“Yes,” I tell him, sliding my hand into his. “I’m ready.”
I’m dancing! With a boy! Who looks just like Berrin from Summer Crush!
This is exciting. And scary. And nerve-racking. And I think I might vomit.
No, I silently scold myself. You’ll be fine. Remember what Clementine told you.
Right. The five rules of flirting.
I just have to remember what they are.
Connor’s arms are wrapped around me and we’re swaying gently to the music. Every once in a while, he looks down at me with those gorgeous blue eyes and I feel like my face is going to melt right off.
Flirt with your eyes! I remember that one. But how does one flirt with their eyes? It must be similar to batting your eyes, like I’ve seen people do in movies. Mostly animated ones, but still.
As Connor smiles down at me, I focus superhard on fluttering my eyelashes. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Quick. Quick. Quick. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like flirting. It feels like I’m having some kind of eyelash spasm.
“Do you have something in your eye?” Connor asks.
I stop fluttering.
“No. I mean, yes. But I got it.”
“Good.” I feel his arms get a little bit tighter around me.
Huh. Maybe it worked after all.
Okay, on to the next rule. I think it was something about teasing him and saying his name a lot.
I’m not sure how teasing someone is supposed to make them like you more, but Clementine seems to know what she’s talking about so I guess I’m just going to have to trust her.
“Hey, Connor,” I say.
He smirks. “Yes, Adeline?”
“Connor,” I repeat his name, feeling stupid already.
“Adeline,” he echoes back, his eyebrow cocking.
“Your nose is like really big.”
He stops swaying and his arms drop to his sides. He gives me a strange look that I can’t interpret. Is it working? Is he swooned by my teasing?
“And your ears kind of stick out like a monkey’s.”
“What?” he asks, tilting his head.
I giggle, pointing at him. “Now you really look like a monkey!”
He laughs too, but it sounds much more forced. “Is this a game I don’t know about?”
Actually, he sounds kind of annoyed. I really don’t think I’m doing this right. Was I supposed to tease him about something else?
“And your breath smells like farts.” I try a different approach.
He takes a step back. A really big step. Uh-oh. That can’t be good.
“My breath…Wh-what are you talking about?” he stammers, looking extremely confused, and definitely not swooned. He blows into his hand and sniffs it.
“That’s okay, though!” I rush to say. “I heard that it can take up to a few days for malodorous foods to make their way through your system.”
He stares at me for a moment, like he’s trying to solve one of those Trigoniatry problems. Then he shakes his head and moves back toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist again. But I definitely feel the change. His grip is much looser and I can see hesitation covering his face.
This is not going well. I have to figure out how to fix the situation.
What were the other flirting rules? Something about smiling? But did Clementine say you were supposed to smile with your teeth or without your teeth?
It must be with your teeth. Why would you smile without your teeth? You’d look like a duck-billed platypus or something. And I’m pretty sure duck-billed platypuses aren’t known for their flirting.
I pull my mouth into a wide grin, making sure to reveal as many teeth as I can. It feels a bit uncomfortable. Like my mouth is being stretched too far and my cheeks are going to pop right off, but I must be doing it right, because Connor smiles back at me. I admit, it doesn’t look like his usual carefree, friendly smile. It looks kind of strained. In fact, it almost looks like a grimace.
I have to come up with another rule fast.
How many have I done already? There was the eye flirting, the teasing, saying his name, the teeth smiling. That’s four. There’s just one left. What was it?
Find an excuse to touch him?
Yes! That’s it!
Touch him? But where? We’re already touching. My hands are on his shoulders and his hands are around my waist.
“I really like…,” I start to say, cringing at how squeaky and panicky my voice sounds. I search his face, before finally coming up with “…your chin!” I reach up and pinch his chin with my thumb and forefinger.
I can’t help but notice Connor leaning back a little. “Um, thanks.” His voice sounds uneasy.
“I also really like your earlobe,” I say, moving my hand to his ear, but he ducks away just as I’m reaching toward it and my finger jams right into his ear canal.
“Ow!” he cries out, pulling away from me and holding his hand to the side of his head. “What are you doing? Why are you sticking your finger in my ear?”
Now he sounds pretty angry. I know that was not the goal of the five rules of flirting. Which means I did them wrong. Just like I do everything wrong.
“I’m sorry,” I say hurriedly. “I’m really sorry.” And before he can say another word, or I can screw anything else up, I take off. I push through the other couples on the dance floor, searching the gym for Clementine.
Instead I find someone else.
Actually, find is the wrong word. I smack right into him, my nose bashing into his chest because he’s about a foot taller than me.
After the dizziness fades and I check my nose for blood, I lift my head to see J.T. standing there, his dark eyes narrowed in concern.
“Whoa,” he says, placing his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, glancing around for Clementine. This dance is not turning out how I’d hoped and I kind of just want to leave.
“Are you looking for your date?” J.T. asks.
“I didn’t come with a date,” I say automatically, still scouring the crowded gym for any sign of my friend.
