The sun was already setting, enveloping the schoolyard with golden light. We would be leaving these walls soon, and the excitement was growing. Exams, a waltz, a prom night — it all merged into one crazy picture that left no room for calm. We were sitting on rocking chairs, swaying to the beat of the light breeze, with ice cream in our hands, and I couldn't help but notice how Yura Volkov, my waltz partner, sometimes casts brief glances at me. He was always a bit clumsy — we often stumbled and lost our rhythm during rehearsals. "You know," I said, reaching for another spoonful of ice cream, —"if only we could dance the way we eat this ice cream, we wouldn't be afraid of exams or waltzes". Yura grinned, but there was a shadow of doubt in his smile. He looked away, examining the ground beneath his feet, and it seemed to me that he was thinking about something important. "Don't you think that..." -he began, and then stopped, as if the words had stuck in his throat. I looked at him and, catching his gaze, I felt something pleasant in my soul. "What?" - I asked, encouraging him a little. "What are you thinking about?" He sighed, and I noticed how his hands were nervously clenched around a plastic cup of ice cream. I waited, but he just shook his head, as if he knew he couldn't put his feelings into words. "You know, I just..." - he began again, and this time his voice sounded a little more confident. "I just don't really like dancing. But with you… You know, it's kind of different. I wish the waltz wasn't so awkward. I'll work hard next time and we'll be the best couple at the prom, you'll see".