He was back in a moment, and we stood silently next to each other for a few minutes, the music washing over us, the faint smell of old sweat in the air. I could feel the heat his skin gave off. He shifted a little bit, brushed my arm accidentally, shifted away again with an awkward smile. A few kids danced confidently in the center of the room, but for the most part one corner of the large room was full of boys talking to one another and shifting from foot to foot, casting occasional glances toward the equally chatty cluster of girls from Langton Day, the nearest girls’ school. A few balloons drifted lazily across the floor, and some of the boys got into an impromptu balloon-tossing match.

“So does this pick up any later on?” I asked Helen, smiling a little.

“Oh, you know. There’s always a couple of kids sneaking out to get high and usually some groping in the corners—which is our job to prevent from getting too hot and heavy But it’s never really bad. They know they’re being watched, after all. Our big moment is coming up,” she went on.

“How so?”

“We—all the chaperones—are supposed to get out there and cut a rug when they put on ‘Signed, Sealed, Delivered.’” said Helen. “Why that song, I don’t know. Imagining we’ll all be sent away and the inmates can take over the asylum, I suppose.”

“You think?”

Helen just smiled enigmatically. And the dance went on. The kids were starting to pair up more and dance together. Song after song I didn’t know came over the speakers. After a while, there was one that was purely male—some hip-hop thing, a dense collage of sound, a black man’s voice rhyming assertively over it. The sound instantly reminded me of Cleveland, of boarded-up businesses and too-big high schools. I heard a small roar from a corner of the gym and saw Rashid, Gerald, and Sean Cho skid to the middle of the dance floor, not even stopping to attempt to gather up any girls. They were responding only to the brutal energy of the song. Rashid was clearly the leader, smiling broadly and, for once, relaxed as they formed a hooting, yelling, stomping line, dancing fiercely, not looking for a reaction. The other kids moved away from them, forming an approving circle, and they moved in the middle of it, thinking only about the music. It must be tiring to be so careful all the time. It must feel wonderful to just break out. I watched with pleasure and turned to Jerome, grinning, wanting to share it. His face had gone completely opaque, his eyes focused intently on Rashid.

“Oh, come on, Jerome, they’re just having a good time,” I said, to jolt him into lightening up a little.