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I think I’ve been wrong about Michael Moscovitz, and it’s biting me in the butt now.
I’ve danced with people, sure, like at weddings and with Lilly in the privacy in her room, or mine (not usually since my mom doesn’t like to hear Britney Spears playing at midnight), but there’s a difference between dancing with yourself when you’re comfortable and dancing with someone else. Especially if the other person is a boy.
Not that I’m uncomfortable dancing with Michael Moscovitz or whatever.
Well, maybe I’m just nervous, but it’s certainly weird because as I’m following him to the dance floor, I’m looking at the back of his head and thinking: “How the heck am I supposed to dance WITH someone?”. I’m in heels and Michael is, at best, three inches taller than me. It hits me that I’ll have to look him in the eye.
And let me tell you. Looking Michael Moscovitz in the eye is not for the faint of heart.
Not because he’s intimidating or whatever, but because he does this thing where he REALLY focuses on you when you’re speaking. It’s weird for such an antisocial person to have pretty good social skills, but I’m serious. Whenever I’m talking, I feel his eyes on me. And it’s weirder because even if I’m not speaking to him, I can still feel his dark eyes following me. They don’t even follow my hands (Grandmere says I REALLY need to stop being so gesticulative) when I’m talking. They just zero in on my face. Like lasers. The non threatening kind.
Sometimes it really makes you lose your train of thought.
So as I’m walking behind him, all I’m thinking is that I’ll need to talk slowly and carefully if he strikes up a conversation. And this is Michael so of course he’s going to be talking. He has something to say about everything. Like his sister, but also in a different way. Both of the Moscovitz’s are very intellectual and smart, but, I don’t know. Michael talks more easily. It makes sense in my head.
He turns and looks at me. I nearly bump into him. I’m not even talking and he’s already really looking at me. And this is when I realize I should never have assumed Michael doesn’t know the first thing about girls. I mean, he’s cute, so of course he’s had girls crush on him.
And when he immediately places his hands on my waist, I’m totally taken aback.
There’s a moment of awkwardness where I don’t know what to do with my arms. I’ve never waltz with anyone. This is the closest thing to a waltz right? Grandmere hasn't given me lessons on the waltz yet!
So I do a quick look around and find that people have their arms around the other person’s neck.
Michael raises his eyebrows in a silent question. It’s so brief that I barely catch it. I put my arms around his neck. Some of his hair touches my fingers. It's really soft.
Half of my arms rest on his shoulders. They're very firm.
I will say that being that close to him reminds me of his clean boy smell that I always get a whiff of when he’s tutoring me in G&T.
He kind of pulls me closer. It does something to my stomach, and I can suddenly feel all the contents in it, but it takes me a long time to notice that it’s different from the feeling I get before I have to throw up. This time, the nerves settle into a permanent form of freaking out, and they just stay like that. Like I'm on the verge of a panic attack, but I'll never actually tip over.
I’m expecting him to say something. Something about the music and how it sucks and how he wishes high school would be more modernized so that we could be dancing to pop punk, but he doesn’t say anything. In fact, this is the longest I think Michael has ever been silent. No quirky remarks or roll of his eyes when someone passes us saying something weird.
I tighten my fingers together behind his head. I hope I’m doing this right. Michael moves first, which is so surprising that I nearly feel a nosebleed coming on. He sort of…sways.
I glance down at our feet. They aren’t really moving. This is weird. I don't hate it.
I’m right about our height difference. We’re nearly eye to eye, and Michael is not saying anything and he’s just looking at me and it’s… it’s kind of nice. He’s looking at me like…
Michael’s never said a negative about me since news of my princess-ness hit the newsstands. He never said anything about my hair. Or my dresses. Or my lipstick, aside from that one time when he called it war paint, but still. He never told Lilly or made fun of me. He never pried about Josh. He just accepted it all.
