Page 83 of Betting on the Brainiac

Owning his power. I like that too. Layers after layers with my husband.

“Bottle girl,” Ruby calls, pushing a library cart holding a large cloth draped box. I keep an arm around Oliver’s waist when I turn and salute. “What is the only drink that will do for a celebration?”

“Champagne,” I say.

“You’re right! But what if we’re too cheap to rent a champagne fountain for your marriage of convenience? Presenting . . .” She whips the cloth away and Oliver and I burst into laughter.

“We rented a Slurpee machine!” Sami says, delight all over her face.

“I love it!” I yell over the sound of the crowd going wild.

The playlist switches to “Single Ladies,” and I laugh. “Dance with me, besties!”

But Sami and Ava shake their heads. “It just hits different with our boyfriends here,” Sami calls.

“Fair,” I say. “Ruby-Roo—” But I break off, realizing this is the absolute wrong song for her. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Joey, reading the room, gives me an offended look. “Why are you only calling the girls over? You think dudes can’t do this dance? Come on, Josh.”

Josh knows he’s being tagged in to cheer up Ruby, and it’s already working; the wobble is gone from her smile. Josh does something like a twerk, but as he gives us a dead-eyed look and a pout, Sami yells, “You need fiber, baby? Someone brought oatmeal bars!”

Josh answers by giving his hair a dramatic fling and adding a chest pump, and Ruby is done.

“Ruby Ramos, time of death, 3:24 PM,” I say, glancing at my watch, as she collapses against Ava, howling.

Joey is doing better, benefitting from all the salsa they’ve danced in the Ramos backyard. He moves sort of like the music video in the way that a Pinterest fail sort of looks like the original. But I love both of these guys so hard for keeping Ruby smiling.

Oliver shakes his head. “This is sad. Hold my Slurpee.”

He strolls toward Josh and Joey, reaching them as the second verse hits, and he is in full Beyoncé mode, hitting a squat, popping up with his hand on his hip, and we are screaming.

The neighbors crowd in to watch, and Sami and Ruby run toward me for a closer look as my nerdy husband becomes a booty-shaking, shoulder-shimmying . . . diva? He’s committing to it like Ryan Gosling doing his Barbie number at the Oscars.

“He iseatingit,” Jasmine shouts.

Mrs. Lipsky shoots Oliver a worried look.

“That means he’s doing good,” I tell her.

They hit the “whoa-oh-oh” section with the marching and punching-down moves. Even Josh knows this part and almost stays on the beat.

“Did Oliver do a kick ball change?” Ruby says, her voice going so high it fades.

“He did.” I was on dance team all the way through high school, captain of the squad my senior year, and I know dance. He’s seriously good. “I have a lot of questions.”

When it gets to the next chorus about putting a ring on it, Oliver stops, reaches into his pocket with a confused expression, and out comes his sparkly keychain. He holds up his hand and taps his bare ring finger in the iconic video move, looks at his sparkle Slurpee again, and looks at me like revelation has struck. Then he comes toward me in a down rock with slides, crooking his finger as he gets closer, still on the beat.

Sami smacks my arm. “Did he just Patrick Swayze you?”

He reaches me before I can answer, and as if they practiced it, Ruby takes the Slurpee out of my hand and Mrs. Lipsky gives me a light shove on my lower back. I take a stutter step forward, off-balance.

Oliver hooks his finger through the key chain at my waist and pulls me toward him, and then suddenly he’s got my back to his front, and he settles a light hand on my hip in a way that suggests we’ve danced together a thousand times, and we’re super comfortable doing it.

The song switches to an old Motown classic. The Temptations, I think, and I twist to grin at him. His eyes laugh down at mine as I rest my hands on his shoulders, and we drop into a mellow step-sway-step, more of a groove than slow dance.

“You’ve been keeping secrets,” I tell him.

His eyes turn watchful. “I have?”

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