Chapter 7

Double fuck.

“It’ll be fun,” my mom says with a nod, as if that’s the end of it. In her mind it isn’t even an issue—I’m taking a dance class and I’m going to like it. “It’s an exercise-type thing, I think. Something to get your blood flowing, get you out and about and give you more energy. You need to meet people.”

I point out, “The type of people I want to meet aren’t going to be found in an exercise class.”

“You dance at those clubs you go to,” she says. “It’s like that.”

“I doubt it.” The clubs I go to blare Lady Gaga and techno-pop while sweaty young men gyrate together on the dance floor. It’s more sex than dance, and I spend most of my time at the bar, fruity little cocktail in hand, watching the writhing bodies and wishing I were confident enough to waltz in their midst and grind up against some sexy stranger. No dance lessons are going to teach me that

“You’ll go to the class and that’s it,” she tells me. “Just one time, that’s all I’m asking. After all I do for you—”