Page 119 of What You Wish For

I glanced over at Duncan. Was he hating this? Or kind of liking it?

Little bit of both, maybe.

Kind of like me.

His face was stern, but his eyes had a challenge-accepted look. “Get ready for disappointment,” he said.

“Get ready to dance,” I said right back.

“Mrs. Kline,” I said, “will you please do the honors?”

Mrs. Kline gave an efficient nod and hit play.

Just percussion at first, a kind of slinky, syncopated, almost tropicalsound. The kind of rhythm that just takes hold of your hips and starts swinging them for you.

Duncan cocked his head. “Is this George Michael?”

I pointed at him. “Good ear.”

Then came deep, chunky piano chords underneath. Big. Loud. Filling up the room. The sound system definitely worked.

Duncan looked around for Babette and found her watching from over by the butterflies. “You could pick any song in the world, and you picked ‘Freedom! ’90’?”

“Alice picked it, actually,” she said, pointing at Alice, who waved. “She read an article that said it’s the best dance song in the world. Mathematically.”

Duncan snorted.

“According to Alice, it’s neurologically irresistible.”

Duncan looked back at me, likeYou minx. Then he spread his feet shoulder width and closed his eyes.

He thought he could resistmusicby closing hiseyes?

Oh, I had this thing won.

The teachers were all watching to see what was going to happen.

It was time to make this work.

The best thing I could possibly do to get Duncan dancing was to do it myself. Dancing was contagious. But that familiar hitch at the thought—that deer-in-the-headlights compulsion to stand very still—had me paralyzed.

I needed to give myself a pep talk, I decided. A good one.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t dance, I reminded myself. I loved to dance. I just didn’t like people to watch me.

But that’s the thing about joy. You don’t have to wait for it to happen. You can make it happen.

And doing this for Duncan? Getting him to have fun? Reminding him of this essential, forgotten part of himself? It would be worth it.

As Duncan stood there, stiff as a board with his hands and eyes squeezed tightly closed, I forced myself to give in to the tug of the song.I had to trick myself into it. I bargained with myself: just do the arms. It’s not really dancing until the booty gets involved.

So I lifted my arms and started moving them around to the rhythm.

Did I look ridiculous?

Oh, for sure.

But as Duncan squeezed his eyes tighter, the urge to win did battle with the urge to hide—and started to get the upper hand.

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