“You gonna be all right by yourself, Jack?” Mona asks, squinting at me in the dim light.

She calls us the Three’s Company crew. I’m Jack, she’s Janet and Kimba’s Chrissy. It took me a while to let Mona in. It’s always been just Kimba and me. Sure, I resented that there were “girl” things Kimba told her that I don’t know about, but Mona’s good people. It seems like the way I feel about Kimba is scrawled all over my face, but Mona’s never picked up on it, so I guess I’m better at hiding it than I think I am. Kimba certainly doesn’t know.

“I’m all right, Janet,” I say wryly.

“It’s called a dance for a reason. You’re supposed to…ya know, dance.”

“I don’t dance.” I shudder at the thought of forcing my lanky limbs into some kind of rhythm. “No one wants to see that.”

“Guess that’s your momma’s side, huh?” she teases.

I roll my eyes, grin and give her the finger.

“I gotta go before somebody snatches Kyle. You sure you’ll be–”

“I’ll be fine.”

And I am fine through another song and a half. I’m not so much a wallflower as a potted plant, stuck and stiff, unmoving in a corner.

I’m considering walking the two miles home when someone steps in front of me. “Wanna dance?”

Hannah.

She’s straightened her curls and her hair hangs to her waist. Her freckles hide behind a dusting of powder. Who told her to do that? The freckles are kinda cute. She looks me in the eyes, but there’s something shy on her face, like she has to make herself do it.

“Where’s your brother?” I ask. “Maybe you should check with him before we dance.”

“I’m so sorry about that.” Hannah covers her face with her hands for a second. “He told me what he did, but I was too embarrassed to talk to you about it before. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I don’t care.”

It’s easy for her not to care what her brother or her father think about her liking me. She’s not the one who got beat up on the way home from synagogue for nothing.

“So do you wanna dance?” Hannah asks again.

I glance back to the floor where the neon strobe lights bathe Kimba and Jeremy in an array of colors. She laughs at something he says and his hand slips down another inch.

“Sure.” I push off the wall, knowing I can’t dance for crap, but not caring. “Only a slow one, though. If a fast song comes on, I’m walking off the floor.”

“Deal,” she says, her pink, glossy lips pulled into a grin.