Page 28 of Something like Desire

“Your mom didn’t reject you on the dating site? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?” Zach smirks. “Well, she’s at least weighing other options then. This is the perfect time to swoop in and annoy the shit out of them.” He holds up his hand for a high five and I reach up to meet it.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Do you think they’ll recognize us?”

I give Zach a once-over. He looks like Zach, only with big glasses, a scientist coat, and a funny hat. “Yes,” I admit. “But maybe an idea on how we can annoy themwithout them seeing uswill come to us once we’re in there.”

Zach reaches an arm out to me, and I look at it cautiously. He holds my gaze. “We should act like a couple for this, don’t you think?”

I silently urge my heart to slow down. This is just an acting role for a good cause.

“Okay. Good plan.” I link my arm through his, and we walk toward the building. Through the window of the middle studio, I spot Mom and Nicholas standing out in the crowd, twisting and spinning across the floor.

My mom, who claimed to have two left feet, appears to be doing a complicated-looking Latin dance. Nicholas is spinning her and she’s gracefully twirling. She’s stepping forward and backward and not falling on the floor in a clumsy heap. Who is this woman and what did she do with my mom?

“They’re really moving in there, huh?” Zach says. “Wait, wait, wait. New idea.” He raises his eyebrows. “We could do something to the studio floors, like rub butter or wax on them so they both slip and land on their faces.”

“I want my mom to break up with your dad, not break a hip,” I respond.

“Fair enough. Or...” Zach pauses dramatically. “Or... we could pull the fire alarm and put an end to their class.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“Okay, okay, nothing illegal. Fine.” He thinks for a minute, then holds up his index finger like the idea of the century just came to him. “This one’s golden. My dad hates when people fart and don’t excuse themselves. Maybe we could ask for a tour of the studio and I could play fart sounds on my phone, and he’ll think it’s your mom.”

I laugh. “That’s officially the most immature sabotage plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, do you have a better idea?”

“No...”

Zach slowly runs his fingers through his beard. “Okay, so let’s at least get in there and see what ideas come to us. Maybe the perfect plan will hit once we see the space.”

I nod, and we head toward the door. Before I even have a chance to ask what our fake names are or what we’re supposed to say, he swings it open.

I guess he’s more of an improv guy.

We make our way to the front desk, where a woman with short curly hair sits, focused on a computer screen. After a moment, she looks over at us and her eyes go slightly wide when she sees our outfits.

“Oh, hello. How can I help you today?”

“’Ello,” Zach says, slipping into a painfully awkward British accent. “My wife and I just moved here from London and we’re hoping to brush up on our dance skills. We were wondering if you might give us a quick tour?”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at his accent attempt. And also:Wife? Why did that word send zings of electricity racing through me, from the tips of my toes to the top of my head?

“Oh, how lovely,” the woman says—and apparently, she’s one of those people who unconsciously mirror accents, because now she’s talking with a slight British lilt too. “I’m Brenda. I’d be happy to show you around. I actually visited England once. I have friends on Chester Road. Where in London did you live?”

“The... uh... west end,” Zach says, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

“That’s nice. How wonderful to have you here. I’d love to show you around.” Brenda stands and smooths her pencil skirt, then gestures to the long hallway on our right. “Please, follow me this way.”

Brenda leads us toward a door, pushing it open to show us an empty studio with a long mirror and a barre. “In this room, we do a lot of ballet classes. There’s a youth class beginning in about an hour and they’ll be using this space.”

“How charming,” I say in the worst attempt at a British accent of all time. I expected it to come out as more posh and regal-sounding but that was pretty pathetic.

Zach widens his eyes and suppresses a laugh that comes out sounding like a choking noise. He pretends to cough several times.

“Oh dear, are you okay?” Brenda asks, her brow crinkled with concern.