She's leaning against the farthest counter, and whispers, "Until the other girl is here, I'd feel more comfortable staying downstairs. Not that the boys are untrustworthy or anything, it's just that... they're teenage boys. You're a pretty girl."
"I got it, Mom, but really, you don't have to worry about that with them." She opens her mouth to say something else, but I beat her to it. "It's okay, though, Mom. I get it."
"I hope I'm not being too embarrassing," she says.
I smile. "You're not."
She picks up her phone from the counter behind her. "How about now?" she asks, pressing her thumb to the screen. Upbeat pop music—I think it's called "Shut Up and Dance" but I don't really listen to this, I'm more into indie folk with small exceptions for pop—starts playing through the Bluetooth speaker in the living room, and fills our house.
"Yo," I hear Moth exclaim.
"Maybe now," I say. I hurry over to the doorway to see what the boys' reactions are. Moth is dancing in his seat as he pulls a second piece of pizza out of the box, and Thatcher his nodding his head along with the beat. Our eyes meet and he smiles at me. All is well.
I turn back to my mom. "It's okay, I guess."
"It's a dance music station. Snow Ball is just around the corner, right? And there are two boys in the dining room."
"Okay, now you're being too embarrassing," I say before walking back to the table.
"My mom put on a dance music station for Snow Ball prep," I say to the boys once I take my seat again. "She can be so lame."
"I heard that," she calls from the kitchen.
"Mom!"
Thatcher laughs. "I guess we could use some practice before the real thing."
"Do you go to the school dances?" I ask, but my interest sounds way too obvious. "I've never been to one," I add.
"I went to homecoming freshmen year," he says.
"With who?" Again, my interest sounds way too obvious.
"I just went," he replies with a shrug.
Moth is still dancing. "Stag, nice. Yeah, I love school dances. It's the last time we'll be able to go out dancing in nice clothes for maybe ever, so why not go all out every time."
"Really?" I ask. "You like dances?"
"Not like, love."
"Why?"
Moth stands up and starts into some almost robotic hip hop moves that, in my opinion, he's actually pulling off. Who knew Moth was a good dancer? "Cause I've got the moves, dude," Moth says, still dancing. "No, but seriously," he continues, sitting back down. The song ends and another one comes on. This one I know: it's called "Castle on the Hill" by Ed Sheeran. "I love anything that forces people out of the perspective they're always in and gets them out of their own heads. Acting is like that, but so are school dances. We are all dressed up, it's dark, the DJ is killing it, and we're all jumping and moving, most of us, without a care in the world. People get way too in their heads, but dance shakes us out of that and just lets us have fun."
"Do you ever go with anyone?" I ask. I don't feel as weird asking him about stuff like this, because it's not for me, but for Patti. Still, it sounds too forward, so I cover myself again. "Or is that not freeing enough for you?"
"No, dude, I've been with people before. I can go alone or with someone, it doesn't matter. It isn't less freeing, it's the opposite, actually. When you don't care about what other people think and just be yourself, it inspires the people around you to do the same. If someone around you is already being weird, then you can blame them if you start to feel too self-conscious. That's my job."
"To take the blame for other people's weirdness?"
He stares me down in response, moving his shoulders up and down to the beat of the song. He stands up out of his seat, still moving his shoulders, and extends his hand to me.
I laugh. "Nope."
"C'mon, Janie girl, get out of your head."
My cheeks warm. "I'm good."
"Fine," he says, still moving his shoulders up and down. He doesn't put down his arm, but instead turns it to face Thatcher. "Time to get weird, Thatch."
Thatcher laughs and shrugs. "Eh, who cares." He takes Moth's hand and stands up.
"Yeah, dude," Moth cheers, finally breaking character and smiling.
Thatcher drops Moth's hand now, but the two of them break into the weirdest dance moves to "Castle on the Hill." The moves fall somewhere between interpretive dance moves and the robot. They look ridiculous, and when my mom hears me laughing at them, she pokes her head out of the kitchen to see what they're doing.
Then, in her most embarrassing move yet, Mom dances out of the kitchen and around the table to pull me out of my seat.
"Mom," I squeal in embarrassment, but Thatcher and Moth are cheering her on. I'm so embarrassed, but at the same time, oddly proud of my mom. What a weirdo.
I give in and reluctantly dance with my mom, who is pulling my arms back and forth in some sort of tango gone wrong.
"Let's see your moves, Janie," Moth says. "As weird as you can get with them."
My mom releases me and I decide to release my inhibitions, too. After all, Thatcher is being weird too, and Moth is right, I can just blame my weirdness on Moth if it gets too embarrassing.
I close my eyes and do "the sprinkler." The boys and my mom cheer me on, so I open my eyes and see Thatcher smiling at me. It's not a judgmental smile like Gina would be giving me right now if she were here, but the sort of smile that looks like it comes from admiration. Or maybe that's just what I'm hoping for.
The song ends, and we all stop in an awkward what-next sort of moment until the next song comes on. This must be one of Moth's favorites, because he crouches down with his hands on his cheeks. "Dudes, this is the best dance song."
"What is this?" I ask.
"The cupid shuffle," he says. "You don't know the cupid shuffle?" He apparently can't believe that I don't know it. "Yo, you're going to learn it right now. Come over here, we have to make a line," he says. "Stand next to me."
I do as he instructs, and Thatcher stands on the other side of me. My mom joins in next to Thatcher. "It's easy to pick up," Thatcher leans down to tell me. "The singer literally tells you what to do."
"Yeah, but it's the perfect example of my whole philosophy," Moth says. "No one can sit down and say they can't dance when a guy literally tells you what to do. This song gets everyone out of their heads and onto the dance floor. Okay, it's starting. Take a few steps to the right first."
I follow along, watching Moth the entire time. How does he know when to go right and left? When does this guy tell you how to move? It's so confusing and I find myself struggling to keep up with the first go through of the dance.
Thatcher must notice, though. He takes my hand and holds it in his. "Here, follow me," he says.
Around the time I close my hand around his and excitement floods my body, the singer starts gives us the explicit instructions for what to do, but I still don't drop Thatcher's hand. Any excuse to be close to him. And just like Moth's theory about blaming him for my weirdness, I can blame Thatcher for our closeness if anyone calls me out.
I can't stop myself from smiling, this is the happiest I've felt in a long while, but then my mom says, "Janie, I think your phone is ringing."
Ugh, of course.
I drop Thatcher's hand and step out of the dance line to answer. It's Patti. "Hey, I'm outside. I knocked, but I guess no one heard me. I'm earlier than I thought."
"Oh, okay, I'll go let you in," I say and hang up. "Patti's here, I'll go get her," I tell the boys and Mom.
"Tell her we're getting weird," Moth says.
I jog to the door and open it up with a wide smile. Patti stands there, her eyes wide and full of terror. My smile drops. "What's going on?" I ask.
She's holding a slim box in front of her, which she slowly opens to face me. Inside the box is an arrangement of nine cupcakes, each with a different letter written on the top in icing. The cupcakes all together read, "Snow Ball?"
"I'm going to ask Timothy to Snow Ball," she says, her eyes still wide with terror.
Yep, we're definitely going to get weird.