I’ll never know what brought that nineteen-year old man into Barnes and Noble that night. Perhaps it was the books or the warmth. Or maybe it was the promise of a soft couch as opposed to the hard park benches he seemed accustomed to. Regardless, there he was, in sweatpants that had seen too many summers and too few washes, and an old windbreaker that showed most of his old t-shirt beneath. And I’ll admit that I looked at him funny, even felt a bit nervous as he sat next to me in the circle of Stephenie Meyer fans as we anxiously hung on to every word of the new Twilight book. My friends and I had gotten all dressed up for the Twilight Prom which included a reading of the new book, look alike contests (which I won *cough cough*), and above all promised our fifteen year old hearts the fantasy of dancing with our own Edward Cullen. We might have been a bit obsessed. But as the music began and as two of the three guys there were dragged to the makeshift dance floor in the same begrudging way that they were apparently forced into the party, the rest of the girls awkwardly looked away from the man in the threadbare clothing. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and went up to the first girl without a partner. Brushing his stringy hair from his eyes, he bowed slightly and asked if she’d like to dance. Her friends giggled as she, looking stunned, said “No thanks,” and left with her friends. He didn’t seemed fazed, however, and moved on to the next girl. The girls all left in groups of two or three as the man moved through the crowd bowing. I felt sad for him, and ashamed of the rude girls, but was tense as I watched him get closer. Finally, he got to the girl in front of me. She smiled broadly and nodded her head in answer to his question. Taking her hand, he led her out to the dance floor. I breathed a sigh relief. I had dodged a bullet. But there still weren’t enough guys to go around. As one song ended and the next one began, the man left the girl and approached me. When he asked if I would like to dance, I shocked myself by saying yes. It’s not that I had planned on saying no, it’s just I didn’t know what I had planned on saying. As he took my hand, I was surprised to find they were soft and clean, not at all as I expected. He put his hand on my waist and brought my hand to the top of his bicep. And in a kind, boyish voice he asked me if I knew the box step. I told him that I didn’t, but that I could learn. He smiled and began to teach me. I spent the first few minutes staring at my feet, making sure that my stilettos didn’t crush his toes through the socks and Velcro sandals he was sporting. He danced with a sort of graceful elegance that I hadn’t thought a man of his sort would be able to. I know thats very judging and unkind of me, but it’s what I thought. Each step he took was purposely placed while mine were clumsy. I tread on his toes more often than not, but he was full of patience. At the end of the dance he thanked me and walked over to my friends, asking them for their hands. After we the last song played, he turned toward the front of the store and went through he big doors leading to the outside. I never saw him again, but I still can’t help but scoff at myself. I originally thought that I was doing him a favor by dancing so close to his unwashed body. I have since realized that he did me, a small girl fascinated with romance novels, a favor. He gave me dance lessons at a party that would have otherwise been a disappointment. I wish I had thanked him then. I was too stunned to say anything, too embarrassed at my poor dancing skills. So, to whomever you are, if you are reading this, Thank You.