Our Shouts Echo by Jade Adia

Author:Jade Adia [Adia, Jade]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Hyperion
Published: 2024-08-27T00:00:00+00:00

WE ARE DANCING IN A CIRCLE. IT’S ME, Andrew, Sage, and Mac, plus three of their friends whose names I couldn’t hear over the sound of the music. It’s all of us, together. Until it’s not.

Andrew swings his hips, roping Sage into a Macarena that turns into a conga line straight toward the drinks table. Two of the randos start whispering something into each other’s ears while the last person splits off from the group. Suddenly, it’s just me and Mac.

Mac raises an eyebrow, shrugging. He does a ridiculous shoulder wiggle paired with a goofy two-step. I laugh, both delighted that he’s a horrible dancer and lightly mortified on his behalf. He offers me his hand, extending an invitation to join whatever barnyard jig he’s putting on. I accept, mostly to put him out of his misery. We dance silly at first. Old school, ’80s-style moves, face-to-face. There’s at least two feet of space between us. More than enough room for Jesus and even a couple of Biblical plus ones, too. We frantically flap our arms up and down like chickens. But then the music changes.

A reggaeton hit comes on and the room erupts. Everyone who wasn’t already dancing stampedes toward the center of the room.

I lean into Mac, shouting in his ear over the music, “Looks like this is for professionals only. Want to sit this one out?”

“Why would I want to sit this one out?” he asks.

“Dancing isn’t your strong suit.”

He looks at me aghast, feigning shock. I’m about to offer a half-assed No offense but the words never have the chance to form. Mac grasps the hand dangling by my left side and slowly guides it across my body to the beat of the music. I play along, smiling as I move in sync with a little whine in the hips. He draws his arm in an arc, prompting me to spin. I try to gain some momentum, but I’m met by resistance. I’m stopped at a half turn, standing right in front of him. He squeezes our joined hands and leans in to whisper in my ear, “Do you want to dance for real?”

I nod as the beat drops, and Mac pulls me closer.

This was another thing that I misunderstood about Mac: He is not a horrible dancer.

I grind on him jokingly at first. We’re both laughing and I’m only touching him a little bit. But as more people fill the dance floor, the inches between us disappear. By the time the chorus hits, his head is bent against my neck, the chill metal of his chain pressed into my back. We are no longer laughing.

The silliness from before is gone, replaced with a steady grind. He grips my hips, lightly scratching at the denim of my jeans. The tiny vibration sends a shiver down my spine. I get caught up in the feeling of his hands somewhere new. His thumbs, miraculously cold despite the heat of the dance floor, find the stretch of skin where my crop top ends and my high-waisted shorts begin.

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