Page 41 of Adam's Rising

Then,You Should Be Dancingkicked in. His favorite song.

Claire’s hand brushed his. Her voice was barely a whisper, right at his ear. “You dance so much better to this song than he does. Let me seeyou.”

His heart stuttered. She knew.

Claire absolutely knew.

And she wasn’t mad. She wasn’t questioning him.

Her request was all he needed to be himself. His heart felt lighter, released.

Adam grinned, then launched himself onto the tailgate, hopping up and breaking into a full solo routine — his version of Travolta’s strut mixed with whatever came naturally. The gathered dancers near the front of the drive-in clapped.

One older woman whistled. Was that his second-grade teacher? He turned the shiver that crept down his spine into a move.

Onscreen, he saw Travolta’s version of Gopak dancing and laughed. “That’snot the way,uh-uh,uh-uh,” he sang. He had plenty of Slavic friends. Encouraged by them and his brothers, and even his mother, he had practiced the moves for years.

Adam moved into deep Kazotsky squat kicks in the back of the truck, then did a full toe-touching jump his brothers had always called the RUSSIAN right off the back of the truck, his landing, a perfect ten.

Claire rushed to him, laughing.

She rose on tiptoes and whispered, “Thank you, Adam. I don’t know why you’re hiding, but I promise I won’t tell.”

He gathered her to him without thinking. He didn’t kiss her — he wanted to, but he didn’t. Not yet. No way would he allow their first kiss to be in front of God and everybody, like Rusty had said.

Adam released her, keeping hold of her hand as they walked back to the chairs.

Claire had set the stage, and gotten exactly what she’d hoped for.

Yeah, she’d wanted to see the movie — although, other than the great music, he wasn’t impressed.

The movie was exceedingly raw. His father had never talked that way to his mother, and neither of his parents had ever hit him or his brothers.

The mood changed. Adam felt the stillness in the scene, recognized the lack of music. He turned to the screen, pulling Claire closer.

Whenever the music stopped, something rough or bad was about to go down.

Travolta and his fancy dance partner were in the car. One second they were making out, then Travolta made a move —themove. Not justthe move, but aforcedmove.

Rusty’s words went through Adam’s head again.Right there in front of God and everybody.

“What the — ?” Adam stared down at Claire. “Isn’t that Stephanie, the one he’s been trying to impress this whole time? The one he supposedly respects? And now he’s treating her like —” He didn’t even have a word for what he was seeing. What kind of man did that to someone he cared about?

Claire trembled. “Yeah.”

Neither did Claire based on her one-word answer. She’d told Adam she missed half of the movie. She hadn’t seen this part.

Her body turned rigid in his arms. “No,” she said softly, but it wasn’t to him.

Adam looked toward the screen and felt bile rise in his throat. “Come on, honey. I’ll take you home.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed their stuff, shoved the chairs in the bed, opened the passenger door, and guided Claire inside.

They drove in silence. The big screen cast flickers of orange and gold across the windshield.

As they reached the exit, Adam pointed toward the marquee. “The Goodbye Girlstarts next weekend. It’s rated PG, not R.” He glanced at her. “The song is great. Lead singer ofBread. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back and watch that one… with you.”

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