"A party? I didn't know people still had those," Seth says while picking at his food.

"Of course they do," Natalia snaps. As if we were supposed to know about parties. We've been surviving in on the outside for eight months. What have you been doing, Natalia? Sitting around, going to parties.

"Just really, really quiet ones," her friend Georgie adds from beside her. Georgie seems to be a lot nicer than Natalia, even though we've just met her. She's one of the other night guards. Her curly blond hair is cut in a very short bob, level with the bottoms of her ears. Her green eyes are squinted-looking, like she's always smiling, and she was a vast amount of freckles sprinkled across her face. I don't know why she hangs out with Natalia, who is a big ol' grouch.

We're at Food City right now, eating our weight in food. Well, except for Seth. I'm not sure where Rogan is, or Alicia, but the rest of us are here. Izzy seems elated that Rogan's not around. Well, as elated as Izzy can be. She not quite as grumpy as usual, so I guess that means she's elated.

"You all need to hurry up," Natalia says bossily, "The party starts soon, and you'll want to get there soon enough to actually be able to do something before you have to go stand on the wall."

"Oh, don't rush me," Izzy mutters. "I don't care about any stupid party. There's only gonna be a bunch of stupid teenagers like yourself getting drunk and high so that they can forget about the outside, even though they've never actually been out there, starving, like me. So shut up and let me eat."

Forget what I said about her being less grumpy. Not that Natalia didn't deserve to be told off. I jam a whole bunch of food in my mouth so that I won't be able to comment.

Natalia's eyes widen, and she fumes, "You little –"

"Genius?" Izzy cuts in. "Why thank you."

Natalia's cheeks grow red. She opens her mouth for a comeback, but Georgie shakes her head and says, "Natalia, just stop."

"She shouldn't be able to talk to me like that!" Natalia exclaims. If she were a cartoon character, smoke would be coming out of her ears.

"Hey, I don't blame her," Georgie says lightly, "I mean, if I'd ever been starving, I wouldn't want to have to rush through a meal ever again. I'd wanna savor every second and every bite of it."

Izzy points her fork at Georgie, her mouth full of food. She finishes chewing, swallows, and says, "At last, a fellow genius." Izzy reaches out her empty hand, clenches it in a fist, and gives Georgie a fist bump.

"Well, you're a loyal friend," Natalia says, pouty and sarcastic, her eyes shooting daggers at Georgie.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with making new friends while keeping the old ones, Nati," Georgie says, smiling at all of us, "And also, we don't serve alcoholic beverages. The rule is, we have to be alert at all times."

"See? Genius," Izzy points a forkful of broccoli at Georgie, nodding her head in approval.

+++++

Seth, Doyle, Izzy and I sit side by side on a couch, wedged together, our arms folded over our chests. We do not belong here. I watch as people drift lazily about the dimly-lit room, talking, laughing, holding hands, drinking from their plastic cups. A CD player sits on an end table, playing a Bruno Mars song softly. Across from us are French doors that are open to a large patio, where a few people are dancing.

Georgie comes over to us. "Aren't you going to dance?" she asks, more to Seth than the rest of us.

"No," Izzy grumbles, "I don't even know why the hell we're here."

"I know it must seem stupid to you, a party, after all that's happened in the world," Georgie says, "But most of these people haven't seen the outside, and besides, why should we let a bunch of stinky decomposing bodies keep us from having fun?"

"Dancing isn't fun," Izzy says, getting up and stomping away.

Georgie chuckles softly. "She's a stubborn one."

"Understatement," Seth says, shaking his head.

Georgie plops down in the vacancy that Izzy left, between me and Seth. "Anyway, y'all never answered my question. Are you gonna dance?"

"Why should we? Shouldn't we conserve our energy for the wall?" Seth asks playfully.

Georgie lets out a small laugh, "Dancing would actually make us hyper, which means we'd have more energy while guarding the wall."

"That's sounds –" a mini cough-attack interrupts his speech, but he resumes soon enough "– reasonable enough."

Georgie stands, and extends her hand to Seth. "Shall we?"

"Don't see why not," Seth takes her hand and they go out onto the patio. An upbeat song about shutting up and dancing is playing now.

Doyle and I stay on the couch, unmoving, just watching Seth and Georgie wave their arms around like nuts, completely out of rhythm with the song. It doesn't appear that Georgie is flirting with Seth or anything, but I can't think of another reason for her to single him out. Maybe because he's the most approachable, normal-human-being-like person in our little group.

Eventually, the song ends, and a new one comes on. A song with a relaxing, swaying beat called Stand by Me. Everyone on the "dance floor" moves closer to each other, wrapping their arms around each other and swaying to music. Seth and Georgie kind of look at each other for a minute before pretending to do the tango through the swaying couples, even though it doesn't go with the song at all.

My mom and dad used to dance to this song on their wedding anniversary, every year. A wave of sadness washes over me, and before I can stop it, a tear rolls down my cheek. I quickly swipe it away, but not quickly enough.

"Are you okay?" Doyle asks me, his face traced with concern.

"Yeah, yeah," I whisper, nodding, "This was just my parents' song." I force a smile, but instead of feeling better, I feel worse, and tears spill onto my cheeks. I look away from Doyle, not wanting him to see me crying.

I feel his hand on my arm. "Hey, Wynne...." I glance over at him, embarrassed. What he says next surprises me: "Wanna dance?"

"Um...okay," I say, sniffing and wiping my cheeks. I feel so stupid for crying.

He rises from his seat, and I stand up as well. He scoops up my left hand, and we walk side by side to the edge of the "dance floor". Once there, we sway awkwardly at arm's length, until he lifts my hand in the air and spins me around until I'm dizzy. I collapse into him, laughing a little.

I collect myself, and we start swaying again, this time a little closer than before.

"Ready for the dip?" He asks halfway through the song, grinning.

"Sure. Just don't drop me," I reply, smiling. It's surprising how well a dizzying spin worked in cheering me up.

We keep swaying for a moment before I'm suddenly falling. I gasp, but his arm is around my back. It was just the dip.

He pulls me back up, saying, "Surprised you, did I?" as Georgie and Seth "tango-strut" by us, very serious expressions on their faces as they nod in our direction.

Doyle and I watch them leave, then turn to each other and laugh. "Those two are nuts," Doyle laughs.

"Yeah, the tango doesn't even go with this song," I say, smiling. We're swaying again, even closer than before, and I'm fighting the urge to press myself against him and close the gap between us.

We sway in silence until the end of the song, me just hoping Doyle can't see the blush on my cheeks, and as the last notes of the song fill the air, he spins me again, slower this time.

And as I finish my rotation and come back to him, our eyes meet, and I want so badly to kiss him, but I can't. Because he might not like me back, and I don't want to ruin our friendship with a stupid kiss that could bring everything tumbling down.

But what if he does like me? It would still be too much of a risk to kiss him. Especially since he's trying to get over his girlfriend, Miranda, who was eaten by zombies. Miranda, Seth's fifteen-year-old sister, the one with the pink hair, the one Doyle loved. Well, probably still loves.

The first strands of Footloose come out of the CD player's speakers, and everyone starts jumping around and kicking their legs all over the place.

"I don't know this dance," Doyle says, taking his hand off my waist. But the warmth of it stays, burning through my coat and my shirt and into my bones, spreading throughout my entire body.

"Me neither," I say. "And I don't really want to dance anymore anyway."

I don't add: Because if I do, I'll wind up doing something dumb, like kissing you.