Page 112 of Just One More Thing

Wayne has actual rhythm when he’s not narrating his own athleticism, and Mrs. Kravitz moves like a woman who danced through entire decades and never fully stopped.

When the song ends, she picks her paddle back up and gives herself a ten.

Then Mo stills beside me. “Oh no.”

Wayne is crouched beside Maddy’s scooter. “Miss Donovan,” he says grandly, offering his hand, “may I have this dance?”

Maddy tips her chin up. “You strong enough?”

Wayne presses a hand to his chest. “I’ve waited my whole life for a woman to ask me that.”

He scoops her into his arms like he’s carrying a bride over a threshold. Wayne turns toward the dance floor while almost taking out three people with her cast. “CLEAR A PATH,” he hollers.

Maddy’s got one arm around his neck and the other pumping through the air. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her laugh this hard.Beside me, Mo watches them with her hand pressed over her mouth.

Thelma Robinson then appears out of nowhere, zeroing in on Wayne with the focused determination of a heat seeking missile. “Waaayne,” she calls.

He hears it. I know he hears it by the way his shoulders lift slightly before he turns around. “Miss Robinson,” he says solemnly. “I can’t hide it anymore.”

Thelma straightens and smooths a hand over her hair. “My heart belongs to another.”

Then Wayne lowers Maddy back onto her scooter and hops onto the back platform. “FLOOR IT.”

Maddy cackles and slams the scooter throttle forward.

Thelma barely jumps out of the way in time. Then she shrugs, scans the crowd, and turns her attention toward the unsuspecting cameraman.

By eleven o’clock, three women are attempting a synchronized booty pop that looks more likely to pop a hip than a booty.

Miss Hattie finds me near the edge of the floor, pink cheeked and listing slightly left. “Jake Wheeler,” she says, very seriously, “this is the best night of my life.”

“Miss Hattie, have you been in the cups?”

“I have been in the punch.” She leans in. “Maddy put something in it.”

“I figured.”

“She said it was a special juice.”

“I bet she did.”

“I’m going to dance now.”

Ten minutes later, I find her on Maddy’s scooter.

Driving.

Maddy is splayed inside the front basket, holding a Solo cup, her arms and legs hanging over the sides. Somewhere, she founda New Year’s party hat. “YOU DRIVE LIKE AN OLD WOMAN,” Maddy hollers. “GET THE LEAD OUT!”

“MADDY, THIS IS AS FAST AS IT GOES!”

They’re doing a loop around the outer edge of the dance floor. The crowd parts for them the way crowds part for things that have momentum and no clear path. Someone cheers. Someone else grabs their drink out of the way.

Mrs. Kravitz raises the scoring paddle. A nine.

The scooter clips a lamp post. “Whoomp there it is!” Maddy announces.

Mo rushes up beside me. “Should we?—“