“No, I, uh, I like it.” Her hand lifted toward her hair and she forced it down, somehow perching it on her hip and inciting a true battle over whether it looked or felt more awkward.

“Then you’ll have to come to dinner, because she can’t take two bites before she’s spouting another one.”

Delia inched her hand down her side. She’d never been so conscious of her body before and couldn’t help wishing this preoccupation had struck earlier—like when she was dancing. How had she danced? How had she danced like that?

When Eric had begun talking to her at the edge of the dance floor, she’d been grateful for the darkness that hid her bright red face. But the volume made it hard to hear, so he suggested they go outside. The instant the cool air dried her sweaty forehead, it was like she’d come back from another world. To the Delia who would never set foot on a dance floor, let alone tango on one, in front of strangers, in front of her peers, her classmates. Eric.

Heat again rose in her cheeks, and she clutched the dress fabric between her fingers, willing the flush not to spread to her neck. She turned and looked down the block, comparing San Francisco to her memories of Chicago. She imagined the sheer number of streets lined with endless buildings, big and small, were indicative of any city. But the river she and her parents had walked along was missing, as were the trees. In their place were, as far as Delia could tell, deathtraps Lucy had called “hills.” She’d been convinced the bus was going to topple over headfirst more than once before they pulled up to the club.

Even now, she couldn’t see a distance greater than a couple of blocks before the steepness concealed what lay beyond.

“How’s Lit going?” Eric asked.

Delia faced him. “It’s still early, but we, uh, we think it’s viable. Slack’s helping us share ideas and links and keep track of questions, which is good since Lucy seems to have as many as the lines of code we’ll ultimately need. For the prototype, it’s just, well, the crowdsourcing aspect’s new for me, but I’m making headway on the—” She stopped. “Sorry. You shouldn’t let me do that.”

“What?” Eric said.

“Ramble. You were just being nice, and I’m going on and on about details you couldn’t possibly care about especially since you’ve got your own app you’re working on, and how’s that going anyway? And I’m not just asking to be nice, and, oh boy, I’m doing it again.”