“Right.” I didn’t know he was paying that much attention when I told the story.
“So go up there and dance.”
“I don’t remember the routine.”
“Who cares? Just go for it!”
“For what? There’s no audience.”
“I’ll be your audience. Now, stop making excuses.”
I was onstage in one of the biggest auditoriums in the state with only Ian sitting in the front row. What in the world was I doing?
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“This is pointless, Ian.”
Then noise from the horrid rock band played. It sounded like ten dentists drilling teeth all at the same time.
“Turn it off!” I shouted.
It stopped, and I could see Ian laughing. “I thought you said the band was okay!”
“If you’re going to make me do this, you should, at least, play decent music!”
Then I heard it. He played Clair de Lune—the song I
