Stewart and Line Dancing

"Care to dance?"

That was how my first-ever dance invitation started.

I jerked around from my reverie to see a short, 13-year-old boy with spikey blond hair looking at me, his eyes pleading.

"What?" I snapped, not sure if I had heard him right.

"Do you want to dance?" He repeated, his Alabama accent drawling.

I glanced around, my face turning red, and my eyes narrowing, praying my mom hadn't seen.

Loud country music blared from the speakers at the North Carolina ranch, and even though it was my 2nd summer here, I was still not prepared to line dance. All I wanted to do was watch, inhale the mountain air, and listen to the country melody.

"I said, do... you... want... to... dance?" He repeated slowly, as if I were deaf.

"um.. No, definitely not." I said, my face burning, my heart hoping secretly that I had accepted the offer. "Go ask my sister." I said gesturing.

His shoulders slumped as he trundled across the deck to my sister, who was also standing on the sidelines while the other guests at the ranch line danced. My brother had disappeared completely back into his cabin (not a bad idea), and I sat glowering at any boy that came within 20 feet of me. Besides, Stewart, that immature midget of a boy, already had a "girlfriend", who was giggling maniacally, as she refused to dance with him. Stewart, who was desperate to have someone to dance with, continued on his knees, begging first his "girlfriend", then me, then my sister to dance. I was not lowly enough to dance with someone who already had a girlfriend, and was using me as their "last resort."

Stewart limped away from my sister, looking disgruntled, and I knew she, too, had rejected him. He looped back to his girlfriend, who once again giggled and refused to dance, then he hobbled back to me, dropping to his knees and giving me the biggest set of puppy eyes imaginable.

"No, for the last time!" I said, exasperated. "Leave me alone!" I was half-joking, but I could tell he was irritated. I retreated as far from the Line Dancing area as possible, as Stewart headed back to my sister, to beg on his knees for her to dance with him.

Suddenly I had an evil idea. I didn't need to have a partner to line dance with. I could dance on my own. I shoved past Stewart and whispered my idea to my sister, and we both smirked.

Adjusting our riding boots, we both headed out on the dance floor, our cowboy boots clicking, dancing on a line along with the other guests, enjoying ourselves. We kicked our feet, and twirled, our hands in our jean pockets just like the other "real cowgirls". Stewart looked dumbfounded.

That was the day we learned that the best type of dancing is the type where you don't need a partner. That's why we like line dancing... and why we don't like Stewart.