ll be in a different class.”

“Maybe I’ll see you after!”

Little vestibules with canvas curtains line the walls. Elijah steps into one and I step into the one beside him. We don’t talk while we change, but I try to move quickly so I can be out at the same time as him.

I hear his curtain open and I quickly rush out.

He tilts his head. “You’re wearing leggings.”

“I borrowed them from my mom. But did you know they have whole stores of yoga clothes?”

“I did.” He wears black leggings and a tight white short-sleeved shirt that opens wide around his collarbone. “You could’ve just worn sweatpants.”