I tap my foot on the hard floors of the spare room. The only room available to do the meeting was the spare room that nobody is using. Both of our phones sit on the table. He kept playing with the pen, clicking on it again and again.

"So what's your full name."

He just looks at me, his foot starts shaking.

"Your name?"

He shrugs, "I still don't know your name and we're already here."

I sigh, I outreach my hand. "My name is Melanie Jane Roberton."

He looks at my hand, then looks back at me. "How are you going to try to get to know me without knowing my name."

"I knew who you were."

"Really, tell me anything you know about me?" He asks, smiling and I wonder what's so funny.

I pretend to think. If I learnt anything in the sixteen years of life, it's that things are always what they are on the surface. But prejudices sometimes creep in unwanted.

"Let me guess, you know nothing about me." He smiles, but I fear there's pain behind that smile. "You wouldn't be the first."

I look down at my notes, thinking of what to say. "I thought you played basketball, maybe."

He smirks, leaning back against the chair. "What's the next question?"

"Alright, what music do you listen to?"

"Music from hell."

"And what's that?"

"You really want to know that, angel?"

"Have you ever danced before?"

"I know how to do the cha-cha dance."

I'm surprised he's kind of funny. His black hair splatters over his head going in all directions and his eyes look sullen, dripping with exhaustion. Even though all this, why does he look like the cutest boy I've ever seen? He's not even my type. I've always been attracted to blond, white guys. All my Japanese friends say that I'd always fall hard for a soft-hearted, white boy. I would always laugh it off. And here I am, proving them wrong. Which just tends to be the kind of thing that I always end up doing. 

I laugh, "Well at least that's a start."

"How long does this last?

"Just a few more minutes, then we can leave." He looks exhausted just like I am.

"What cultures of dance do you like? I was thinking that maybe we could combine both of our cultures to make our final."

He stares at me. All laughing and his smirks are gone. His creases on his face show and I can see his ears getting red. He starts to fidget and runs a hand through his hair. Then he stands up, pushing back his chair. He walks to the window, and I wonder if I've upset him somehow. I know I have, but I don't why.

"I'm sorry, do you have another idea?"

"Nope."

"Alright, just one more question. Where are you from, just for my notes."

His eyes look bloodshot when he turns around. He opens his mouth but his eyes look downward at his phone, as the sound of a ping echo in the room. When he looks at it, his face goes pale. He picks up his backpack and starts to walk up to the door.

"Wait, you didn't answer the question."

I can only hear the door closing, and then it's just me and my thoughts. I don't know what happened. Everything is filled out at the top of my notes, then at the last question, it is empty.

Does he hate Chinese dance, or just dancing in general? I smile at my own joke.

I leave the building walking home. My friends would have walked with me, but they already left since I had to stay after school doing this meeting. My brain starts to hurt, so I take some Tylenol from the high cabinets of my kitchen. My mom's still not home. I walk up the stairs, falling on my bed.

The house haunts me, as the silence echos in every room, reminding me of how alone I am. My parents aren't here, they never are. They have their own lives, a life that doesn't involve a daughter. It's like I don't even exist to them. The only time they remember is when they find out a drop in my marks or someone tells them that I've been talking to a new boy. So I've perfected the subtle art of acting perfect.  Especially when that's the farthest thing from what I'm feeling inside. This ensures that they have no reason to bother me anymore.

There's a ping on my phone but I leave it on the bed. Walking out of the shower, with my hair dripping and my sweatpants dragging on the floor, I lay down. I see the message later at night, hours after it was delivered.

The first message is my phone company telling me to lay off the calls, and I had a huge sum that my mom is going to be really mad at me for.

The second one makes my heart race but in a different way. It's a video of Troy showing me his favourite dance that makes me laugh and envy his confidence.

Didn't he tell me he was a bad dancer? What a liar?

Underneath his message, he writes 'Only dance I know but I'm still better than you."

I text back four hours later. I hope he isn't too mad. 'Couldn't talk so much in person, could you, so are you actually any good?'

His reply comes automatically. 'Hey, sorry for how our meeting ended, just let me know if I say something stupid again." 

"Of course."

My eyes drift off then, and my phone rests beside my pillow. I end up going to sleep with a smile on my face, the first one in days.