Again, But Better

I am one of those melodramatic fools, neurotic to the bone, no doubt
about it!
” I yell-sing dramatically, shaking my shoulders in time with the
bass.
“Remember how I don’t really dance?”
I shake my head. “Nope, you are not pulling that crap after the
Versailles stunt.”

---

His smile stretches to full capacity as he rolls his eyes. I raise my
eyebrows expectantly. We stare each other down for a beat. And then he
abruptly joins in with the band, “
It all keeps adding up—
”
I grab his hand, leading him back onto the dance floor, hop-skipping
to the music. This time we face each other, not the band. I let go of his
hand and flail-dance, singing at the top of my lungs. It’s a technique I use
to scare people into moving out of the way, thus carving out some space
to actually dance. He watches me, unmoving and stone-faced for a good
twenty seconds. I stubbornly hold eye contact: 
Dance with me.
And then
he does—bobbing his head around a little more intensely than usual. I
mirror his cool-guy head bob.
As the song comes to a close, I grab his hands, pull him toward me,
and drag us to the right. I let my arms straighten out, dropping back,
changing our momentum, and then I pull myself toward him again. We
crash into each other. He lets go of one of my hands and manages to spin
me out like he did at Versailles. I laugh like a madwoman, whipping away
from him, hair covering my face. I slam into the nearest human who’s
crept his way into our dance space and spit a stream of apologies as I
quickly whirl back to Pilot. My back slams up against his chest, and I’m
cackling, and I can feel his chest vibrating behind me as the song fades
out.
Our hands are still connected, and he twists me around in the sudden
silence. My heart hammers as our foreheads fold together.
“I don’t know if we should keep going. You’re a hazard to everyone
within a six-foot radius.”
I bring my arms up around his neck as the band starts a new song.
“I’m not the one who whipped out the ballroom dance moves in a mosh
pit.”
He raises his head, looking thoughtful for a moment. My brain takes
note of the familiar song floating around us now, much calmer than the
previous one. “Yellow Submarine.” The room falls into a mellow side-to-
side sway as they sing along. We join them.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies.
“You almost kissed me during this song,” I tease softly.
Pilot’s eyebrows come down comically. “And you pulled away.”
My heart jumps into my throat. 
So I did. Affirmative.
My mouth dries
up with my heart all in there. We rotate silently for a stretch of lyrics
before I tell him, “I got scared.”

---

Pilot’s thoughtful as the song draws to a close.
“How’s present Shane doing?” he asks. Another song from my
middle-school years explodes through the room.
“She’s great. How’s Pilot?” I yell-talk over the now blasting music.
“Scared shitless, to be honest.” He smiles.
I raise my eyebrows. I want to come back to that, but right now I need
to dance. I let myself drift outward, letting go of his hands to dance more
freely. 
All the, small things, true care, truth brings.
He sings along and
starts trying to mirror my random assortment of moves, looking
absolutely ridiculous.
Watching. Waiting.
At some point, I topple over to my right and smack
into a girl with a sparkly-gold tank top, flailing for purchase. But before I
get any closer to the ground, Pilot catches hold of my arm and yanks me
back over to him. I fly upright, colliding into him, and then his arms are
tight around my waist, and we’re kissing and dancing, and my heart’s
having one of its out-of-body experiences. I feel it floundering around
above my head like in The Sims. The music surges:
Nananananananananananananana
.
I don’t want to break apart when we break apart.
“Shit.” His twinkling eyes search mine.
“Shit,” I agree.
The band starts a new song. “Want to grab a drink?” he asks.
“I actually have to hit the BR. Go grab yourself a drink, and I’ll meet
you over there!” I assure him with a dopey smile.
I run into Chad at the mouth of the hallway into the dance/bar area on
my way back from the restroom. He strolls right up to me.
“Hey, Chad,” I say reluctantly.
“Hey.” He comes closer.
I take a half step back. “What’s up?”
“You have really great hair.”
I widen my eyes sarcastically. “Thanks.”
Over his shoulder, I spot Pilot making his way over with a beer. I
refocus on Chad to find him already going for it. His eyes are closed, and
his lips are coming at me. I pull back and smack my hand across his face.
It makes a lovely 
thwack
.
“Ahhh!” His hand comes up to cup his cheek. He glares with drunken,
slow-motion shock.

---

“Step away, asshole. You’ve seen me with Pilot literally all weekend,
and you’re here with Babe. You don’t get a douche-kabob pass because
it’s your birthday.”
I step past him to where Pilot is watching wide-eyed and amused. He
falls into step next to me as we walk away. I glance around for Babe.
“Damn, is that what happened last time? Because I can’t believe I
missed that!”
“No.” I snort. “Last time, I slid down the wall, ducked out, and ran
away. I thought maybe this time would be a little different since the
weekend has been so different, but nope, still a douche canoe.”
He shoots me a goofy smile. “Look at you, relapsing back into your
old smack-happy ways.”
“Ha. Ha.”
He shakes his head. “Once a smack addict, lamppost a smack addict.”
I snort. “Pilot! You’re using 
lamppost
all wrong! And you’re making
the word 
smack
sound like slang for hard drugs.”
He throws his head back, cackling. I spot Babe in the opposite corner
of the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“Babe’s over there. We should go keep her company.”
The band finishes up twenty minutes later, and the three of us funnel
toward the stairs. “We have to find Chad,” Babe sighs as we make our
way down.
“Don’t worry. We’ll catch him at the coat check,” Pilot reassures her.
Behind Babe, Pilot takes my hand. His thumb draws light, sparkly circles
on my wrist. It’s distracting.
“Are you gonna be okay with him tonight?” I ask her.
“Yeah, he’s a drama king, but he’s harmless. I went in to make a move
earlier because I thought … I mean, I know him trying to hook up with
you was his super-mean way of driving home the point that he only wants
to be friends.”
“Well, that’s pretty shitty,” I point out.
“This is a pattern with him. He acts out like a five-year-old. We’re in a
room with two other people, so he won’t be obnoxious.”
“My phone’s on if you need me,” I assure her. “Also, just for
reference, we’ve already missed the last Metro, so we have to head

---

straight for the taxi stand.”
As we come around the corner of the staircase, Chad is visible,
standing near the door with his head down and his hands in his pockets.
The three of us get our coats, and Chad joins us silently as we walk to the
cab stand down the street. Babe takes up a brisk pace, speeding ahead,
and Chad lags behind.
“Hey.” Pilot nudges me softly as we stroll down the cobblestone
street.
“Hey.” I nudge him back with my shoulder.
“Remember how we were going to time travel back to that Beatles
concert?” He beams.
“Of course.”
His eyes are bright. “Should we finally make our way to Edinburgh
next weekend?”
“Why? Are the Beatles playing?” I quip.
He releases a breathy laugh and looks down, smiling.
“What’s this, no retort? Master of moves, five stars on Trip Advisor,
Pilot Penn is flustered?” I grin at him triumphantly.
He rolls his eyes.
“To answer the Edinburgh question, I’ve been dying to hit the
birthplace of my home skillet Harry ever since the first time we discussed
this.”
Pilot drops his gaze. When he raises his head a few moments later, his
eyes are troubled. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go last time.”
I sigh. “Me too, but we’ll go this time.” I squeeze his hand before
letting it go as we come to a stop behind Babe in the taxi line.

---