When the dancing stopped, the dancers left the floor: sweating, happy, drunk off the heady mix of touching, being touched and moving to a rhythm together. They’d never felt anything like that before – something so sensual yet communal – the group moving together but separate.

He looked over at his date. He was so proud of himself for asking her out. He had never been so brave. He touched her hand, smiled, and asked her if she wanted some punch (HE TOUCHED HER HAND !!). He was being the gentleman he’d seen in the movies, smooth and chivalrous, like Cary Grant, only short, a little pimply and still gangly – not quite grown into his newly larger frame.

She said no, but wanted to dance again. He took her hand, and they headed back out to the floor. Thankfully, in high school, the music seems to go on forever.