She’s straightened her curls and her hair hangs to her waist. Her freckles hide behind a dusting of powder. Who told her to do that? The freckles are kinda cute. She looks me in the eyes, but there’s something shy on her face, like she has to make herself do it.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask. “Maybe you should check with him before we dance.”
“I’m so sorry about that.” Hannah covers her face with her hands for a second. “He told me what he did, but I was too embarrassed to talk to you about it before. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. I don’t care.”
It’s easy for her not to care what her brother or her father think about her liking me. She’s not the one who got beat up on the way home from synagogue for nothing.
“So do you wanna dance?” Hannah asks again.
I glance back to the floor where the neon strobe lights bathe Kimba and Jeremy in an array of colors. She laughs at something he says and his hand slips down another inch.
“Sure.” I push off the wall, knowing I can’t dance for crap, but not caring. “Only a slow one, though. If a fast song comes on, I’m walking off the floor.”
“Deal,” she says, her pink, glossy lips pulled into a grin.
Hannah and I are usually about the same height, but she’s wearing heels so she has a couple of inches on me tonight. I find a place for my hands to be, somewhere between her hips and her waist. I can still see over her shoulder, and when I glance up, my eyes meet Kimba’s. She smiles, but I know every one of Kimba Allen’s smiles by heart, and this one looks like the one she wore when her aunt gave her “bloomers” for Christmas. I frown back and tilt my head. There’s nothing about the gesture that would mean much to anyone else, but Kimba and I have been working on our telepathy since stroller days, and she knows I’m asking what’s wrong.
“Nothing,” she mouths, that phony smile making a mockery of how sad her eyes are.
“Did you get a lot of money for Bar Mitzvah?” Hannah asks.
“Huh?” I drag my gaze back and an inch up to Hannah’s. “Bar Mitzvah?”
“Yeah, Robert got a lot of money. I just wondered if you did.”
“I guess.” I shrug. “It went right into my college fund.”
“You get any cool gifts?”
“Uh, yeah. Someone gave me eighteen Pixie Stix.”
“Like the powdered sugar candy? How is that cool?”
It’s cool because Kimba took the time to understand something about my heritage—took time to research the importance of chai, the significance of eighteen. Because she knows me well enough to figure keeping Kosher had been driving me crazy and my favorite candy was the perfect way to rebel.
My eyes drift back over Hannah’s shoulder, but Kimba and Jeremy aren’t there anymore. I search the dance floor, the whole gym in a frantic sweep, but there’s no sign of them. Then I see him walking back into the gym wearing a frown. He goes right over to a girl named Clarissa and speaks to her, then leads her onto the floor. No sign of Kimba.
“Um, Hannah. I need to check on something.”
“Now?” Hannah asks, the confusion on her face morphing into horror. “But this isn’t a fast song. They’re playing ‘I’ll Make Love to You.’ You can’t walk off the dance floor in the middle of Boyz II Men.”
“Sorry.” I shrug and turn to leave.
“Seriously?” Hannah yells at my back while the Boyz croon. “My friends were right. You are weird.”
I can live with weird if it means Hannah leaves me alone. I walk up to Jeremy dancing with Clarissa now, his head dipped into her neck and his hands squarely on her butt. I’m surprised a chaperone hasn’t run over and called him out for it.
“Hey.” I tap his shoulder.
He looks up, a scowl distorting his even features. The girls love this guy. Star basketball player. Tall. Handsome. I can see why Kimba was here with him.
“What?” he snaps. “I’m a little busy, Elijah.”
I don’t even bother correcting him. “Where’s Kimba?”
He rolls his eyes and lowers his head back to Clarissa’s neck without answering.
I jab my finger into his arm. “Where is she?”