“What’s that?” Mom asks before I can stuff the paper into my backpack.
“Nothing.”
“Oh, come on, dancing isn’t that hard,” Selma says.
It is when you’ve never done it before. Like ever. My dad’s never been in the picture: no daddy-daughter dances, no father-daughter date nights.
Nothing.
I never waltzed across the living room floor with my feet on my dad’s toes. So I don’t know how my friend thinks I might have learned how to ballroom dance.
“You should come,” Selma says. “Daddy not required.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied before steering my mom away from my friend.
“What’s Selma talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Brooklyn!” Mom scolds.
“Fine. Selma’s parents belong to the country club and they’re having some daddy-daughter dance.”
“Why not have Elliot take you?”
“Because he’s not my
