We’re now kind of swaying, and it’s not so bad. It’s the first time we’ve touched where I wasn’t either punching him or stopping him from punching someone.

I say, “This is my first school dance.”

“Ah.”

“Well, it’s the closest I’ve ever come, at least. Not to put any pressure on you.”

“No pressure. Just extreme performance anxiety. Every guy’s dream.”

“You’re not a terrible dancer.”

“My confidence is soaring now.”

“It’s just not exactly how I pictured it.”

“Okay, so what can I do to change that?”

“Uh …”

“You look really pretty tonight.”

In the second it takes me to realize he’s playing, my legs grow into the floor like roots. Jack tightens his grip on me and kind of nudges me into motion again.

He says, “Especially in that dress. The color really brings out your eyes.”

“Uh.” Think. “The sales clerk called it Hershey brown.” Ugh. What?

“Actually more like amber.”

And he’s looking into my eyes as if I’m the only thing he sees. I tell myself, He’s such a good actor, as these little goose bumps spring out at the base of my spine and go shooting up my back, across my shoulders, and down both arms.

Suddenly we’re dancing closer, and I’m aware of not just his hands but each individual finger connecting to my body and his legs bumping against mine. I want to lean in and get a whiff of him and rest my head on his shoulder or maybe make out with his neck. Afterward he’ll walk me home and kiss me on the doorstep, sweet at first, and then hungrier and hungrier till we fall into the bushes and go rolling off across the yard.

All at once, the song ends and a fast song begins, and my eyes fly open. We immediately break apart, and Jack wipes his hands on his jeans. Ack.

Mr. Levine goes, “Don’t stop! It’s a dance-off. Go, go, go!” And he’s dancing like a crazy man. For a moment, all we can do is gawp at him. I mean, it’s a spectacle. The man is all legs and arms and flopping hair. “The longer you don’t dance, the longer we’re here. I’m getting at least three songs out of you.” And he starts it over.

Jack Masselin goes, “Shit.” And then begins to move. Of course, I think. Of course he can dance. Because he’s their leader, they all start dancing. First Andy and then Keshawn, Natasha, Travis, and even Maddy. Jack Masselin is not my leader, so I’m still standing there.

Once again, Mr. Levine starts the song over. “I’m going to keep doing that till we’re all moving.”

It’s one thing to twirl in the near-empty park with Rachel, but it’s another to start shaking and jumping on school property in front of my counselor and my fellow classmates, delinquents though they may be. In that moment, my Damsels dream wavers because the audition will be so much worse. The audition means Heather Alpern and her squad captains—including Caroline Lushamp—sitting at a table, watching me. If I’m able to get past the potential humiliation of that moment, how will I ever perform in costume for the school?

But ahhhhhhh, this song. It’s so … I realize I’m kind of tapping my foot and bouncing my head. No, I think. Libby, you can’t. But the song is … oh my God. I feel my hips start to move a little. No, no, no. Don’t do it.

But I’m alive. I’m here.

We never know how long we have. We’re never guaranteed tomorrow. I could die right now, right here.

It could be over in an instant.

She woke up like it was any other day, just like I did, just like Dad did. We thought it was a regular, normal day. None of us knew we were waking up to the worst day. If we’d known, what would we have done? Would we have held on to her tight and tried to keep her here?

The song starts over. Keshawn goes, “Come on, Libby. Damn.”

What would Mom want me to do right now? If she could see me, what would she say?

And then Jack Masselin is suddenly breaking out these moves, Keshawn and Natasha are doing some sort of routine, and Mr. Levine is kicking his legs out like he’s Heather Alpern, former Rockette. Even shy little Maddy is shaking her shoulders.

Stay still. Wait out the song. Don’t you do it, Libby.

But I can feel my body taking over my mind, and this is what happens. The dance is in me. All at once I’m in there, waving my arms, waving my booty, swinging my hair. I jump a little, and when the gym floor doesn’t collapse, I jump some more.

Jack starts jumping too, and before I can stop myself, I spin off into a twirl. Jack shouts, “What’s that dance called?”

I say the first name I think of: “The Merry-Go-Round!”

I twirl and twirl, and then Mr. Levine is twirling and Jack is twirling and all the others are twirling, just like the lights, until the gym turns upside down.

Heather Alpern is still in her office. She says, “Libby, isn’t it?” Her voice is warm, like honey.

“I heard that Terri Collins is moving, and I wondered if there was going to be an audition for the Damsels.” I’m still flushed and entirely electrified from the dancing. I want to climb onto her desk and make it my stage and audition right here, right now, but instead I hand her my application.

“Thanks so much for this.” She smiles, and I have to look away because she’s just that lovely. “I’ll be announcing tryouts next week.”

Outside, it’s starting to rain. The parking lot is empty and my dad isn’t there, so I stand up against the building where I won’t get wet, even though the last thing I ever want to do is stand against a building like I’m fifth-grade Libby Strout, banished from the playground.