But it’s still summer, and we’re here at camp for one more night, and I’m hanging with my friends, so I have no complaints.
Well, the snacks here at the dance are pretty crappy, but that’s nothing new. But still, snacks are snacks, so I fill up my plate with little cubed cheeses and stale potato chips and grab a watered-down cola. My buddies are all hanging at a table toward the back of the gym, and last I saw, Knox and Booker were in a heated water bottle toss competition.
I make my way across the room and set my food down. But just as I’m about to chill out and chow down, the deejay switches songs and a soft, slow beat comes on. Just that fast, almost all the guys scatter as the girls in the room rush to find dance partners. Ty gets tagged by an older girl from Ladybug cabin, while Knox and Booker duck out. I’m about to follow them, but when I turn in that direction, I run smack-dab into a body.
A soft, curvy body.
Lucy Alvarez’s body.
My hands go to her waist to steady her. “Crap. Are you ok?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”
“Sorry, I was just—” I apologize, moving my hands back where they belong.
“It’s my fault. I was going to get some food and—”
“Don’t bother. The food sucks,” I tell her honestly.
“Well, in that case,” she shrugs, and it occurs to me that we’re standing on the edge of the dance floor. Any second now, she’s going to walk right past me and go back to her gaggle of girls. Unless…
“Do you want to dance?” I stammer, hoping that came out smoother than I think it did.
“With you?” she asks.
Oh, shit. That’s not good.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Or not. I could, like, ask someone else if they wanna dance with you?” Oh my God, the awkwardness won’t stop gushing out of my mouth.
She shakes her head. “No, you’re fine. It’s fine. I mean, yeah, I’ll dance with you,” Lucysays, and I get the sense that maybe this isn’t so easy for her either.
We move to the makeshift dance floor. Lucy reaches her arms up so her fingertips brush my shoulders, and I return my hands to her waist. We sway for a few minutes, sort of circling around as the music plays. I’m usually a decent dancer, but around Lucy, it’s like my brain short-circuits.
“I like this song,” she tells me.
“It’s by a boy band,” I inform her, and I have no doubt my face looks like I just smelled the inside of Booker’s hockey bag.
“So?”
“So, it’s commercial and overproduced. The whole thing is autotuned. It takes basically no talent to do what they’re doing. It’s all hair gel and coordinating outfits. They’re not a real band, you know. They met on a reality show.”
“Well, they’re my favorite, so thanks for your little lecture, but I don’t need your negativity.”
“You need your ears checked,” I tell her, moving a little closer because she has shit taste in music, but she smells like flowers, and I like that.
“Not everyone has to have the same tastes, you know. And there’s nothing wrong with liking boy bands.”
“Except for the reasons I just gave you.”
“Ugh,” she sighs. “They were stupid reasons. And for the record, I’ve already been to the snack table. And I thought those little cheeses were yummy.”
“The colby jack? You like hybrid cheese?” I swear, my voice goes up an octave.
“I guess I do.”
“That settles it. We can’t be friends.” I tell her, only half-joking since we’re not really friends as it is.
“Fine by me,” she says, still holding on to my jacket with her soft, small hands.
