I don’t mean that like it sounds. I adore Bobby, and it’s good that I’ll be his partner because it’ll put him at ease, somewhat. “Sure.” I smile across the room at my brother. “Come on, Bobby. Let’s show ’em how it’s done.” I giggle as I make my way across the room.
Might as well make this fun.
ChapterTwo
Matilda
This isnotfun.
Bobby has two giant left feet. I know this because he’s clomped those big hooves of his on top of mine way too many times. My poor Chuck Taylors have boot prints on the toe. I can guarantee I’ll be hobbling around for the next little while after this.
Just then, I hear clapping, then a foot tapping impatiently on the shiny wood floor. “No. No. No.” That’s Madame DuBois for about the fiftieth time in the last hour. She’s grown quite frustrated with some of us. Well, one of us. Not me or my brother. Withhim. Alec.
Either the guy has absolutely no coordination or he’s intentionally doing the exact opposite of Madame’s instructions. The funniest part of the whole thing is Chrissie. She’s all red, and there’s sweat on her brow from her having to push and pull Alec from one side of the room to another. I’d laugh if it wouldn’t draw attention to myself. Instead, I’ll laugh inside. Not at him, though. I honestly think he’s trying his best.
It's not an easy dance to learn, the waltz. As I said, Bobby is killing my feet, but he’s getting it. Unlike Alec. I swear, he’s getting worse. I know I shouldn’t be watching him, but it can’t be helped. You know how good-looking he is. And he asked me to dance. That earned him a little bit of my attention.
“You.”
I blink a few times at Madame DuBois’s extended arm. It’s aimed right at me. My first response is to point one of my own fingers at myself. “Me?”
“Oui. Come.”
I look to my left and see Vicky’s glare.
Great. Now she’s going to be even more angry with me.
I glance right and see Aunt Annabelle. She nods once, letting me know I should do as Madame DuBois instructs.
Slumping my shoulders in defeat, because it feels like this is a no-win situation, I walk to her. “Yeah?”
“Dance vit him.” She points at Alec.
“Um….” It sounds more like a squeak than a real word. “Are you sure?” Because I’m not.
“Oui.”
“No.” Vicky is moving in our direction, but Madame’s hand goes up in that universal sign for stop. Vicky stops.
“Thees von knows vat she’s doing.” The look of disdain from Madame that’s directed at Vicky is, well, in a word, priceless.
The fact is, I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m pretty good with directions when it comes to dancing—all thanks to that video game that came out in the early 2000s. I was a champ at that. Still am. It’s how I get most of my exercise these days.
Don’t judge.
Madame DuBois gestures for Chrissie to move to the side. “Vous take her partner.”
Chrissie stomps over to my poor brother whose face just turned the most unnatural shade of pink I’ve ever seen. Deciding to ignore the trauma facing my brother, for now, I make my way to Alec. His expression says it all. He’s angry and, no doubt, embarrassed. I would be. I do what I can to ease the tension.
“Come on, Alec. Just give it a whirl. It’ll be fun.” I snort, then give him my best smile while holding my arms out to him, mirroring correct posture and framing—two terms I didn’t know until today.
His expression doesn’t change, but he does place his right hand under my arm, resting it on my shoulder blade just like they taught us. I put my hand on his upper arm, right on top of one of his bulging muscles. “Good job,” I say with a smile, not intending to be the least bit condescending, but he takes it the wrong way.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child.”
I wasn’t. Well, I didn’t mean to. I was attempting to sound encouraging. I guess that didn’t work. Ignoring him, I take a step closer to him until my right hip is pressed against his left thigh. We’re supposed to be hip to hip, but with our height difference, this is as good as it’s gonna get. “Stop being such a party pooper. It could be worse.”
Alec looks down, and those brown eyes stare right into mine. He’s scowling, but I sort of think it’s just how his face works. Maybe he can’t help it. “How?”
