She started to laugh. “You need some better friends, honey.” She walked to her locker, dug through her bag, then pulled out a soft blue garment. “Try this on. It’s one of my rehearsal dresses. It’s clean and Lycra, so it should fit you. Don’t be shy. It has built-in panties so you need to step into it.”

I tried not to look her in the eyes as I stripped down to my plain cotton bra and underwear. “Will anyone come in?”

She walked over to the door and stood with her back to it but her eyes were unwavering as she watched me. “Will you look at that?”

“What?”

“I still cannot believe how much crap you were wearing over that body. Stop a moment.”

Nina walked over to me and stared at my bra, which was also a hand-me-down from Aunt Monica. I’d never noticed how it fit before. I knew my aunt was bigger in front than I was, but I thought I’d fixed that by shortening the bra straps.

Nina poked her finger into the bra cup where it bulged around my breasts. “This is all empty air. That thing is way too big for you. When you wear a bra, your breasts are actually supposed to make contact with the cups.” She pulled out the frayed label from underneath the band, then stared at me and said, “Why on earth are you wearing a D cup? You’re probably like a B or less.”

“Someone gave the bra to me too, and I never paid much attention.” I stepped into her dress and slipped my arms into the sleeves.

We both stared at my reflection. The dress was much lower than anything I owned and I tried to tug the V-neck higher, to no avail.

“Stop that,” Nina said.

“I don’t want to show any cleavage.”

She peered at my chest. “You don’t have any. It’s just skin.”

The dress flowed down my body, ending halfway down my thighs and flaring out at the hem. Instead of making my body look sticklike, it made me curvier, more feminine. The low neckline defined the line of my neck and arms. I’d hardly ever seen myself so exposed before. “I feel naked.”

Nina came and adjusted the dress a bit for me, pulling it more smoothly over my hips. “Come on. The others have to see this.”

When she dragged me into the main ballroom, barefoot, Mateo caught sight of me first and let out a long whistle. “Get a pair of heels on those legs.”

Julian paused the dance session he was teaching to the professionals. Everyone stared.

I fiddled with my skirt as Adrienne came out of her office and leaned against the doorway. “Well, what do you know.” She walked to me and looked me over. “What size shoe are you?”

“Seven and a half,” I said.

“She can’t teach without dance shoes,” Adrienne said. “I think she’ll kill herself in her usual pumps. Who’s close in size?”

Simone avoided our eyes. Katerina said, “I’m an eight. I’m only teaching smooth today. She can borrow my Latin shoes for the lesson.”

“Go get them,” Mateo said. “I gotta see her in them.” I looked in his direction to see Dominic and Julian looking at me. Julian had a faint smile on his face. Katerina went into the other ballroom, returning with a glittering pair of sandals in her hands.

I sat at one of the tables and Katerina put the shoes on my feet. The soles of the shoes were made of suede. One of the straps was so long, she wrapped it all the way underneath the bottom of the shoe before buckling it. She glanced up at me. “Don’t look so scared. They’re designed for speed and balance. That’s why the heel is set underneath the center of your foot’s heel instead of way back like some other shoes. You’ve got such high arches, they’ll fit you fine.”

Adrienne said, “Stay here and get used to those shoes, Charlie. Watch the dance session. Julian will teach you right afterward. I’ll take over your job until then.”

I stood up in the shoes, nervous, but when I walked a few steps, I realized I was much more stable than I’d ever been in regular heels. Instead of my ankles wobbling, my feet felt like they were solidly on the ground. From a distance the nude sandals appeared to be a part of my legs. I sneaked another glance at myself in the mirror. For the first time, I did not see a dishwasher.

—

Julian stood next to me so that we were both facing the mirror. Thank goodness we were in the smaller studio so we had a bit more privacy. I saw the other dancers pausing as they came close to our door, deliberately swinging their partners into dips so they could wink at me through the glass window.

“I’m going to teach you just a few steps. That’s all you’ll have time for. First we’ll do men’s, then ladies’ parts.”

“I have to learn men’s parts too? I’ll need to lead and follow?” This hadn’t occurred to me, although I had indeed seen the dancers teaching both genders. Somehow I’d had the idea that maybe the male teachers stepped in for that.

“You’ll be leading better than most men by the time we’re done.” Julian went to the stereo and turned it on. Sinatra started singing.

“This is a foxtrot,” Julian told me. “Listen to it. One, two, three, four . . . Can you find the beat?”

“One, two, three . . .” I’d never been good with rhythm.

“No, feel the music. Don’t worry about the numbers.” He came over and took my hand in his. His was large and warm. Dancers always found it so easy to touch people. Pa avoided touching either of us if he could help it since it wasn’t proper. I tried not to flush.

Julian closed his hands around my forearms and had me do the same to his. “This is called double hand hold.” He closed his eyes and started swaying to the music with me. “Your music is not in your ears. It is in your partner. Listen to your partner.”

He waited until we were swaying together, then he took off his cuff links, set them on the stereo and folded up the sleeves of his shirt. I looked down and saw tattoos of dragons swirling up both of his arms, underneath his formal shirt. He linked his arm through mine.

“First get the class just to start walking. Remember, they’ve never done any ballroom before.”

“Neither have I.”

“Right. You’ll get along just fine then, won’t you?” He gave me a smile, then started strolling forward and backward, side by side with me, both of us starting with our right legs.

“Dancing is just like walking. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If you can walk, you can dance. And if you can learn to walk properly, you can do any dance.”

“I’m not that good at walking either,” I muttered.

He heard me. “I bet you’re good at sports.”

I looked at him in surprise. I thought about my old gym classes at school. “I’m all right.”

“You’re extremely smooth. You’re already rolling through your feet. But your steps are too wide.”

I deflated.

He continued, “Lots of athletes have that. Like they’re trying to get a ball to the other side of the ballroom. Usually, they’re hairy gentlemen, though.”

I choked a bit as he looked at me sideways.

“So you’re special. As a dancer, you don’t have to arrive at a destination, you only have to travel beautifully.”

I pressed my lips together, dubious.

One side of his mouth tugged upward. He took me by the shoulders so that I faced the mirror. “You are lovely. Once you realize that, everyone else will be able to see it too.”

I felt my blush sweep up all the way to the roots of my hair.

“I didn’t know Chinese people could turn that color,” Julian said conversationally. Then he took my arm and started walking with me around the small ballroom again.

“Now take two steps forward and a little side step. Slow slow, quick quick. Slow slow, quick quick . . .” He had his hand on my back. Then he turned to the mirror and said, “Now watch me and imitate everything I do. Sidestep, then close your feet. Good.”

He started to show me the basic box. Thanks to learning movement in the tai chi classes, I could copy him pretty well, but after a few steps, I couldn’t remember if I was the man or the woman.