“Thanks,” he beamed, continuing to pump his arms to the beat that Sara had started them on, even when the beat of the music changed. After a moment he started to bend his knees as well, trying his best to mimic her.
She laughed. “You’re dancing like a girl.”
He stopped, his already pink face becoming red.
“Here.” She reached over and took his hips in her hands and started to show him how to move.
He could feel sweat trickle its way down his forehead. His throat became dry and his tongue refused to move.
“Move with it, first with one then the other,” she said, biting her lip a little as she looked down at the way their hips pressed together, hers moving along with his. “Don’t be afraid to lean into me. And don’t over think it. Just... do it.”
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze for a long moment.
She cleared her throat, then stepped away from him.
He continued to move, taking a breath for the first time in what felt like minutes.
“Yeah,” she said, grabbing a cube of ice from the cooler and popping it between her lips. “That’s better.”
Around her the others continued to bump and grind.
Cathy sat near the fire pit and watched Sara as she tried to teach Xander to dance, a wry smile finding its way onto her lips even as people pushed and shoved each other all around her. Calla McFadden’s butt got dangerously close to hitting her in the back of the head every time she swayed to the music, but she tried her best to ignore it.
Mike appeared out of the labyrinth of bodies to her right, doing his best to avoid bumping into people as much as possible.
“Here,” he said, handing her a drink in a red plastic glass. He had a similar one, which he took a long slurp from. “Virgin Jack and Coke, on the rocks.”
“That’s just Coke with ice,” she laughed, taking just enough to wet her lips. “You sound like a douchebag.”
He laughed, fizzling cola almost coming out his nose when he did. He brought his sleeve to stop it, the edges of his smile poking up over his arm. “I like it my way. Sounds important.”
“What do you call an orange juice? A Virgin Screwdriver?”
“A Virgin Screwdriver is orange juice and 7Up,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
“How do you know that?”
“How do you not know that?” he laughed, holding out a hand to her.
She rolled her eyes and took it, letting him help her to her feet. There was a short boy trying to dance with a rather tall girl in front of her, and she could see Sara and Xander again over his shoulder.
Xander was drinking his cola as though he were searching for the meaning of life at the bottom, wiping the sweat from his free hand onto his jeans as he did.
She shook her head at them and tisked.
Mike followed her gaze, then stepped into it to block her view of them. “You know in some cultures, that’s considered rude.”
“Stop it.” She hummed playfully, bouncing on her heels to see over his shoulders and not even coming close. “I want to see.”
“Yeah, I got that.” He smiled. “Now stop it.”
“Ugh,” she huffed, folding her arms and puffing out her cheeks. “Men.”
“Yes. Men get in the way of the picture show. Men drink of the beer and have of the women.”
She glared at him, though she couldn’t help herself from smiling. “Idiot.”
Tommy hoisted his camera quickly and took a shot of Cathy, just as she was smiling at something Mike had said. He examined her image on the screen of his camera, its colour-corrected vibrancy making it look more real than in the dimming light of dusk. He’d caught her just beginning to laugh, in that wonderful and rare moment photographers called a Mona Lisa smile.
He clicked off a few more rounds in quick succession, examined the latest one on the screen again, then stepped back into the crowd.
He’d loved cameras ever since he could remember. He’d owned his first one at age four, and currently owned five. This one was a Canon digital-film hybrid with a facefinder feature he found remarkable.
He brought it to his face again, using the viewfinder to peruse the crowd.
John Walker was behind Calla McFadden, not so much dancing with her as he was holding her tight and swaying with her to the music. He was sucking on her collar and had left a long line of red blotches from her ear and down her neck before he had arrived there. Her bra was undone, one strap lying loosely over her shoulder.
-click!-
Tommy shifted focus, finding Sam Reynolds as she downed the last of a beer. Copious amounts of froth billowed down her cheeks on either side, fluffy and light like clouds.
“You’re wasting some!” Wes King shouted next to her, pointing at her and pumping his fists radically. “Point goes to me!”
-click!-
Tommy turned and came face-to-face with Derek Smith, his boyish face and bushy eyebrows taking up the entire screen.
-click!-
“What the hell are you doing?” Derek frowned.
Tommy took the camera down from his face and smirked wide. “Documenting.”
“Documenting what?”
“Everything,” he replied, raising the camera high and snapping a random shot of the crowd. He examined the back of the camera and smiled, then turned to show Derek. “See?”
It captured half the yard, every face digitized and in perfect
