Ordinary Magic by Caitlen Rubino-Bradway

and sleeves rolled up and apron secure before starting in on the dinner dishes. The music thrummed through the floor and up my legs. I made myself go steady, check that each dish was really clean before handing it to Nate. After a while, there was only meand Nate left, and Cook Bella standing in the doorway, listening to the music.
    When we finally finished, Nate raced for the exit.
    “Make sure you’re back here for the dessert dishes,” Cook Bella said, holding the door open.
    The dining room was hot and loud. Most of the kids were up at the front dancing. A band played away in a corner. The kids still in their seats laughed and shouted at one another and dove into their plates of fruity wonderfulness. Up front they’d pushed chairs aside and tables back until the space had doubled. How could there only be fifty kids here? It seemed like hundreds, thousands, everywhere at once. Everywhere except at our table; for some reason the other kids were giving us a wide berth.
    I slid into my seat as one song ended. The music started again right away, and there was a race to find partners and places. Alexa asked Peter to dance; he got up and followed her without a word. Fred glanced at me and Frances, then straightened up (I think his heels even clicked together) and held out a hand. “Would either of you, I mean, would you like to …” He cleared his throat and nodded at the dancers.
    Fran threw a nervous glance at the dancers and shook her head. “No. No, I don’t know this dance. ”
    “Neither do I,” I said. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
    “I could teach you,” Fred offered, but Fran shook her head and started playing with her fingernails. “Fran—”
    “I said no. ”
    “Okay, okay. Maybe the next one?” I suggested, but Fran was just staring at the floor as if she wanted to burrow into it. “You.” I turned to Fred, who still had that blank, stunned look of retreat, and held out my arm; he grinned and hooked his arm through mine. “Let’s do this thing.” I tugged him toward the dance floor.
    The tune was bright and lively, the kind that pricked up every cord of your body until it was clamoring to move. Fred took my hands and swung me into the dance. Hop—Skip—Clap—Twirl. Fred was good, or at least he was good at pretending he knew what to do.
    Twirl—Skip—Skip—Change partners. I had no idea what I was doing, and it didn’t seem to matter much. The steps kept repeating, but my new partner made up half of it, twirling and turning me out of sequence.
    Skip—Skip—Skip—Clap—Change partners. The air was hot and heavy and clear. My new partner nudged me into the right place with a smile. Twirl—Turn. The girl next to me winked and said, “No, the other way.” Clap—Change partners again.
    Peter was my partner this time, face flushed, eyes bright as we messed up each other’s moves. I stepped on his foot, he limped (or faked it) through the next steps. I laughed an apology. Clap—Skip—Spin—Spin. And I leaned back, giving in to the momentum.
    It wasn’t until we heard the students clapping that we realized the dance was over. We smashed into each other, trying to stop, and Peter was smiling—actually smiling—and I couldn’tbreathe for laughing. The musicians waved off the applause and started right up again. Faster.
    I grinned. “Go again?”
    He took my hands.

CHAPTER
11
    Nate didn’t lie. They did feed us well. Breakfast was as impressive as dinner. For the first time ever, the scrambled eggs didn’t need salt. They didn’t need anything; they were savory, and so smooth they were like custard. There was a plate of thickly sliced bacon, still sizzling, and a basketful of golden, pillowy biscuits with little pots of butter and jam. Kids at the other tables kept their servers running as they cleared their plates and asked for more. At our table, the only ones who managed to eat were Peter and the thin boy (whose name, I learned, was Cesar—and I had to ask Becky for it). I