“I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t find her way to the exit. All eyes on me.”

“I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know how anybodydoes it, waking up every morning and eating and movingfrom the bus to the assembly line, where the teacherbotsinject us with Subject A and Subject B, and passingevery test they give us. Our parents provide the list ofingredients and remind us to make healthy choices: onesport, two clubs, one artistic goal, community service, nogrades below a B, because really, nobody’s average, notaround here. It’s a dance with complicated footwork anda changing tempo.I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t findher way to the exit. All eyes on me.”

“Ben told me when I was in middle school that girls loved boys who liked to dance. I can’t lie. I totally started dancing at the dances to get girls.” … “It seems to work for you”He took her hand and kissed it…“Does it? ‘Cause I’m working it, beautiful Ella, I’m working it.”

“I’m a big girl. I can make my own decisions about my dance partners.” He raised his arms in defense. “All I’m saying is that the guy let you trip and fall. I worry about you dancing in someone else’s arms.”

“I wish to God I could talk to her the way she wants me to, besides forever making her guess what I’m thinking. Why can’t I find the words?”

“Each second neared our last.We danced.“Kieren . . .”“Shhh . . .”We danced.“I’ll be okay.” Was that me lying? Or him?We danced.“Close your eyes,” he whispered, brushing his lipsagainst mine. “Know that I’m missing you already andthat you’ll always be in my prayers.”When I opened my eyes, I stood alone in the middle ofthe dance floor.”