Lola is the best dancer in the class. I couldn't believe her moves the first time I saw her, she was that good. I am good too, everyone knows that. But to dance with Lola--that'd be a dream come true. Somehow, though, I couldn't get up the nerve to ask her, and the guy always has to ask., It's the way things are done, you know, even in middle school.
So today Stewie comes up to me and tells me that if I wont' ask her, then he's going to go up to her and tell her that I said it's because she's a crappy dancer. I don't want that. There is no way I want her to think I"d even think such a thing.
Lola. Man. What a good dancer. All that long, black hair swinging. She was so good that she danced mostly with girls. None of the guys had the nerve to ask her.
But here's Stewie, and either he's going to ask her himself or he's calling my bluff, walking right up to her.
I cannot allow this.
He looks back over his shoulder and I hustle up to Lola just as the song ends.
My heart's all up in my throat. I never believed that stupid expression until just now. My heart's in my throat and I'm pretty sure my hands are sweating, a part hitherto unknown to be capable of sweating.
She turns around to me, her hair swings behind her, a strand catches in her open mouth. "Oh!"
"Will you dance with me?" I blurt.
"I thought you'd never ask!" she says.
Why did I wait so long?