Time Lifts the Light

"Do you want to dance?"

I literally could not answer. I wanted to speak (even though I had no earthly idea what to say), but my throat seemed to be coated with either glue or gravel. Possibly both.

We had been inside the thumping, flashing gym for a grand total of seven and a half minutes. Our uncomfortable shoes -- excepting D.B.'s, of course -- lay underneath the table Kim had secured for us. And by "secured" I mean "gave the stink-eye to the original inhabitants and waited until they scurried away to say, 'Hey guys, there's a table!' in a very sweet and innocent voice."

Of course none of us were going to dance. It wasn't even an option. Perhaps, later, someone would suggest it as a joke and we'd all throw our heads back and laugh... But never, never had I actually considered flailing around on the dance floor. Mikey and I, for one thing, both looked a bit as if we'd been run through a taffy pull -- just a few inches too tall to be considered normal. Kim's repertoire consisted of moshing and pogo-dancing, and even though D.B. was the most well-proportioned out of the lot (despite being a bit too tall for his age), he was shockingly uncoordinated. I could just imagine him muttering, "One, two, three.... One, two, three..." under his breath as he grasped my hand and stepped on my feet.

Needless to say, I thought I was safe. I had not even considered the possibility of outsiders asking me to dance and, after the second offer in less than ten minutes, I realized that all signs pointed to single. D.B. had given me the drawing instead of a corsage (or whatchamacallit) and I had nothing to prove that I was taken, however temporarily it was.

"Um..." I finally managed.

The first time I thought it had been a joke. A red-haired boy with a slouchy, lazy disposition had shuffled over and introduced himself ("Yo, I'm Tyler") and wordlessly offered his hand. I stared at him, looking wildly over his shoulder, expecting to see his group of friends snickering behind their hands. There was nothing, only sweaty dancing couples. I felt sick.

I looked quickly to D.B. for help. He leaned over, slapped the boy's extended hand in a violent high-five and then slung an arm around my shoulder. Tyler, taking the hint, groaned in disappointment and scowled as he walked away.

But this time was different. Dawson Blossom, a very small boy from my math class, had approached our table looking very earnest and shy. He was wearing (oh, god) a bow-tie that he kept nervously tugging away from his neck.

I was just about to launch into full on panic mode (He's so nice and sweet and shy, I can't turn him down. But I really, really don't want to dance. But he always lets me borrow paper, I can't leave that debt unpaid. But I really, really, really don't want to dance.) when D.B. leapt up and snapped.

"Listen, she doesn't want to dance, Bubbles --"
"It's Blossom," he interjected weakly.
"I don't care if it's Buttercup, Mr. Powerpuff Girl, she's my date!"
Dawson seemed to become empowered. "I am not a Powerpuff Girl and it doesn't matter if she's your date!" The last bit came out rushed and slurred, as if he were afraid to say it and wanted to get it over with quickly. "You don't own her, she can dance with whoever..." His voice trailed off as D.B. stood up, looming over Dawson's modest 5"5' with his 5"11 and scowling.

Dawson swallowed hard and tugged at his bow-tie. "Okay, okay, sure. She's your date."

D.B. sat back down heavily and folded his arms as he watched Dawson scurry away. He began agitatedly tapping his foot and looking moodily about the room. He reminded me of a bitter old man.

"Sorry," he finally said with a touch more force than was needed. "I shouldn't have done that. I can go apologize... if you want to dance with him."
"No!" I immediately said. "I mean... Yeah, maybe you should apologize on Monday or something, but I definitely don't want to dance."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I can't dance. Hate it."
"Good!" he laughed, relieved.

D.B.'s spirits lifted considerably after that. We took to picking out the best and worst dancers and laughing until we couldn't breathe at the awkward people who tried to grind. We had punch, ate the tiny finger-food snacks that were provided for us and then sat back down, resenting the fact that were was nothing left to do.

"Now I remember why we sabotage this dance every year," D.B. muttered.
"Booooring," Mikey belched and Kim slapped the back of his head.
"Do you guys just want to wander around outside?" I asked, keeping a wary eye on Dawson Blossom, who seemed to be waiting for D.B. to look away before he pounced.

We all agreed that it would probably be more fun outside than in the gym, which was starting to smell strongly of body odor. Kim and I carried our shoes in our hands, not really caring about appearances, seeing as everyone else was dripping with sweat.

We somehow ended up back at D.B.'s car. Instead of piling inside of it, we wordlessly climbed on top. D.B. flopped down on his back and turned to look at the sky. We followed his lead. The inky night was peppered with stars, not so many as to render me speechless... but it was still a surprisingly clear night.

There was silence. The kind of silence that occurs when a group of people are well aware of the pleasantness of the moment and nobody wants to speak, lest they ruin said moment. A series of metallic taps suddenly sounded off next to my ear. Kim groaned and reached out across me to slap D.B's arm.

"Moment-ruiner!"
"What?" D.B. demanded. "What did I..."

His voice trailed off as he realized that he'd been tapping his fingers absentmindedly against the roof of his car. The quiet calm abruptly turned tense and thin. I didn't seem to realize the implications of this... but Kim and Mikey instantly understood. D.B. looked annoyed.

"It's nothing, I wasn't even paying attention."
"That's the point," Mikey said. He was trying to soothe his friend, but I could see D.B.'s nostril's flair and his eyes harden in annoyance.
"How long has it been since you went traveling?" Kim asked.
D.B. shrugged. "Doesn't matter, I'm not even - "
"Daniel," I said quietly.

He sat up, crossing his legs, looking at me with embarrassed, intense eyes. Kim and Mikey looked away studiously as I slid up on the hood of the car to be next to him.

"Why have you stopped traveling?"
He tugged his hands through his hair, all but tugging out handfuls of it. "I don't know," he said in a strained voice.
"Well, you know it makes you antsy when you don't," I accused. "You know it makes you tense and... insecure."

His head shot up. It was then that Daniel Booker Hawkins realized how much I picked up on. His mood swings, his bouts of anger and self-conciousness were all related to time traveling. He reached up, pushed my hair behind my ear, and leaned toward me.

I was stunned. Electricity buzzed through my skin and my body felt like a bag filled with sand. He took my jaw on either side with the very tips of his fingers. I could swear I felt the delicate edges of his fingerprints slide across my skin as he pressed his lips to my forehead.

"Thanks for the concern," he mumbled against my skin. "But I believe there are some stars that need watching."

And then we were silent.