“Oh,” J.T. says before falling very quiet. It’s only now that I focus my attention on him. His head is bowed and he’s looking at the ground with a solemn expression.
Great. I’ve said another wrong thing. I’ve screwed up again. I’ve upset yet another cute boy.
“When you said you couldn’t go to the dance with me, I just assumed it meant you already had a date,” J.T. says. He sounds so sad. Like I’ve just told him his dog died. “But I get it,” he goes on, still looking at the floor. “You just didn’t want to go with me.”
He starts to walk away and I’m so confused by the whole exchange it takes me a moment to come out of my trance and catch up with him. “Wait. J.T. No. That wasn’t it at all.”
“It’s okay,” he says glumly. “You and Clementine have this little popular-duo thing going and I don’t fit into that. It’s fine. I get it.”
Once again, it takes me a second to respond because I’m so mystified by his words. “What? No. It’s not like that.”
At least, I don’t think it’s like that.
But then I flash back on what Clementine said earlier in the night about J.T. being lame. Is that really why I turned him down? Because I’m too popular to be seen with him?
That can’t be true. I wouldn’t think like that.
“Clementine thought it would be a better idea if we came to the dance alone,” I explain. “Then we could dance with anyone we want.”
I say the words but there’s no emotion in them. I’m just parroting what Clementine told me earlier. The truth is, I’m starting to wonder what kind of person sixteen-year-old Adeline really is.
I know she’s the kind of person who has a lot of friends. Or at least a lot of people who text her and talk to her in the hallway. She’s the kind of person who gets asked to the dance by seven different guys and turns them all down. She’s also the kind of person who hangs
out with Clementine Dumont instead of Grace Harrington.
But what else? What am I missing?
“Oh?” J.T. asks, looking uplifted by my explanation. “So that means I could still ask you to dance?”
I feel my chest tighten again at the thought of going back out on that dance floor. Of trying to follow Clementine’s stupid five rules of flirting and most definitely failing all over again. But then I look into J.T.’s hopeful eyes, and I feel a twinge of something I can’t identify.
I can’t turn him down now. Plus, he kind of intrigues me. I want to know more about him. I want to figure out why he seems so familiar.
I smile. “I guess it does mean that you can ask me to dance.”
He grins back and I love the way it crinkles his eyes. Like the smile is spreading all the way across his face. “Addie, would you like to dance with me?”
I pretend to think long and hard about it. Just to make him laugh. It works. He chuckles as he waits for my answer.
I may not fully know what kind of girl I’ve become. But I know what kind of girl I was. And what kind I want to be.
It’s the kind of girl who says yes.
And that’s good enough for now.
Dancing with J.T. is nothing like dancing with Connor. He’s not suave and formal. He’s silly and clumsy and he makes me laugh. For the first half of the next song, he pretends like he’s on some ballroom competition show, straightening his neck like a pretentious ostrich and guiding me all around the dance floor, using our arms to cut through the sea of slow dancers. Then he spins me in a million circles until I’m dizzy and dips me so far down, my hair brushes the floor.
We get several dirty looks from other people but J.T. doesn’t seem to care. He just continues his uncoordinated routine in which we constantly bump into each other and step on each other’s toes.
I giggle as he twirls me out and back in, catching me ungracefully in his arms as my head gets caught in his armpit. “Ready for my signature death-defying aerial spin move?”
“Probably not.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
“I really don’t want to come to school on Monday on crutches,” I joke back.
He shrugs. “Fair enough.” Then he pulls me close and I catch a whiff of that delicious minty scent again. I wonder if he uses spearmint soap.
We dance normally for a little while, swaying gently to the beat while J.T. hums along to another ballad I don’t recognize.
I’m having such a good time, I almost manage to forget that catastrophe of a dance I had with Connor. Who is this J.T. guy? And why didn’t I just say yes to him in the first place? He’s so much fun to hang out with.
“I’m sorry I turned you down,” I say quietly, ducking my head a little so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “It would have been fun to come to the dance with you.”
J.T. stops humming. “That’s okay. I suppose I deserved it. Karmic payback and all.”
“Payback?” I repeat curiously.
“Yeah, for what I did to you in the seventh grade.”
I peer up at him in confusion.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember,” J.T. says. “The exploding grape soda? I’ve felt bad about that for years! But if you don’t even remember then I’ve wasted all that energy!”
Grape soda.
Jacob Tucker.
J.T.
Oh my gosh! How could I not figure it out? How could I not recognize him?
Probably because he’s completely transformed in the past four years. He got so tall and his voice got so deep. He lost all his baby fat. And he smells way better.
But now that I really look at him, his eyes are the same. That must be why he seemed so familiar.
“You’re Jacob Tucker!” I exclaim before throwing my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that aloud. He’s going to think I’m so crazy. And who knows? Maybe I am. Maybe this whole day has been one crazy delusion and I’m still lying in my bed at age twelve making it all up in my head.
“I mean, you’re Jacob Tucker,” I say, trying to recover. “Of course I remember. How could I forget? I had to walk around with a purple stain on my clothes the whole day.”
