“Hey, that was great!” he says when the music stops. I can smell a hint of fresh sweat.

I feel pleasantly warm, a little sticky under the silky blouse. “Thanks. I had fun. I ne-ver shagged be-fore.”

I can tell he doesn’t understand. I gesture for him to push me to where Sara is now sitting alone. Yvonne and the para are out together, so busy talking and flirting that they’re not doing much dancing.

“You okay here?” the surfer guy asks pleasantly.

I nod yes. He’s gone.

“Hey, Spazzo,” Sara says, “I was watching you out there. You got style, sure enough.”

I laugh. I wonder if he’ll ask me again. I liked moving with him, feeling his hands. I want to talk to him, maybe in a quieter place. I could ask if he learned to dance like that at Wrightsville Beach.

Willie comes up from behind and startles me. “I’ve waited eight years.” Dramatically, he takes Sara’s hand. “Is this the night?”

“Nope, not this night or any night. You know I don’t dance.” She grunts and frees her hand from his bent grip.

“Whatsa matter? You a lesbian?”

I am horrified.

“You males are such conceited assholes,” Sara says with no anger at all. “A girl rejects you and you figure there’s something wrong with her. Have you ever considered that there might be another explanation, for example the very likely possibility that you are the ugliest guy in the two Carolinas, maybe even in the thirteen original states?”

Willie pantomimes being stabbed in the stomach. Wincing, his face becomes even more hideous. “Oh woe, such is my lot! Scorned and covered with scars!” His voice sounds amused.

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it, ain’t it? Now get your butt and your last ounce of courage over to some girl counselor and ask her to dance. They get paid to buck up the delicate egos of guys like you.”

He gives her a gentle poke on the arm and goes off and does her bidding. Dancing with a pretty girl counselor, he looks back at us and winks a fish eye.

For once, Sara is in no mood to talk. In silence, we watch the dancing. I notice the counselors acting as chaperones, making sure no one sneaks away or goes too far. Just like a normal dance. But at the same time, something isn’t right.

A girl counselor dances close to an MR man, rubbing her body against his as she jerks with the beat. Moving with her, he leans into her and reaches out to squeeze her behind. She pulls back, yanks his hand away, and shakes a disapproving finger at him. He drops his arms and his head. That’s okay, I forgive you, she seems to say, and within seconds she’s on him again. But now he keeps his arms down and doesn’t even look at her.