Well is already balling his socks, light purple with yellow stars, into his shoes and not looking at me. “This, Suzy Lee, is the rumba. Think Ricky Martin meets Carlos Santana.”

“No, I mean that.” I point at the hockey puck.

Well’s mouth falls open and I know I’ve just said something dumb, but I have no idea what, and then he bursts into laughter so hard he actually has to bend over. Is he laughing at me? My cheeks flush red, and my pulse picks up all over again.

He stands up and wipes his eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t know Alexa? The first world’s answer to to-do lists and Google searches and mood music and any kind of simple math? Oh, Lou. What basement have you been hiding in?”

I cringe. What would he say if he knew it was actually a truck?

Jacob leans forward on the other side of Well, where he was typing away on his laptop again, and says, “Pay no attention to him. Alexa is for people who can’t find their way out their own front door without directions.”

“So, perfect for Max, then,” Geneva says, and glides her way onto the dance floor with her arms lifted like a belly dancer. Tucker slams Jacob’s laptop shut with his foot and then runs off when Jacob chases him.

“Sorry, I was just teasing. It’s a thing I do. But I’m working on it. I’m in a twelve-step program.” Well holds his hand out to me and nods toward the dance floor. “Let me make it up to you?”

My throat closes up. I cannot even pretend to do this. I shake my head. Well mistakes it for the first dance move and starts to shake his head too. No. He’s not getting it. I shake my head harder. And he shakes his back. He thinks I’m dancing with him. Then Jacob, who has chased Tucker in a full circle around the room, knocks into Well, who smacks into me, and I cannot take it another second.

I push Well hard and run out. Alexa and the rumba echo down the hall, and I can’t get far enough away. I stumble and trip on one of my shoelaces. My knee drags across the carpet in a slow burn that rubs off the skin. The pain clears my head enough for me to look up and search for an exit. I am in the middle of the hallway. I need to get somewhere private. And quick.

By the time Mrs. Nicky finds me in the bathroom, I am holding a wet paper towel over my knee and breathing normally.

“So, not a fan of the rumba, then?” She leans against the wall and crosses her arms. She’s blocking the only exit, and I have to fight the instinct to push her like I did Well.