Still a Work in Progress (5 page)

Lily comes up next to her. “That is so degrading to women,” she says, crossing her arms at her chest.

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have my moves,” Zach tells her.

“Right,” Lily says.

“Is that a challenge?” Zach steps away from the pole and gestures for her to take a turn.

“In your dreams,” Lily says.

“How’d you know?” Zach looks her up and down.

“Belle’s right. You are disgusting.”

Zach clutches his heart dramatically and falls on the floor. “You hurt me, Lily! You hurt me so bad!”

Lily rolls her eyes and walks away.

Zach reaches his hand out to Ryan, who pulls him up.

“I’m totally asking Lily to the dance now,” Zach says.

“Good idea.” Ryan smacks him on the back.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“She is
so
into me.”

“OK,” I say doubtfully.

“C’mon, you saw how she was looking at me.”

“She kind of looked like she wanted to throw up,” Sam says.

Zach ignores him and goes back to the pole, dancing again to some song in his head that clearly makes him feel like a dance god.

Sam and Ryan come to my house after school so we can all go to the dance together. Even though Sam is “taking” Molly to the dance, it doesn’t mean they actually arrive together. It just means that they plan to be at the dance as a couple.

Ryan keeps saying how relieved he is, but the more thrilled Sam acts, the less convincing Ryan seems, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s having second thoughts about Molly after all.

“I think you need new pants,” Sam tells Ryan, who is standing in front of the mirror that hangs on the back of my bedroom door.

The Captain keeps circling his legs, trying to herd him to the bed to sit down.

“Why do I need new pants?” Ryan asks, twisting so he can see his butt.

“They’re a little tight,” Sam says.

“They’re supposed to look like this. It’s the style.”

“Are you turning into an emu?” Sam asks.

“A what?”

“Emu. You know. A guy who wears eyeliner and tight pants and acts depressed.” Sam pushes his glasses up his nose.

“I think you mean
emo,
” I say.

Ryan cracks up.

“Yes,” Sam says, not seeing what’s so funny.

“Do I look emo? Am I wearing guyliner?”

Sam frowns. “I don’t know. It’s kind of dark in here.”

“You need overhead lights,” Ryan tells me. “Why don’t you have any lights in here?”

I shrug. “I don’t need to stare at myself with the same intensity as you.”

“Ha.”

“I don’t really get what emo is,” I say. “You’re supposed to be serious all the time and not think anything is funny, right? Or . . . you’re only supposed to be friends with other guys who wear tight pants and eyeliner?”

“This is the problem with living in a small town,” Ryan says. “We don’t know anything.”

Sam holds out his phone with a Wikipedia entry for emo. “I guess you’re not really one. You’re not
morose
enough.”

“You can call me emu, though,” Ryan says. “That’s a great nickname.”

The Captain licks his hand. Ryan wipes the spit on his jeans, finishes adjusting his T-shirt over his hips just so, and flops down on my bed next to Sam.

I go over to the mirror and take in my own jeans-and-T-shirt ensemble. I am on the short side and still can’t fit into guy sizes. It’s kind of mortifying because they don’t have any cool styles of jeans for “boys.” My choices are “husky” or “slim.” It’s ridiculous.

“Does Molly send you texts?” Ryan asks, bouncing on the bed.

Sam holds his phone to his chest.

“Let me see-ee,” Ryan sings.

“No, it’s private.”

“We’re best friends! C’mon!” He grabs for the phone. The Captain barks.

“I said it’s private!” Sam shoves the phone under his shirt.

“You think I won’t reach under there?” Ryan asks, reaching.

Sam hugs himself tighter. “Respect my personal space, please!”

Sometimes Sam talks like he’s still in kindergarten.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t worry.” Ryan backs off. “Just summarize.”

“She only says stuff like ‘See you tomorrow’ or whatever. It’s nothing lovey-dovey.”

“Well, you
have
been dating less than a week,” I say. “Give her time.”

“Do you know how to slow-dance, by the way?” Ryan asks. “Because if you’re going to the dance as a couple, you know that means you have to dance to every song together, right?”

Sam looks up at the ceiling. “I know. It’s kind of why my hands are sweating right now.”

“Gross! Don’t touch my comforter,” I say.

He wipes his palms on his pants. “I’m the worst dancer in the world. Will you teach me?”

