“Sixties go-go dances are perfect for your musicale!” said Dr. Marquise, who was something of a dance historian on the side. “The other kids will have a blast when you teach them the easy moves and the fun names for the dances. Let’s get to it! We could do the Twist! Then the Pony!” Still wearing his white coat, Dr. Marquise rolled up his sleeves and was clearly set for action. He led them all into the living room. Smashie and Dontel drooped as they followed him. They knew what was coming next. Never mind the rolled-up rug and the record player ready to go; there were also pictures all over the walls: Smashie and Dontel in preschool with matching costumes and go-go boots. Smashie and Dontel in kindergarten, performing at a function for Dontel’s church in hats designed by Dr. Marquise. And there was one from just last year, as they performed, in sparkly jumpsuits, for their grandmothers’ detective-novel book club.

“It’s our worst fear realized,” said Dontel. “And to think I thought speaking a piece would forestall it.”

“Nope,” muttered Smashie. “Not if our teacher got to them. Nothing can save us now.”

“Come on, kids!” said Smashie’s grammy. “Let’s get going! Dr. Marquise came home early from work specially to rehearse! You two are going to be the hit of that musicale!” Her eyes were bright with excitement, for Grammy loved sixties go-go dancing. “Makes me relive my youth,” she always said. Go-go dancing had been popular in the 1960s, when Grammy was a girl.

“It’ll be great!” cried Dr. Marquise. “Every act is going to be punctuated by your specialty! So we better get going and get you kids back into form!”

Smashie blinked back tears. But Grammy, not noticing, pushed PLAY on the stereo. “We’ll start off easy. Get you warmed up.”

And she and Dr. Marquise began to do the Twist, twisting their torsos back and forth while their legs shifted in the opposite direction.

“Come on, Dontel! Put some life in it!” cried Dr. Marquise, kicking one of his legs to the side.

Dontel put some life in it.

“Smashie! Twist like you mean it.”

Reluctantly, Smashie tried to twist like she meant it. “Grammy,” she puffed, “Dontel and I have a lot of work to do. Can’t we practice later?”

“Yeah,” said Dontel. “We have to do some . . .” He caught Smashie’s eye. She knew that he knew how she was feeling about all this — the phone call, the not-singing, this forced dance rehearsal — “homework.”

“You can do your homework later!” shouted Dr. Marquise. “Come on, Sue, let’s give them a go at the Swim!” And, as the music changed, he began flinging his arms in swooping swimming motions and boinged about the room.

Dontel groaned. But he dutifully arm-swam across the room.

“Let’s partner for this one,” said Dr. Marquise. “I think it’d be nice to have the kids in pairs. Smashie, watch what I do.”

“Dontel, watch me,” ordered Grammy.

And, with Smashie and Dontel following their assigned grown-ups, the impromptu dancing continued.