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on my head.
    â€œForward! Touch! Side! Together!”
    I wish I were made of mercury. I could slip right out of his arms, slither across the gym androll out the door.
    â€œBackward! Touch! Side! Together!” Grunt, grunt. “Miss Collins.” There is a moldy blast in my face and I realize he is talking to me.
    â€œYes?” I say.
    â€œYou should look at your partner.”
    Mr. Bartell, the point here is, I don’t want to. Now I suppose if you looked like Matt Damon, it’s possible I could work up the nerve. But you are fifteen galaxies away from looking like him, so I’d really rather not.
    I have to try real hard to look at him.
    â€œOnce more through, class. Count one! You weren’t in English class this morning?”
    I have to look at him this time, because I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or if the question is part of this bizarre dance ritual. Realizing it isn’t, and with my imagination stifled because of the, u-hum, air in here, I say, “I went home with a headache.”
    â€œI see. Count two. Left and right feet together. And are you feeling better?”
    Hold on. I mean, wait just a minute here. Is this proper etiquette? Are you allowed to discuss someone’s skipping out when you’re dancing with them? Or their personal health?
    â€œYes,” I say, “I feel better.”
    â€œExcellent. Step to your right! Your weight ontoyour right! We will be discussing the final chapters on Wednesday. Be sure to read them. Good job! Everyone bow to their partner and be sure to practice your box step for next class.”
    What are the chances?

THREE
    May 26th
    I am standing with Joanne and Mandeep Gill on the steps after school. There are disgusting blobs of gob all over the cement. By the way, before I say anything further, that’s something I want to set straight right now. This may come as a surprise to any of you guys who might read this, but hucking gob is definitely not cool. It is definitely not the least bit attractive, and I don’t know whatever gave you the notion that it is. Really, like I want to be sliding on your body fluids everywhere I walk? Keep it in mind.
    Danielle Higgins is standing on the sidewalk below us, circled, as always, by a ring of guys. One of them says something and she throws her head back and laughs loudly. He also laughs, plunks his hands on his hips, turns his head and hucks one across the sidewalk. Give me a break. Was it really that hysterical, Danielle? She thinks of more ways to get noticed than Dennis Rodman.
    Excuse me. Hang on. There’s something different about this picture. The guy with his arm around her waist? I’ve never seen him before. Not that I pay much attention to guys anymore, but if I did, that one is definitely worth paying attention to. He’s got a wicked grin. And a build to die for, and tall — a definite plus for me. He’s got short hair, a muscular neck, wide back and I like the way he stands with just a bit of a stoop to his shoulders. Slightly apologetic for his, shall I say, remarkable physique? When he laughs —
    â€œYUM- MY,” Joanne rudely interrupts my thoughts. “Where was he when we had to social dance yesterday? My, my. Danielle’s really outdone herself this time.” Joanne pulls a pack of cigarettes from her backpack and while she continues to drool over Danielle’s latest, removes one from the package, snaps a lighter and takes a deep drag. “Still,” she says, turning away, exhaling, dropping the cigarette to her side, “I suppose if you’re going to deliver thegoods, it gives you that much more of a choice.”
    â€œWhen are you going to quit that?” I say.
    Joanne knows exactly what I’m talking about, but instead of answering me, she deliberately takes another drag. “As we’ve discussed before, this is the only bad habit left over from that period, which you have chosen to name my