And then she felt a strange lightness inside her. It felt like a spark. And a tingle. And gave her a bounce in her step. And it took her breath away.

But she soon got herself breathing again and went to get Jimmy another Bud.

Jimmy watched Villian head toward the bar.

And then he looked down at his “Villian” tattoo.

And put his hand on it.

And squeezed it.

And tried to make sense of what had just happened.

And then stopped trying—because he couldn’t make sense of it.

And he felt like something great was about to happen—extraordinary even.

Which is scary for someone who isn’t used to having extraordinary things happen to them.

Because what if it doesn’t happen?

6

As Ginette made her way past the Moose Paddy, she tried to ignore the guy and the girl who were laughing and hugging and kissing in the parking lot.

But she couldn’t.

And she watched them make their way toward the Moose Paddy’s entrance. They were holding each other close. And it looked like the guy was saying something in the girl’s ear.

Ginette bet that the guy wasn’t saying to the girl that, even though they were about as close to one another as they could possibly have been, they were actually about as far away from each other as they could possibly be.

And she continued on her way and wondered why Pete had shared his asinine theory on what it means to be close—at such an inopportune time.

And she was happy to be leaving the theory behind—but not the theorist.

It was 8:10 PM when Ginette found herself approaching the Rec Center, which was about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Moose Paddy. An A-frame sign illuminated by a clamp light was perched on a snowbank in front of the one-story brick building. It announced:

COUNTRY SWING!

TONITE!

5 BUCKS!

It seemed to Ginette that there was a whole lot of dancing going on in Almost on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen. And that irked her. Because she wished that she and Pete were at Country Swing, dancing.

But they weren’t.

But Justin Legassie and Michelle Blackmore were—or they were about to be—or so they thought.

Michelle had just pulled her old black Buick LeSabre into the Rec Center parking lot. Because Justin had said that he wanted to go dancing. And he never thought he’d go dancing with Michelle again. Maybe because he never really thought he’d see her again. Because when he left Almost a couple of years ago, he had never planned on coming back.

But his uncle Clair had died a couple of days ago. And his uncle Clair and his aunt Belinda had raised him. And Justin loved his uncle Clair more than anyone in the world. So he was back in Almost for his funeral.

A couple of hours ago, going dancing was the last thing Justin thought he’d be doing on that Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen. He had been stretched out on the couch in the living room, sometimes staring up at the vaulted ceiling of his aunt’s A-frame house counting pine knots, and sometimes staring at his uncle’s big plaid puffy chair, and sometime staring at his uncle’s guitar, which was resting on its stand in the corner next to the TV—and which was the guitar Uncle Clair had taught him to play on.