“To slow-dance?” Ryan asks. “How are we supposed to teach you that?”

“You could”— Sam looks around as if there could possibly be anyone else in the room —“
show
me. You know.” He blushes.

“I think I do, but no.” Ryan gets up and crosses the room to the chair at my desk. The Captain waddles after him.

“But you’re the only one who knows how!”

“Hey!” I say. “Maybe I know how.”

“Will you teach me, then?”

“No. Sorry. Ryan should do it. He’s the emu.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ryan asks.

“Actually, I have no idea,” I tell him.

“C’mon, you guys, please? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“No way,” I say. “I can just imagine someone posting a video of us dancing together online.”

“Who would do that?” Sam asks.

I look over at Ryan.

“No trust,” he says. “You’re supposed to be my best friends.”

Sam inches his butt to the edge of the bed and looks up at Ryan in his innocent way. “Best friends help each other.”

“Just do it,” I tell Ryan. “
I
won’t tell anyone.”

“Fine.” Ryan walks over to Sam and holds out his arms.

“You’re a good friend,” I tell him.

I don’t have any slow songs on my playlist, so they make me download “Stairway to Heaven.”

“I’ll be the girl,” Ryan says as the music starts. He puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

“What do I do?” Sam asks.

“Put your hands on my waist. But don’t get too close. You have to let the girl be the one to move in.”

“That’s sexist.”

“Why?” I ask.

“You are assigning male and female roles,” Sam explains.

“Just trust me,” Ryan says. “You may think it’s sexist, but if you try to get too close, she might slap you.”

They start to pivot awkwardly. I admit, I’m tempted to take a picture.

“You have to sway, not just pick up your feet,” Ryan says. “Like this.” He moves his hips a little.

Sam looks down between Ryan’s arms to watch his hips. “I can’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s easy! Feel my hips. See how I move them to the beat?”

Sam wiggles his butt, but he looks more like he’s belly dancing than moving to a slow song.

Ryan starts to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asks. He wiggles again, and Ryan lets go and falls on the floor in hysterics. The Captain bounds over to him and starts doing an embarrassing thing dogs do to people when they are lying on the floor sometimes.

“Ack! Get off me!” Ryan yells, rolling over.

The Captain barks excitedly.

Sam watches himself wiggle his hips in the mirror. “What am I doing wrong?” he asks, all serious.

I crack up, too.

“It’s not funny!” he says. “This is serious! My first chance at a girlfriend, and I’m gonna screw it up!”

“It’s not that dire,” I say when I finally stop laughing.

“Easy for you to say.”

“Why?”

“You’re not . . . me.”

I don’t ask what that means, because I’m pretty sure I know. Sam is a little chunky. Definitely a former “husky” wearer. He’s also a little awkward and a little smelly. Sad as it is, sometimes those things get in the way of seeing how great a person really is.

My bedroom door opens, and Emma steps in without knocking. The Captain leaves Ryan and trots over to her. She pats his head. “Why are you guys listening to ‘Stairway to Heaven’?” she asks.

“Hey, Emma,” Ryan says, trying to act all cool.

“Yeah, hey,” Sam says. “So, um. I need to learn how to slow-dance.” He looks down at the rug and rubs his foot back and forth nervously. He has a hole in his sock and his big toe sticks out a little. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Emma studies him for a minute. “Why do you want to learn?”

Sam digs his toe deeper into the carpet. “Well . . .”

“He has a date,” I say.

“That’s awesome!” She claps her hands. “Do you want me to help? But you have to pick a different song. I hate this one.”

Sam glows. “Yes, please!”

“Let me go get some music!” She runs to her room.

Sam turns to both of us with his mouth wide open in a cross between a smile and a look of absolute shock. Kind of like what I imagine
I
would look like if I won the lottery.

“Your sister is the best!” Sam says.

I roll my eyes.

Ryan flops on the bed. “Sam gets all the ladies.”

“You both need to stop drooling over my sister,” I say. “And never refer to her as a lady. God.”

“Everyone drools over her,” Ryan says. “It can’t be helped.”

“You could’ve gone out with Molly, but you blew it,” Sam tells him.

Ryan falls back on the bed as if he’s been shot.

