The disco ball spun. Tiny shards of light slid over his face, over her dress, over the walls filled with posters of bands she’d never heard of. They didn’t really dance. They just moved—clumsy, close, laughing when their knees bumped.
But he smiled, showing the chipped tooth. “Want to dance?”
“You’re going, right?” asked Clara, her best friend since the sandbox, already scanning her own invitation for dress-code clues.
Sophie shrugged, pulling her cardigan tighter. “My parents will say no. They think ‘La Boum’ means noise, spilled drinks, and me coming home with a tattoo.”