Free Whiskey & Charlie by Annabel Smith Page B

concentrate on the steps at all.
    â€œThat was our worst time ever!” Anneliese said when the music finally stopped.
    â€œMaybe there’s not enough room,” Charlie suggested apologetically.
    Anneliese looked around. “It’s not that. It just feels different here. We’ll get used to it. Do you want to try again?” She rewound the tape.
    The second time, Charlie pretended he was dancing with someone else. He did not allow himself to look at Anneliese’s face or to think about his hand on her shoulder; he thought instead about his feet, his posture, his elbows and wrists, tried to remember everything Mr. Randall had ever told them. They were doing brilliantly until Charlie looked up and saw Whiskey standing in the doorway, smirking at them.
    â€œGold medal, guys,” he said sarcastically. “Lovely.”
    Charlie and Anneliese broke apart. Nat King Cole carried on singing “The Lady’s in Love with You.” Charlie wondered how long Whiskey had been watching them. He had an urge to apologize. But Anneliese beat him to it.
    â€œGo away, Whiskey. It’s embarrassing,” she said coyly. And then she shut the door in his face.
    â€œShall we try again?” she asked Charlie, unruffled.
    Charlie thought she might be the most wonderful girl he’d ever known.
    The second time Anneliese came into his room to ask him to practice, she shut the door before they began. “Rehearsals are closed to the public,” she said, and Charlie laughed conspiratorially.
    The following week she didn’t come over to their house at all. Charlie missed her. Dancing with her at school was not the same as having her all to himself at home, however brief and illusory it might be. In their Friday class, he asked her hesitantly if they might have a chance to practice the following week.
    Anneliese looked uncomfortable. “I can’t come over next week,” she said. “I’ve got too many assignments.”
    Charlie thought she and Whiskey must have had a fight. Whiskey hadn’t mentioned it, but he never talked to Charlie about those kinds of things. Usually Charlie heard them from someone else, most often Marco, who had a keen ear for gossip. If they had fought, Whiskey didn’t seem bothered by it. He had been his usual self that week. But then, he always was. Girls were around for a while, and then they were not, but it never seemed to be Whiskey who was left crying. Charlie wasn’t sorry things hadn’t worked out between Whiskey and Anneliese. But he hoped Anneliese wasn’t wasting any tears over Whiskey.
    x x x
    Later that week, Charlie heard from Marco that Whiskey had asked Anneliese to the prom and she’d turned him down, saying she was going with someone else.
    â€œWho?” Charlie asked Marco, trying to keep his voice casual.
    â€œI thought you might know that,” Marco said pointedly.
    â€œHow would I know? Whiskey never tells me anything.”
    â€œDon’t come the raw prawn with me, mate,” Marco said. “I’m in your phys ed class, remember? I’ve seen you two dancing together. I thought you might have beaten Whiskey to the punch.”
    â€œAs if,” Charlie said.
    â€œThey say all’s fair in love and war, mate. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t,” Charlie said emphatically.
    Marco put his hands up. “Point taken. It’s your business. But if I thought it, you can bet Whiskey has.”
    â€œThanks for the heads up, Marco.”
    Sure enough, when Charlie got home, Whiskey was waiting for him, lying on his back on Charlie’s bed, legs crossed, arms behind his head.
    â€œWell, you’ve really done that dickhead Randall proud,” he said without even looking at Charlie.
    â€œHow’s that?” Charlie asked warily, putting down his schoolbag.
    â€œYou’ve got the most cunning fox-trot going, Charlie. You certainly know