“Where’d you learn to dance?” Melody asked, breathless.
She turned. It was Dominic Reyes, captain of the debate team, known for sharp suits and sharper arguments. He wasn’t her date. He wasn’t anyone’s date tonight—he’d told everyone he was going solo to “observe the sociology of adolescent ritual.” But here he was, offering his hand with a small, genuine smile. melody marks prom night practice
Melody blinked. “You watched me?”
“You know,” Melody whispered, “I think your abuela would approve.” “Where’d you learn to dance
When the song ended, there was a scattered, genuine round of applause. Even Mrs. Cranston raised an eyebrow in approval. He wasn’t her date
“She is.” He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary. “So. Prom night. Two weeks. You have a date, but… would you save me a dance? A real one. Not the chicken dance they’ll inevitably play at 10 p.m.”