That night there was another dance party. The empty school yard was decked with lights and lanterns, and people were dancing to the music blaring from their headphones. It was your kind of thing. Except that they were doing lindy hop which you hate. But at this dance party, I don’t know if you remember, they were playing waltz. I remember my hand on your shoulder, the other holding yours. I remember making our way through old ladies in floral frocks and their equally dashing dance partners, my bag dangling down my shoulder, making it awkward to move freely so I threw it on the floor. I remember twirling and spinning, and I remember that I was so happy that now I guess it just makes sense, that even from the beginning it was too good to be true.