He frowns, looking guilty. “Sorry. I was such a doofus back then. I only did it because I had this huge crush on you.”
WHAT?
Jacob Tucker had a crush on me? But I always thought he hated me! Why would you shake up a soda can and then give it to someone you liked?
“Are you serious?” I ask.
He laughs. “Oh yeah. Big-time. You couldn’t tell?”
“No!” I practically yell. “How was I supposed to know that? All your friends laughed at me!”
Now he looks mortified, dropping his gaze to the floor and shaking his head slowly. “I know. I was an idiot. I assumed because I picked grape soda you would get it. You told me it was your favorite in like the second grade and I remembered. But I was worried if I just gave it to you, my friends would make fun of me. So I shook it up first.” He laughs. “You would think I’d have grown up a little bit in four years, but unfortunately I don’t think I’m much better now at telling girls how I feel.”
I swallow hard. He lifts his head and stares at me so intensely that I have to look away. Is he trying to tell me that he still has a crush on me?
Did Clementine know? Did my sixteen-year-old self know?
J.T.—I mean, Jacob—clears his throat. “So, shall I show you some more of my killer dance moves?”
I smile, happy for the change of subject. It was starting to get really warm inside this gym.
“Bring it,” I tell him.
He grips my hand tighter and I brace myself for whatever ridiculous, over-the-top move he’s going to attempt next, but he never gets the chance. The song comes to an end and the DJ’s voice booms over the speaker system.
“How are you doing, Thunder Creek High Spartans?”
The audience lets out a whoop and I feel a shiver of excitement ripple through me. Thunder Creek High Spartans! That’s me! I’m one of them. I’m a Spartan!
Wait, what is a Spartan?
Some kind of bear?
“Are you ready for some all-star talent?” the DJ asks, and the crowd goes crazy again.
“Oh,” Jacob says with disappointment. “It looks like they’re starting the talent show already.”
Wait, what talent show?
“There you are.” Clementine appears in front of us and I immediately feel Jacob’s hand slip from mine. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Her gaze flicks suspiciously from me to Jacob. Is it just my imagination or did she just give him an evil sneer?
“C’mon,” she urges, taking my hand. “Let’s go. It’s time to get ready.”
Get ready for what?
The DJ’s voice returns. “Contestants, please make your way backstage for Thunder Creek’s Got Talent.”
“Did you remember your costume?” Clementine asks.
And that’s when all the pieces click together in my brain and my knees turn to mush as a million reminders flash through my mind at once.
Don’t forget your costume!
Don’t forget your costume!
Don’t forget your costume!
Uh-oh.
Oh, no. This is not happening. I am not going up on that stage in front of all these people.
Clementine grips my hand and leads me into the hallway. My mind is spinning, while my lungs are fighting for air.
“I don’t think I can do this. I’m really not feeling up to it,” I tell her.
She swats this away with her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you can do it. We’ve been practicing for weeks.”
I want to scream at her that I haven’t been practicing for weeks! I haven’t practiced at all. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do up there, let alone how to physically do it. For all I know, sixteen-year-old Adeline could have been spending the past four years learning to play the banjo
or juggle knives or contort her body like a human pretzel.
Oh, gosh, I’m going to faint.
I’m seriously going to pass out.
I eye the front door of the school. My escape. I need to find a way out of this.
“I…” I struggle for an excuse. “I didn’t bring my costume!” I finally blurt out, hoping it will do the trick.
Clementine sighs impatiently. “How could you forget? I only set like twenty reminders on your phone!”
I start for the front door. “Well, I did. So let’s just go home.”
Clementine grabs my hand again and pulls me back with a groan. “No way. We’ve been preparing for this for weeks. You are not bailing on me.” She puts her hands on her hips and thinks for a moment. “We’ll just have to do the dance routine in our dresses.”
Dance routine?
There’s a dance routine?
I was kind of hoping our talent would be something I could just wing like…I don’t know, standing on one foot. I can totally do that. I can’t wing a choreographed dance routine!
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” I tell her. “This dress is kind of short in the front and—”
“We’re doing it,” Clementine says bluntly. “It’ll be cute. Just be careful on some of those split moves.”
Split moves????
I feel sweat forming on the back of my neck. Is it hot in here? I suddenly can’t breathe. Where is all the oxygen in this place? Who stole all the oxygen?
“I’m sick!” I exclaim, pulling Clementine to a stop and rooting my feet to the floor. “I can’t do it. I have a headache.”
Clementine groans again and keeps pulling. She’s surprisingly strong. “I don’t care.”
“I get terrible stage fright.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I think I came down with Ebola!”
Clementine stops and turns around, giving me the same evil look I swore I saw her give Jacob Tucker just a second ago. “You’re acting kind of cray-cray. Why are you getting so freaked out? You choreographed the dance!”
That doesn’t do me any good if I can’t actually remember choreographing the dance!
“Now stop being a baby and let’s do this thing,” Clementine commands.