Page 62 of Lance

“It’s not his fault,” I say. “He’s always called meMinnie.”

He raises his head to look down on me, his eyes flashing in the darkness. “I’ve heard you ask him to stop several times. I’m going to bet the times I’ve been around to hear aren’t the only times you’ve asked,too.”

Well, that was true. I started to beg my family to call me Willa somewhere around ageeleven.

“He should respect you enough to listen,” Lance mutters, looking away. “It bothersme.”

Something about those simple words have my heart soaring. “Thank you,” I say. When he still doesn’t look at me I reach up to touch his cheek. His gaze comes down to meet my eyes. “Seriously, Lance. Thankyou.”

As I peer up at him, his face seems to relax, any remaining traces of the tension and annoyance I’ve noticed throughout the night leaving it. His lips curve up at the corners a little, almost a smile, and he says, “You’re welcome,Willa.”

The song changes and I tense for a moment, not wanting it to be over, but something even slower begins to play and I breathe out a sigh ofrelief.

Lance holds my gaze for a long time as we stand in each other’s arms, swaying on the dance floor. I’m the type of person who usually finds eye contact uncomfortable—it goes hand-in-hand with my ever-present awkwardness. I’m always the first to look away, to move back, to put space between myself and whomever I’m with. But dancing with Lance, just looking at each other, our faces mere inches apart, I don’t feel anything exceptright.

“Look at that,” he says after a moment, his voice soft. “You’re dancing. That’s not so bad, isit?”

I shake my head, somehow afraid to speak, like I’ll ruin something I don’t even understand if I open my mouth. Lance smiles. “Sounds like dancing is another thing you onlythinkyou can’t do.” His hands tighten on my waist a little. “We can add it to thelist.”

“Whatlist?”

“Let’s see. Talking to a boy at a party. Standing up to your mother. Leaving school. Holding a job.” His eyes, still intent on my face, darken. “Making a new friend. All things you thought you couldn’t do. But here you are.” His face drops a half inch closer and God, I want him to kiss me. “I don’t know, Willa. Seems to me you can pretty much do anything youwant.”

It’s the strangest thing—I’ve heard some variation of that sentence directed at me my entire life. Throughout all of my schooling, teachers and advisers and my parents have been saying the exact same thing. That I could study whatever I wanted, find success in whatever field I worked toward. That my opportunities and advantages were endless, all because I happened to have a very high IQ. But my life hadn’t felt limitless from where I was sitting. My social awkwardness, my shyness, my feelings of isolation—it held me back, kept me from being truly happy. And I had never really believed, no matter what Nia tried to tell me, that I could overcome thosechallenges.

But dancing in Lance’s arms, it all feels different. For the first time, I start to feel like maybe I can be different. That I can be happy. That Icando anything, after all. Just like hesaid.

The music changes, the tempo increasing, and just like that the dreamy spell is over. Lance pulls back, the absence of his body’s warmth hitting me like cold water. But he smiles as he nods toward the table. “Feel like anotherdrink?”

I follow him back to where his band is waiting, where my brother’s eyes are narrowed, a little too suspicious. Where Haylee is watching us with a knowing, worried sort of frown. Where the conversation in progress is about record producers and possible tour dates, rather than sweet whispers of confidence andencouragement.

But somehow, for the rest of the night, that feeling never leaves me. The knowledge, as sure and strong as it is new, that I can do anything, be anything. His words are in my heart, pulsing along with my blood, and I have a feeling they’re going to changeeverything.