Scene: St. Joseph’s School Gymnasium — spring evening
The waxed floor gleams under the soft gym lights. Paper streamers hang between the basketball hoops, and Sister Helen’s record player spins a wobbly old square-dance tune. The air smells like lemon cleaner and punch.
The students of St. Joseph’s stand in a nervous square, hands fidgeting, shoes squeaking. But at the center — Nelly and Joe — stand perfectly calm. Their hands meet, fingers locking naturally, as if they’d practiced all their lives.
Across the gym, Paulo leans against the wall with his gang, smirking. His laughter cuts through the record’s scratches.
Sister Helen claps once. “All right, my lambs — bow to your partners!”
The music swells, and something changes.
Joe bows, Nelly curtseys.
Perfect timing.
They take two steps forward, two steps back, turn, clap, and spin — every motion smooth, mirrored, effortless.
The other pairs follow their lead. Joe calls a step before it happens, his voice clear but humble.
Nelly beams, radiant but composed, guiding the rhythm like a metronome.
Sister Helen’s face softens. “Beautiful! Keep it steady now!”
Joe swings Nelly by the hand — she spins like a comet, her skirt twirling just as the record hits its sweet spot.
They cross, turn, do-si-do, then bow again.
Not a single step falters.
Even Paulo’s grin fades. His friends stop laughing. One of them mutters, “Whoa… they’re good.”
When the record scratches to an end, the whole class bursts into applause.
Sister Helen wipes her glasses, eyes misting. “That,” she says softly, “was grace in motion.”
Joe and Nelly don’t speak — they just stand there, hands still joined, breathing in rhythm, hearts steady.
And though they’re only children in a school gym, for that moment they are timeless — two souls in perfect synchronicity, moving the world one flawless step at a time.