“You two are pathetic.” I flop onto the oversize beanbag chair Emma gave me for Christmas last year and listen to the Styrofoam beads inside settle under me.

“I’m just a lonely emu,” Ryan says.

Emma comes back and plugs her music into my stand.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“Lynyrd Skynyrd,” Emma says.

“Who?”

“You know. ‘Free Bird’? They
always
play this song at dances.”

“I don’t think anyone gave that title to Lily.”

Emma shrugs. “The Tank always makes the DJs play this song. Trust me.” She steps closer to Sam. “OK, Sammy. Come over here and let me show you how it’s done.”

Sam hates that nickname with a passion. Unless, of course, it’s coming out of Emma’s mouth while she holds her arms open to him like she’s going to give him a big hug.

“Put your hands on my hips,” Emma tells Sam, stepping closer and putting her hands on his shoulders.

Sam looks like he’s about to faint.

“You can’t be shy,” Emma says, reaching for his hands.

She’s wearing her usual SpongeBob outfit of layers of sweaters and a pair of leggings.

“Noah, hit play,” Emma tells me. She leans closer to Sam. “Just listen to the words and move to the story. Don’t think about the beat.” They start to sway really slowly.

As I listen to the words, I get this sad feeling. The song is about having to leave someone you love because you know you can’t change. The singer tells the story in this really hopeless, final way. It seems like the
last
song you’d want to dance to with a girl you’re just starting to date.

Emma closes her eyes and rests her head on Sam’s shoulder. Ryan shakes his head, like he cannot believe Sam’s luck. But Sam doesn’t actually look like he’s enjoying it all that much. He has this weird expression on his face, as if he’s trying not to step on glass.

“C’mon, Sam.
Hold me,
” Emma says. She moves closer to him and makes him put his arms around her.

If it’s possible to die of discomfort, Sam is in imminent danger.

“Just sway a bit more, like this,” Emma tells him, swaying.

Sam holds his arms stiffly and rocks back and forth like a zombie, without bending his legs.

Then the music speeds up and Sam looks even more horrified than he did before. “What do we do now?” he asks in a panic. “I can’t fast-dance!”

Emma laughs. “The trick is to pretend that the music is still slow. Everyone
else
might start dancing faster, but
you
just keep your date in your arms like this and move real slow, like you’re in your own world.”

“But — isn’t that kind of weird?” Sam asks.

Emma laughs again. “No. I promise. Your date will love it. She’ll think you are in some kind of love zone together.”

“Love zone?”

She steps away from him before the song is totally over and sings about the bird you can’t change as she walks out the door. As if she is the bird, and she cannot change.

Sam drops on the bed next to Ryan. “Wow.”

“Shut up,” Ryan says. “I don’t even want to hear about it.”

I put my own music back on and try to ignore their lovestruck faces, but it gets to be a bit much, so I leave them to go get something for us to eat.

In the kitchen, my dad is busy putting something together for dinner. I look in the cupboard where we keep bags of chips and stuff, but all I can find is a bag of Emma’s gross organic corn chips. Emma insists we buy organic everything. Her idea of a fun snack treat is dried-up vegetables made to look like french fries that taste like lightly salted air.

“Don’t we have anything else?” I ask my dad. “I’m starving.”

“You’re hungry, not starving,” my dad corrects. “Take the corn chips. They’re not that bad.”

I grab the bag and groan when I see they’re unsalted on top of everything else.

“Don’t start, Noah,” my dad warns. Rule of the house: Never complain about food. Don’t even talk about food. Just eat it.

“Do we at least have some salsa?”

“We might, but if we do, you’re not taking it to your room. It’s bad enough you eat chips up there.”

I take the bag and go back upstairs. When I reach my room, I can hear Ryan and Sam talking inside.

“I’m serious,” Sam says. “It was kind of creepy.”

“You get to put your hands on Emma’s hips and all you can say is it was creepy?” Ryan asks. “She’s just a little thin, that’s all.”

“What if she’s . . . you know. Sick again.”

“She seems fine to me.”

I make a point of crinkling the bag so they hear me before I join them.

They both jump and look guilty, but I pretend not to notice and hold out the bag. The Captain whines at me for some.

“They don’t even have salt,” I tell him. “Don’t waste your time.”

Sam takes a nibble. “Kind of bland.”