“Hey, it’s not that bad,” I protest.
“I’m sorry, but are you the doctor?”
“No,” I grumble.
“All right, I think I can save you,” she says.
She leads me to her vanity and goes to work on me.
Forty-five minutes later, she spins me around to face the mirror. “What do you think?” She dabs at my cheek with one of her sponges.
I lean close to the mirror and gawk at myself. “Dani, it’s incredible.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and I can see she’s relieved that I likeit.
I lean closer. Somehow Dani made me look bold but not garish. Also, I look like I’ve slept for as long as Sleeping Beauty.
When and why did I stop thinking it was cool that she’s good at this? I stand up and throw my arms around her, glad my lack of sleep forced me to ask her for help.
“Oh my God, don’t mess up your face,” she squeals, surprised by my attack. She hesitates for a few seconds, but then she hugs me back.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” she says.
——
Danceball is in the grand ballroom of the Seasons hotel. The theme is “Hollywood Glamour,” which apparently means gold. Because there is gold everywhere. Gold streamers, towers of gold balloons, gold confetti on the ground. All the signage is written in gold cursive, including a huge banner that readsWelcome to the 17th Annual Los Angeles Danceball Championships.
My stomach does a nervous two-step and I squeeze Mom’s hand. We make our way to the registration desk.
“A lot of you amateurs dancing today,” says the lady checking me in.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.” She hands me my envelope and wishes me luck.
Twenty-three couples means there’ll be two quarterfinal heats to determine who gets into the semis. I open my packet and check to make sure all our details are right. Age group:Under 21.Partnership Type:Am-Am.Category:Bronze Newcomer.Style:Nightclub.
As (bad) luck would have it, our couple number is also twenty-three. Since we have the highest number, X and I will be always the last ones called when the judges announce which dancers are moving on.Ifwe get called.
X and I agreed to meet downstairs at the designated practice floor.
I spot him right away, leaning against the wall next to the practice room. He looks the opposite of how I feel. Relaxed. Confident.
I wave at him. He pushes off the wall and walks over to us.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. Thomas,” he says to Mom.
“Well, don’t you look wonderful,” she says. “You boys should have to wear this sort of thing all the time.”
He hooks his thumbs into his suspenders. “Not sure these are the next big thing for eighteen-year-olds, Ms. T,” he says, grinning.
While they chitchat, I let my eyes travel all over him. He looks the same as he did in rehearsal yesterday, but somehow better. His black patent-leather shoes are shined to glistening. His shirt is perfectly pressed. But it’s the top two buttons that snag my attention. They’re unbuttoned, and for a second I see my fingers unbuttoning a third and a fourth, until—
“Evie, you ready for this?” he asks just as I’m getting to the fifth button.
Yes.
