Read Online Purity by Jackson Pearce - Free Book Online Page B

start off dancing the waltz, then break out into ‘Thriller.’ ”
    “I didn’t know you did that!” I say, louder than I intended and unable to hide a grin. My voice draws a stern look from the instructor. Luckily, another couple backs into her and she’s distracted again.
    “We didn’t,” he says. “I finally got the waltz okay, but ‘Thriller’ was a little out of my reach.”
    “Yeah, no offense, Dad, but you don’t seem the type to rock out to Michael Jackson.”
    “I know. We waltzed, though, briefly. That’s the key: only stay on the dance floor long enough to make everyone think you know the steps, then get out of there before you lose the tempo.”
    “Don’t we have to do the whole song at the ball?” I ask.
    “Yes—oh, sorry,” he says as he steps on my foot. “But I figure one of us can fake an injury before too long.”
    I laugh—too loud. The couple next to us look over, but in doing so they tangle their legs together and almost fall. Dad snickers under his breath and I realize I can’t remember the last time we laughed together.
    Class goes by faster than I expected—a
little
bit. I suppose time flies when you’re trying to not fall over or get stepped on, and to keep your arms up. Madame Garba bows as we politely applaud; I race for the door before Mona can stop me to talk.
    Outside, it’s already dusk. Cicadas have started shoutingfrom the trees, and the blistering heat from the day has faded to calm, lukewarm air.
    “That was, um…” Dad says as he starts the car. “That was interesting.”
    “To say the least,” I say. “Remember, you’re dropping me off at Daniel’s.”
    “Oh, yeah. Right.” Dad pauses. “Are you still dating him?”
    “No,” I say, a little surprised—I didn’t know Dad realized we were ever dating. “We’re just hanging out.”
    “Good, good,” Dad says. “You know, his mom was on the historical committee with me. She was nice. Nice people…” He nods, playing with the keys in the ignition for a moment. I fiddle with the lock on the door.
    “So… are you dating anyone?” Dad asks. His voice cracks, like it’s confused about how to say those words.
    I cough. “No. Not now,” I say, still surprised. I’ve always thought Dad overlooked the fact that I’d aged—like when he saw me, he had that feeling you get when someone you haven’t seen in years shows up. You’re confused that they look so different even though you know time has passed, so it makes sense that they’ve changed. Since I was ten, that’s how Dad has treated me—like he’s confused that I could have changed so much and can’t make sense of the current me versus the ten-year-old me he remembers. Sure, he knows I’m sixteen; I just didn’t realize he
really
knew—knew enough to ask me about dating.
    “What about Jonas?” he asks after a strange, stilted moment passes. He coasts through a stop sign.
    I laugh. “Jonas is my best friend.”
    “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Dad explains fast, like he’s afraid I’m mad.
    “It’s fine,” I say quickly.
    The car falls silent. I refuse to think about my destination or the sea of awkwardness Dad and I just sailed through. Instead, I think about the class and, eventually, about “Thriller.” About my mom wanting to dance to Michael Jackson at her wedding. Mom loved to dance. When she was in remission for a little while, I came downstairs to find her dancing around the living room, spinning, crashing into the couch. I thought she’d lost her mind, but when I tried to stop her, she just pulled me into the dance.
    “I’ve been too sick to dance for two years,” she yelled across the bad nineties music. “Come on, Shelby. I’ve got a lot of dancing to make up.”
    And so I gave in and we crashed around the living room, singing the choruses when we knew them. Dad showed up and laughed and wrapped his arms around Mom when a slow song came on, and they slow-danced together. I wonder if they were thinking