They push me towards him, but gently enough that I don't really go anywhere. "Go dance," they say, laughing because they don't think I will. I just stand there, bare feet gripping the carpet, and look at him.
His arms are open to me, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, but his smile seems fake. He knows as much as I do that we're putting on a show for our friends. Giving them something to coo at, because the only other couple in my group of friends have been together for at least a month, and have gotten boring. Going through the motions so they can't bother me about missing my senior prom.
I can't read his eyes.
After a moment, I step out onto the wooden "dance floor", expecting it to feel cool against the soles of my feet, at least compared to the carpet. It doesn't, and I'm only reminded of how much I'd rather be dancing outside. But I take his hands, and move awkwardly with him on the fringes of the crowd. Giggles erupt behind us, and a low, rough chuckle find's its way out of my one other guy friend's throat.
His smile is a little more real now, I think. Maybe I'm imagining it.
Band geeks that we are, we're perfectly in sync. Not that the beat is hard to find, as the bass drives all the dancers more by feel than by sound. The vibrations ripple through the air, up from the floor, and in the heat that radiates from the packed-in crowd of more enthusiastic and intoxicated people. But the vibrations that I feel through his hand, or just from him when he's close enough, are softer, smoother, and still in time.
The light in his eyes when he looks at me almost seems genuine now.