11

When we returned to the park, the band was just finishing up a song I didn't recognize. People applauded them as Flynn and I neared the gazebo, and when we reached the center of the large empty section of grass in front of it, the band started up a knew song.

The man onstage began singing the first line of "Time of my Life", and I frowned. Dirty Dancing wasn't really my cup of tea. I mean, it was a good movie, in its own right, but I didn't fall in love with it. I don't know why. A woman playing a guitar stepped up to a second microphone and joined in singing with him.

"Come on, Alison, let's dance," Flynn said, trying to grab my hand. I tugged it out of reach and stepped away from him.

"No way," I said, "I look like a dying ostrich when I try to dance."

He smirked. "Nah. Anyone would look good dancing with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, because you're the king of dancing. Sure."

He laughed. "I'm actually pretty good, Alison. I don't just hop around like a crazy person."

"You shouldn't insult crazy people by comparing them to yourself," I said. I was joking, but I sounded serious enough.

Flynn made a silly sad face, poking out his lower lip. "You're so mean to me, Alison."

"I was only joking, doofus," I said, lightly punching his bicep because I felt bad for sounding mean.

"Hey, no touching!" He said, mocking my voice, grabbing his arm and turning away from me slightly, "remember the Terms and Agreements! God Alison, you should know this by now."

"Oh shut up, Flynn," I muttered, beginning to walk away from him. This was ridiculous. I hated being mocked, and anyway, I also hated being touched. So he shouldn't touch me.

But just as the chorus to the song burst into effect, Flynn grabbed my wrist, whirling me around, and pulling me to him.

He was singing the words loudly, and all off key and horrible, which now that I look back on it was pretty funny. He was swinging in perfect time to the music, much like the people in the movie, trying to make me do it, too. I attempted to pry myself out of his grip, but he just grinned and kept making me dance with him.

I tried to stay as stiff as possible, not swaying or anything, but he managed to make me puppet-dance with him until right before the second chorus. We stopped dancing, and I thought I was home free, and then....

He picked me up. He bent down and lifted me up off the grass, his arms beneath my butt - which was awkward in itself - and then everybody was staring - which was also awkward.

"Put me down!" I squealed, squirming, pushing on his shoulders, trying to get away. People were laughing.

He laughed. "It's the lift, Alison, we couldn't dance to this song without the lift!"

"I don't care!" I protested, and a few seconds later, sighing, he lowered me back to the ground.

"You're no fun, Alison," he told me, but I didn't care. I was just glad to be back on the ground.

And what was a guy like him doing knowing enough about a movie like Dirty Dancing to do the lift? And why did he like it? I thought guys hated romantic movies? Hmm....

"New rule," I said, straightening my shirt, "no lifting."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine."

I forced a smile. "Thank you."

"Will you at least dance?" He asked, a pleading in his eyes.

I glared at him before focusing my attention on a far off tree and muttering, "Okay...."

He took my hand again, spinning me around and then resuming the normal part of the dance. Other people were dancing; it was basically a big outdoor party.

I guess I should've stopped being a big old stick in the mud long enough to enjoy it, because looking back it was pretty fun, but he was dancing with me which meant he was touching me and I was uncomfortable with physical contact.

The song ended, and he finally released me from the societal prison. I quickly retreated from the dance floor...er...dance grass and sank onto the bench of a picnic table.

And of course, he followed me. He sat down across from me and just kind of watched me as I tried to hide behind my hair, which unfortunately wasn't really long enough to hide behind properly.

You probably don't like me very much right now. And for good reason, for I suppose I'm not a very lovable person. I mean, what kind of a girl turns down a dance with a handsome guy who enjoys "girly" movies and '80s music?

This girl.

And what kind of a girl am I? A grumpy, antisocial, uncoordinated, physical-contact-aphobe girl. So I just hid behind my hair.

The next song had a nice '30s Jazz thing going on, and some weird part of my brain that was unlike any other part of my brain made my foot begin to involuntarily tap out the beat to it under the table.

That small part of my brain was rarely allowed to express itself, because I was even weirder than it. Though I suppose that part of my brain was normal, which meant it was weird to me because I'm weird, but whatever. Also, I just said the word "weird" way too much.

Moving on....

I cleared my throat, awkwardly peering through a small gap in my hair curtain at Flynn. "Look, I'm not mad at you I'm just....not normal....extremely weird."

He gave me a small smile. "I sort of already figured that out. I should apologize. Dying ostriches shouldn't be forced to dance if they don't want to."

That coaxed a smile from me, and also drew me from my hair-haven. I inhaled deeply, and upon exhaling, I said to him, "what time is it?"

"Well, judging by the sun...." He said, squinting up at the sky.

My eyes widened. "Seriously? You can do that?"

"Nah," he replied seriously, looking back at me with a straight face before cracking up with laughter. All he did was laugh at me. Gah.

As I stared at him with a completely put-out expression, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and clicked on the screen.

"Two o'clock," he said, replacing the phone in his pocket.

"And the stupid party-slash-new-task-announcement is at seven, right?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Well, that means we still have about five hours of freedom," I said, grinning, "so let's do something fun. That doesn't involve physical contact or flapping around like a dying ostrich."