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Someone hits the light switch and darkness descends on the hall. The room glows with tiny twinkle lights, and electric candles flicker on every table. I watch Joey do a spin to take it all it, and I wonder how I can light a stage to collect the magical glint of fake candlelight in her perfect hair.
I’m no stranger to set decoration, but this dance is in a different league. Lilian insists that it’s not perfect until it’s perfect in every light from every direction. I watch Joey move through the room, and I’m having a little trouble finding any imperfection there.
“Come on, Mr. Kaplan. Try it out.” Lilian motions to the inlaid wood parquet floor we rented from a wedding reception center in Burlington.
“Yeah, Kaplan,” David Spencer says, “Show us your moves.”
I laugh. “I have no moves.”
Joey walks up behind me. I know she’s there even without looking around. “False,” she says. “Mr. Kaplan has so many moves, you’ll be unable to contain your awe.” Her hand touches my shoulder, and I feel a jolt of electricity judder down my arm.
“I’ve heard,” I say, just loud enough for Joey to hear, “that our Miss Harker’s not so bad herself.” I hold out my hand. For a long and agonizing few seconds, I wait for her to take it. She looks at me without any trace of a smile, without any suggestion that she will reach back and take my hand. Have I messed up again? Is this only the latest in a long string of mistaken signals? Is this an inappropriate gesture for a friend to make? Either she will take my hand, or I’ll melt into this borrowed wood floor and die.
She puts her hand in mine.
Like a friend would.
The DJ warms up his speakers with a slow song. I put my arm around her waist, and it’s impossible that the kids can’t see my smile. How does my arm fit so perfectly? How does this feel so natural? I move her away from the edge of the floor, and we don’t even blink. I think I might fall over if she keeps staring into my eyes like this. Are there words a friend would say right now? Am I breathing? Is there anything else I’m supposed to be doing that I might have forgotten?
The music changes, and the DJ speaks into his microphone. “I’m told Mr. Kaplan can show us how this is done.”
I look over to the DJ table, and the committee kids have crowded around him. None of them are ogling his gear. They’re all looking at us. At Joey and me, swaying on the empty dance floor.
The song is now full country swing.
“Do you actually know how to do this?” Joey asks.
“Trust me?” I ask, and I really hope I didn’t just wink at her. I place both my hands in front of me in invitation.
“I make no promises about trust,” Joes says. “But I can follow if you can lead.”
She is not kidding. Joey Harker is an excellent dancer, seeming to read my every move from a tiny press of my fingers or nod of my head. I start off easy, with a few simple moves, but before long I am lifting her and flipping her off the floor. The kids love it. Cheers from six kids can’t overshadow the volume of the music, but I can hear them.
If Joey’s not having fun, she’s doing a great job pretending she is.
When the song ends, the DJ puts his head beneath his table and jiggles some cords. I wish I could join the kids in begging him to play another one. I look down and realize that I still have Joey by one hand, and I don’t want to let go.
My eyes travel from her hand in mine to her face, her smile looking a tiny bit like she’s afraid of how happy she feels.
“I think it all works,” Joey says, sounding just breathless enough that I don’t lose even a little hope when she lets go my hand.
“Okay, everyone,” I say. “Let’s clear out.” I point to the door, my hand feeling the loss of hers.
Lilian says, “Can’t we just stay here?”
The other kids agree that it would be best if they get to hang out for the next two hours with Val’s refreshments and the Ivy League DJ.
“No way.” I use my don’t-mess-with-the-teacher voice. And I channel my mother. “Go eat something that’s not a cookie. I’ll see you back here in your Harvest Ball best thirty minutes before the doors open.”
They go without any whining (but with just a little good-natured grumbling) and I turn to find Joey already gone. This doesn’t exactly crush my hopes, even though I was absolutely planning to walk her home. She made it clear she’s not willing to break Moreau’s rules. We are friends. But I can’t pretend that the very thought of her doesn’t make me smile, and even more excited to dance with her tonight. My arms already feel empty without her. I should know better, but I can’t wait to fill them up with her again.
