Martin sits back down and winks at me.
We walk along for a little while, not saying anything until X breaks the silence.
“I like your friends. Thanks for inviting me.”
“They like you too.”
“Cassidy is pretty funny.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad her parents suck.”
“Did she and Sophie ever used to go out?”
“No…why?”
He shrugs. “No reason. They seem close, is all.”
“We’reallpretty close. We survived the orgy of awkwardness that is middle school together. We’re bonded for life, like war soldiers.”
He laughs. “So you were awkward in middle school?” he asks.
“Wasn’t everyone?”
“Nah, I’ve always been this cool.”
“You’re not that cool,” I say, but neither of us believes I mean it.
We get to the restroom and stand guard for each other before making our way back.
It reallyisa perfect night. One of those that make me feel lucky I get to live in a place as beautiful as this. The beach is bright with the light of other fires. Every fire pit has its own group of people laughing or dancing or just warming themselves. I press my toes hard into the damp sand. For some reason, I want to leave a mark.
We’re halfway back when an enormous plane passes overhead. Air France. We both stop walking to stare up at it. The engine temporarily blots out all other sound.
“Paris would be nice,” I say after it’s gone.
“Pretty happy right where I am,” he says.
I don’t know when he stopped looking up at the sky and started looking at me instead.
“So you think Fifi’s right? We’re gonna dance better now we’ve gotten to know each other a little?” he asks.
“I think so,” I say. The truth is I forgot that was the reason we started hanging out in the first place.
He stops walking. “One way to know for sure,” he says. He takes my right hand with his left and rests his other hand on my waist. We’re almost in closed position. All I have to do is move my left hand and rest it on his shoulder, so I do.
“You want to practice right now?” he asks.
He slides his arm up from my waist to just under my shoulder blade. He uses the heel of his hand against my back to nudge me closer. Fifi would be proud of his lead technique. We are in perfect closed position.
There’s at least six inches of space between us.
I can’t quite get myself to look up at him, so I look at his clavicle instead.
“I really want to kiss you,” he says.
Now I have to look up at him. “There’s no kissing in dancing,” I say.
He smiles a smile that’s somehow wider than his face. He doesn’t take his eyes off my lips. “Is that a yes?”
