and caught a glimpse of a smile and felt a little reassured. “Alright.” He opened the door, ushering her in with a hand at the small of her back.
The place was packed, every table and seat taken. It seemed as though every square inch of the cinderblock shop was filled with loitering youth. Latté Da’s smelled of espresso, burnt milk, and sweat from too many packed-in bodies. The wafting aroma, she imagined, was probably much like that of a nightclub. Minus the espresso and milk, of course. Grace felt Quentin lean into her, the heat of his breath reaching her ear before his words. “If you want to go find your friends, I can get us something to drink. What do you want?”
“I’ll just have a mocha, with two straws. Emily will be toward the stage in back.”
“I’ll find you.”
Taking his wink as her okay to go, she made her way through the crowd toward the stage. Some kids stood talking, others sat singing along to the music, while the braver ones danced. Even though Grace didn’t see any one dancer she thought who could dance particularly well, she still envied how carefree they all were with their movements. She’d always wanted to be able to dance like that, to be able to let loose in a crowded room and allow her body to react to the music. But she never could, not because she was clumsy or ungainly, but because she was different.
Her difference had always kept her on the outside looking in, careful not to touch anyone with her hands. She knew that to everyone else but her grandfather, her lack of getting involved in crowded activities made her seem shy, when in fact, shyness had nothing to do with keeping her distance. She continued to watch the dancers, and tamped down the twinge she felt as she noticed a few of her friends were among them. Emily stood just beyond, watching Tommy get his rock star on.
“He sounds great,” Grace shouted, once she got within earshot of her.
“Doesn’t he?” Emily yelled back, bouncing up and down in time to the music. Her straight dark hair moved as if dancing too. “What took you so long? I thought you were going to be a no-show.”
“Not a no-show, just late.”
Too focused on Tommy, Emily uncharacteristically let her transgression go. Grace wondered if she was eagle-eying Tommy because she was in love, or because there were several girls lining the stage sending obvious groupie messages with their body language. They bounced a lot. And with the little they were wearing, it was a wonder how the members of Distant Echo could concentrate enough to sound so good.
The band finished their song and announced a ten-minute break. Tommy jumped off the stage, wound his way through his little fan club, and headed for Emily. Grace watched as her eyes lit up and her smile widened. The groupies, on the other hand, weren’t smiling at all. Each took turns stabbing Emily with eye daggers. They weren’t worth the notice, so Grace turned back to Emily.
“How’d we sound, babe?”
“You guys were amazing!” Emily gushed, her eyes all wide as she clapped her hands with excitement before throwing her arms around Tommy’s neck.
Grace rolled her eyes. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Emily’s head quickly swiveled in her direction, her eyes narrowed. “Is that why you were late? You getting sick?”
“Watching your PDA is making me sick. I was fine until I got here.”
“Whatever.” Emily dismissed her disgust with a flick of her hand, then turned her fluttering eyes back to Tommy.
It was strange seeing Tommy in his rock star garb. Usually he looked like he belonged somewhere on the beaches of California with nothing but a surfboard in hand. But tonight the only thing that looked like Tommy was his longer sandy-blond hair and brown eyes. However, the black eyeliner penciled around them was a little weird.
A brush from someone’s touch sent heat shooting up Grace’s arm. Not a painful, burning heat. More of a butterflies fluttering in your tummy, heart-palpitating, “oh my gosh, what the heck was that” kind of heat. The flurry of sensations she’d never experienced together before made Grace’s heart race.
When she turned toward the source of the heat, she found Quentin standing next to her, holding the mocha she’d asked for. His knuckles had barely grazed her. Odd, she thought. What the hell is going on?
Afraid he might have felt it too, her cheeks heated to a self-conscious shade