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“You’re really good at it,” he said. “I’ve seen you and you’re very good.”
He probably knew as much about gymnastics as he knew about the tango, but it was a nice thing to say and again, he was telling me that he’d watched me performing. “Thank you,” I answered. “I’m not bad.”
Soon enough, the show ended. It went a lot faster watching it on his recording than on our old TV at home when I had to sit through all the commercials. He had more episodes recorded, so we also watched disco and then hip hop, which was the worst by far.
“This is embarrassing,” Bowie commented, wincing at the people on the screen. “I think I might be able to do better.”
“Let’s see it,” I challenged, but he only laughed.
“Another time. I’m tired,” he excused himself, but he laughed again. “I’m also terrible, no matter what you say about how I shouldn’t be. It’s never stopped me from trying, though. It’s too bad we can’t go to that Pineapple Lounge. They have a big dance floor and Hatch always used to be there going nuts, before he got so busy with Hazel.”
Hatch was John Hatcher, who lined up with him on the football field. “Maybe he could show you some moves,” I suggested.
“Maybe you could instead,” he said, eyebrows raised. “Wouldn’t it be better to learn from a professional?”
“We could trade off lessons,” I said. “You could teach me how to be a defensive tackle, and I could show you how to pop.”
“How do you know I can’t pop?” He paused. “What does that mean?”
I laughed, too, at the thought of him trying. “That’s why you need the lessons,” I explained.
“I’m all for it. How about after Fan Day tomorrow?”
Maybe I was swept up in the laughter, the silliness of it. “Sure,” I told him. “We’ll start with hip hop and go from there. Pretty soon, you’ll be trying out for ‘The Last Dancer.’”
“Well, it’s always good to have a fallback career. Football won’t last that long,” he said. “If you can make a dancer out of me, I can go pro with that instead. In return, I’ll teach you about blocking, if you don’t already know. With all the football you’ve been watching, you must have already learned a lot.”
“I don’t have much time to watch during the games anymore, which is the hardest part of being a Wonderwomen cheerleader.” I stood up. “I better head out if I want to make it to the country club by midnight.”
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, and helped me with my raincoat. “I would have thought that the hardest part of being a cheerleader were the practices, the workouts,” he mentioned as we went toward the elevator.
I yawned and covered it with my hand. “No, I like those. It’s fun to be with everyone, kind of like we’re back in dance class. I loved going to those when I was a kid.” I yawned again. “Our neighbor Mieke owns a small studio and that’s where Aubin and I went. We would get dropped there by the bus after school and spend the whole afternoon dancing and watching other classes. She got me into a gymnastics gym, too.”
We walked briskly on the wet sidewalk and talked more about dance and Mieke’s studio, which Bowie was very curious about. Then he looked up at the black sky. “Are you going to be all right driving out there, so tired and the roads so wet?” he asked me.
“Sure. I know the way really well and I’m not that tired. I like to do it,” I said. “It’s safer than my dad going by himself.”
“Is he a bad driver?”
“Um, yes,” I agreed. “This is my car, the blue one.”
“I remember.” He stopped. “How about you text me when you get there, so I know you’re still in one piece?”
Really? Was he worried about me? “Ok, I will.” But he still didn’t head back to his apartment building. “I’ll go now,” I stated.
“Sounds good. I’ll wait here until you’re off.”
And when I finally got myself out of the parallel spot after three or four attempts, he was still standing on the sidewalk, watching me leave.
“Just parked,” I texted when I got to the country club and pulled into the employee lot.
Only a few seconds later, the answer came back: “See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 3
Rylah looked up and down the line of cheerleaders as we stood shivering in the rain, and then she turned her gaze toward the swirling black clouds in the sky. “This is biblical,” she said.
“The story of Noah?” Sam asked.
