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“It sounds as if the rest of the committee kept it from you. They probably knew you’d be pissed.” He leaned toward her and, in a stage whisper, said, “I voted for you as Most Likely to Succeed, by the way.”
Tabitha called out Most Popular Girl and Guy, then corrected herself, changing it topersonsout of respect for the nonbinary members of their graduating class.
“We originally had two members of the class of 2007 who were voted Most Likely to Succeed,” Tabitha said. She clapped her hands together. “And wouldn’t you know, those same two people are once again in a tie! Come on up, Drew and London!”
“This is pathetic,” London groused.
“Where’s your school spirit?” Drew tipped his head toward the center of the room. “Your fellow classmates are waiting for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I should have just gone to work tonight and skipped this reunion altogether.”
But then she pasted on a brilliant smile, took Drew by the hand, and dragged him with her to accept accolades from the rest of their class.
After awarding Reginald Brown with Most Unique, Most Changed, and Best Attitude, Tabitha ended the roll with Best Dancer, which also went to—surprise, surprise—Reginald Brown.
London leaned over and whispered in Drew’s ear, “Reginald must have spent the entire night campaigning.”
“Nah, Reggie’s a good egg,” Drew said. “Although I don’t think he can touch me when it comes to dancing.”
He did a hip thrust, à la Michael Jackson, and London burst out laughing.
“Better watch it there,” she said. “You don’t want to break anything.”
Drew scoffed. “You must not remember me at those school dances. Oh, wait.” He pointed at her. “You didn’t go to any of the school dances because you were too busy studying nonstop so that you could keep up with me in class.”
She flashed him her middle finger.
“Okay, folks!” Tabitha shouted into the microphone. “We all know that Reggie was the best dancer back in high school, but there’s only one way to find out who that title truly belongs to now.” She shot her fist in the air. “Dance-off!”
“Oh, hell no,” London said. She turned, but Drew caught her before she could take a step. She shot him an annoyed look. “I told you already, I amnotdancing.”
The entire ballroom broke out in excited cheers when Soulja Boy’s “Crank That” spilled out from the speakers.
“You sure about that?” Drew asked. He spread his arms out like Superman and did three bounce jumps to the right.
London stood in the middle of the dance floor with her arms folded and the barest hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes followed him as he executed dance moves he hadn’t done in fifteen years, pumping his fists and hopping on one leg.
Drew knew the moment he crisscrossed his feet that he’d gone too far.
“Shit!” he hissed as pain shot through his ankle. He hopped around on one leg again, but it had nothing to do with Soulja Boy’s directives.
“What did you do?” London asked. She wrapped an arm around his waist and guided him to a chair just off the dance floor. “See what happens when the over-thirty crowd tries to relive their teenage years?”
“Hey, I was doing okay until that second Superman move.”
She rolled her eyes as she settled in the chair next to his and patted her lap. “Up here, Clark Kent.”
He shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Drew Sullivan, let me see your damn ankle.”
“I don’t go around showing skin to just anybody, Ms. Kelley.”
“Dr.Kelley,” she reminded him. “Now, let me see it.”
Drew relinquished his ankle to her, gingerly setting it in her lap. He looked on as she rolled up the hem of his tailored pants and rolled down his sock, exposing his ankle. Using both index fingers and thumbs, she lightly pressed on the joint.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