Should I say something? Make conversation? Are Tina and Lilly looking over at this? I feel a blush form over my cheeks. Lilly! She must think I have the biggest crush on her brother! How embarrassing!
But as I’m thinking of something to say, I look into Michael’s eyes, and I guess that dim lighting in the room is making his eyes darker than usual or something because they look different. Michael already has super dark eyes. His eyelashes are thick too. His eyebrows are well defined naturally. And since there isn’t really anything to talk about or anywhere else to look at, I sort of just glance down at his lips.
It’s totally natural to look at someone’s face all casually. I don't think Michael notices that I peeked at his mouth because it’s dark and maybe he can’t even see me all that well. He doesn’t say anything about it, but then again, he doesn’t say anything at all.
His hair is falling into his eyes, lightly curling at the ends. I don't think I’ll be able to write about this in my journal. I just know what I’m thinking of right now. He blinks, trying to get the hair out of his eyes and in that moment, he looks so cute.
I think he gets irritated by his hair, though, because he messily pushes his fringe away with a hand. I notice how cold that part of my dress feels when he removes his hand. But when it comes back, it’s warm again.
I’m dancing with Michael Moscovitz. He's asked me to dance. And as we’re doing this weird sway kind of thing, I think about us dancing the next song. The DJ clearly is playing a mixture of songs. The next one will be one of those fast disco tech songs that everyone loves recently. They’re great, but it’s really hard to dance. I wonder if he’ll keep wanting to dance.
As I’m thinking this, the DJ switches the song. As expected, it’s one of the fast paced ones. Students around us cheer, and I let Michael’s neck go.
“Have to sit this one out, Thermopolis,” Michael says, releasing me.
“Yeah, me too,” I say.
I half expect him to go off with his friends after having spent so much time with the freshman, but he actually follows me back to where we were previously sitting. I have to sit on my hands because they're shaking, but Michael looks as cool as always. He just reaches for his water and takes a slow sip. I have to look away. My stomach still feels weird.
I will definitely not be able to write this in my journal. I don't have the words to describe this feeling. It's just on the edge of overwhelming.
“You know who’s absolutely underrated as a good guy?” he says, putting his plastic cup down. He looks down at me, eyes sparkling. “Anakin Skywalker.”
“Darth Vader?” I gasp. “A good guy?”
“Yeah. He’s totally a good guy.”
“Are you crazy?”
Michael laughs. He has to talk louder over the music. “No. I seriously think so. I hope when the next episodes come out, they do his story justice.”
“Is this just because he saved Luke from dying that one time?”
“I just think he has the potential to be a really good guy if he has a good story. I mean, it takes a lot for someone to turn to the Dark Side. It’s probably totally justified. Maybe he’ll be a better character than Leia.”
I gasp again. “There cannot be a better character than Leia.”
“We’ll see in the theater when we get there.”
I’m momentarily stumped when he says this because I don’t know if he means us together in the theater or just in general. I have to recover quickly, though, because he keeps going. He has a lot to say now that we’re not dancing.
But when we fall into an easy, energetic conversation about Star Wars, the music suddenly changes. The DJ has played two fast paced songs, so now it’s time for a slow one.
I don’t even see the music change register on Michael’s face. Because in the same breath that he says, “The graphics are way more advanced than any movie critic could ever imagine” he also says, “Hey, wanna dance?”
I look at Lilly and Boris already returning to the dance floor. So I nod my head, and the butterflies in my stomach erupt again. “Sure.”
Michael smiles slightly, just barely there, and then stands up. He gestures to me to walk in front this time, teasingly saying, “Princess” and when I walk by him, my heart is hammering so hard in my chest, I can scarcely hear the music.
I think Michael Moscovitz might like me. He’s smarter than me, totally deserving of a cuter girl, and he could probably get anyone he wants, but he’s asked me to dance with him. Twice. I really think he might like me. And it scares me, but it also makes me think that I, too, like Michael Moscovitz.