Learning to Dance

“This is the cosa más estúpida I have ever had to do,”
she said, picking up the rifle. “It’s completely useless for
combat – when I meet a robot, I’m not going to stop to twirl
my gun, I’m going to shoot the bastardo.”
Up laughed. “You’re absolutely right, but when we’re
not at war, pomp and circumstance is what being in the
military is all about.” He took the rifle from her and
demonstrated a neat change. “Has young Pedro recovered
his pride from the garbage pile yet?”
She smiled broadly. “A quién le importa? Who cares?”
He handed the rifle back to her and she gave it a halfhearted
turn.
“Think of it-” Up paused. “Think of it like dancing.
You’ve got to feel the beat.”
“I don’t dance,” Taz said quickly.
“Is that right?” he said, taking the rifle back.
“Yes, that’s right. You’ve never mentioned your previous
career as a bailarin, yourself.”
“Okay, fine, I don’t know the first thing about dancing,”
Up admitted. “But come on, didn’t you ever learn as a kid?
Isn’t a girl supposed to know how so she can dance with all
the boys at her quinceañera?”
He wished he had the words back as soon as they left his
mouth. A dark look clouded her eyes. “Sí,” she said, after a
moment. “My mama tried to teach me, but I hated it. I was
podrida.”
“Show me,” he said, setting down the rifle.
She eyed him warily, then held out her hands. He took
them in his own. They were tiny, and cold, but strong.
“The basic salsa step begins like this,” she said, and her
eyes were focused over his shoulder at something far away
in time. “I step back, you step forward. No, no, el otro pie,
the other foot.”
He tried to follow her instructions, but the truth was he’d