I hum happily, watching Ms. Perez spin in and out of Billy’s arms. She twirls under his arm, swirling like a kaleidoscope of colors in her flamboyant skirt. He stops her with a flourish, tapping back and forth with more hip action than a venn diagram. She giggles but doesn’t miss a beat as he leads her into a turn pattern. A couple kids from her class watch nearby on the edge of the mosh pit, hollering when he pulls her close to his chest with wiggling eyebrows. She stumbles, pushing him back with a furious blush and insincere scolding eyes. He shrugs, smirking like he’s done nothing wrong, but resuming with more chaste basic steps nonetheless. He can hardly keep it simple for long, however, as the final chorus of the disco-pop swells and their footwork quickens to match the crescendoing energy. With the final drop, he dips her with only a hand behind her neck, eliciting cheers from the teens who find them just as cute as I do. I, however, keep clapping even after they merge back into the student body chaos.

Ms. Perez, freed from Billy’s grasp momentarily, grabs my hands and shushes me in embarrassment. “Basta, it wasn’t that good.”

“Could have fooled me.” Though truthfully, their skills might not be competition worthy, their chemistry wins first place every time in my books.

“Then you should see some of the other couples at Salsa Club.”

“Oh, now you’re a couple,” I tease before Billy,  momentarily hung up hatching plans with Mr. Wright a few paces off, rejoins us.

As he comes up behind her, Billy touches Ms. Perez’s hand softly. “Rosa.” He curls his fingers into hers, capturing her full attention instantly. “Can I have this dance too?” It’s not fit for salsa, but a dreaded ‘slow song’ that has the center of the floor clearing out and teens nervously glancing around either for a partner or to avoid a partner. Across the floor from us in the dim light of the flickering disco ball, Miss Lynx wraps her arms around her girlfriend, already swaying contently. I tap my toes, considering circling the gym for a better view.

“We’re supposed to be chaperoning,” Ms. Perez rebuffs him with a shy smile. As if to prove her point, she chases down a couple grinding like their convergent functions to remind them about school appropriate displays of affection.

“Better luck next time, Billy,” Mr. Wright pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Ms. Huang?”

“What?” I stare at his outstretched hand, confused.

“Well, Evelyn’s not here, so we may as well fill the slacking off quota for this song.”

“I actually think Mr. Dungan may need some support on the south side. Better luck next time,” I tease back, slightly serious, because the teachers aren’t actually supposed to be clumped together like this. Principle Peeters is sure to at least threaten us with Saturday detention duty when he makes his rounds. I scurry off, knowing full well he’s following me. He clasps my wrist, forcing me to turn towards him with a tug. I glare at his hand, more annoyed than I can clearly rationalize.

“Please, dance with me, Mei,” he pouts, ducking under my line of sight to show me his big blue baby eyes.

“Nèi ge…” He’s too pretty for his own good. “You’re such a flirt.”

He chuckles, pulling me into his arms, which I respond to by pushing him back to a school appropriate distance. “I knew you couldn’t say no to me.”

“Has anyone ever said no to you?” I shake my head, trying and failing to imagine it. Mr. Wright’s swaying slows ever so slightly, and when I look up he’s surprisingly somber. Oh no. “Don’t tell me something happened with Ms. Hart?”

As if never there, his flat gloom twists into a raised eyebrow and twitching lip. “Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

“Well, I’m still a little miffed that you won’t tell me any details about the concert, but I’m trying to be less greedy,” I relax a bit, gathering that he wasn’t rejected like I feared.

He sighs even as he brings me closer, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Level with me here, Mei. What are your intentions with Evelyn?”

“You of all people should understand,” I mumble, reminding him to keep a distance with a hand on his chest. He told me he wanted true love, practically begged me to find him a match. Why is he pulling back now like an irresponsible boyfriend who misguidedly thinks that’s effective birth control?

He crinkles his brow, hesitating until I drop my hand and look away. “To be honest, I don’t think she’s ready for a relationship.”

“Did she say that?” The few times Ms. Hart has mentioned her ex-husband, she always spoke ill of him enough for me to believe she has no lingering feelings and detached enough to appear healthily indifferent.

“You know how it is after a long-term relationship,” he shrugs.

True, but Mr. Wright doesn’t need to know how personally I do. “That’s why we’re playing the long game. Casual meet-ups, just being friends first, right? Unless…” A thought crosses my mind. What if I’m wrong? Unlikely, but still, I should be mature enough to ask. “You don’t like her? Because, if you don’t, then I won’t—”

“It’s not that,” he groans. “You said it yourself: she’s an angel.”

“Did I?”

“I just have a hard time with change.” As the softer music ends and the electronic dance beat picks back up with screams of approval from the crowd, his voice drops so low that I have to lean past my school appropriate boundary to hear him murmur, “I sort of thought you’d always be my match teacher.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I snicker, almost believing I might have misheard him. “That I won’t be your friend anymore?” He should know I love a healthy, stable romance just as much as a budding one.

“Heh, that’s ironic.”

“What?”

“Ignore me.” He releases his hold, his hand slipping down my mid-back in passing just long enough to send a shiver through me. “She has a poetry slam coming up next weekend, if you want to go.”

“She invited you to a poetry slam?” I lift on my toes happily, filing our conversation away for future analysis.

“Mm. Do you know the coffee shop on the corner of Canary and Brightcreek? She apparently spent half the summer there doing her preparatory work…” He trails off as my attention shifts to a concerning exchange just behind him. He turns to follow my line of sight.

Miss Lynx brushes off an unwelcome tattooed hand. That sandy blonde boy, Barrett, whose last name I never caught, steps between her and Ms. Morelli, who pushes him back firmly. He raises his hands defensively with an amused smirk, clearing not put off in the least. Whatever he says must change Miss Lynx’s mind as she whispers to her girlfriend’s ear and then follows Barrett without her. Mr. Wright catches my arm as I move to follow unconsciously. “Better to leave them be.”

I frown, hesitating only because Mr. Wright hardly ever discourages me from sticking my nose where some people may think it doesn’t belong. “That was the kid harassing my student on the first day of school,” I hurriedly explain, keeping them in my sights. “And when I asked Miss Lynx if he’d ever been violent, she lied right to my face without batting an eye.”

“Then how do you know it’s a lie? They’re Satanic, not sadists, right?”

How could I forget about his superstitions? I’ve lived for seven years in Grandville, but he’s relatively new to the area. Of course he’d find a bunch of tattooed teenagers strange. “I didn’t think you would judge someone based on how they look,” I chastise, provoking a satisfactorily remorseful frown. “Besides, I think I’d be able to tell the difference between cultish behavior and bullying.” In my tenure some of the roughest looking kids were my best students and for the most part appeared well-adjusted, perhaps even more mature than the average teenagers. So I know my alarm is warranted when they both slip past Mrs. Neilson’s less than vigilant watch through the locker room doors. There are exits to the rest of the school through there. “Stay if you like. I’m going.”

I smirk when he groans, but follows dutifully. Perhaps I’ll forgive him for his most recent traitorous behavior if he proves himself useful tonight. Truthfully, I’m not even very upset with him for keeping the details of his date private until tonight. Relationships are messy and confusing and embarrassing, so of course he’s cagey and distancing himself from my perhaps too obsessive tendencies. My real concern is that I’m actually becoming too reliant on him as he distracts Mrs. Neilson with his dazzling smile to let me slink into the locker room. He’s worried about us not being able to stay friends if he dates Mrs. Hart? I’m the one who will miss my most devoted neophyte.