We looked happy.
When the band announced the last slow song, Michael looked for me before anyone else could invite me to dance.
He surrounded my waist with an arm. The other hand rested gently on my back.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
I put my head on his shoulder.
“If you don’t let me go…” I smiled. “…we’ll miss graduation.
He laughed softly.
“I’ve waited three years to dance like this with you.” She looked me in the eye. Five more minutes will not hurt.
The song ended too soon.
We stayed there a few more seconds while everyone around us picked up their jackets and cameras.
Finally, Michael kissed my forehead.
Fruncí el ceño. —¿A dónde vas?
—Dejé algo en mi camioneta.
“What?
“If I tell you,” he smiled, “it won’t come as a surprise.
I crossed my arms. “You have exactly five minutes.
He started jogging into the parking lot.
Halfway, he turned around. He raised a hand. And he put that ridiculous smile that always made him forgive him for being late.
He then disappeared between two rows of parked cars.
I waited.
Five minutes became ten. Ten became twenty.
Someone finally asked, “Has anyone seen Michael?”
At first, no one worried.
I was probably helping someone.
Changing a flat tire.
Starting a car with wires.
Giving directions.
