Page 32 of You Spin Me

Eager to hear Jess’s voice, I slide the headphone off my left ear, pick up the phone and punch line two. “Hey, you.”

“Hey yourself,” she says, a bit out of breath.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I was dancing to that last song while I waited. It had its way with my body, and I was all over my living room.”

Swallowing what I really want to say in response toanythinghaving its way with her body, I say instead, “Hang on for a sec? I wanted you to know I know you’re here, but I have to take care of a couple things.”

“Of course.”

As I go through the motions of calling out the FCC-mandated station ID and playing the next song, an image flashes into my mind from Saturday night. The girl in the short neon-green dress, her hair dancing in the air around her like her curls had their own agenda. She moved with the music like nothing I’ve ever seen. Like instead of muscles and bones inside her skin, all she had was space for the music to fill.

Something tells me it was her.

I’m dying to know.

I’m afraid to know.

I have to make myself pick up the phone. “I’m back. Sorry about that.”

“I should probably say good night, anyway. Long day tomorrow.”

It’s now or never. Ripping the bandage off quick worked earlier today. May as well try it again. “I did want to ask—did you guys have fun at the club the other night?”

“Oh my god, yes. Sorry, I forgot to thank you. We all had a great time.”

“Good, great.”

“I’m still sad that I didn’t get to see you.” There’s a pout in her voice, and I picture green-dress girl’s lush lips pressed together. “We danced for hours. You could see the dance floor, right?”

“Sort of. It was more crowded than usual. Maybe I saw you though. What were you wearing?”

“Oh, you know, a black dress and black tights. Like half the girls there.” Her tone is off somehow, but the disappointment echoing inside my skull has me at a loss for words.

“I really only saw one DJ’s face,” she continues. “He leaned out of the booth and was talking on a mic. That wasn’t you?”

I know who she’s talking about: a guy from a rival station. Gracie thinks he’s fabulous. I think he’s a showboat, but he is good-looking. I have to paste a smile on my face as I answer. “Nah. I keep to myself back there.”

When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “Anyway, I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Thanks again for getting us in.”

“Anytime. I know you have to go, so, uh, call me when you get home Tuesday, okay?”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Good night, Jess.”

I don’t know why I’m disappointed. That girl in the neon green would never even be seen with a guy like me.

JESS

I don’t know why I lied.

Actually, I’m still lying because I do know. I want him to likeme, not the breasts or the butt or the painstakingly made-up face, but me.

The me nobody really knows.

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