We're Carlos and Yvette. We've been married eleven years and dancing together for twelve (Yvette says the dancing is what did it). Carlos grew up dancing at every family party in Hialeah from the time he could stand. Yvette grew up in Ohio and did not dance at all until she was 24, which is why she is the one who teaches the beginners: she remembers exactly what it's like to have no idea what your feet are doing.

Every Wednesday night at 8 we teach a free beginner salsa lesson at La Palmita, a family Cuban restaurant on Collins Avenue with a back room that has a good wood floor and an owner who loves to see it full. The lesson runs about 45 minutes. Then the music goes up and everybody dances until 11, beginners and old-timers mixed together. It's free. It's always been free. We do it because somebody taught us for free, a long time ago, and that's how it's supposed to work.

You don't need a partner. We rotate partners during the lesson so everybody dances with everybody. You don't need experience. You don't need to be young, or Latin, or coordinated. You need shoes (see below) and about two hours. Kids are welcome at the lesson with a parent; the little ones usually end up doing better than the grown-ups, which is humbling.

Salsa music counts in eights: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. The basic step takes three steps, then a pause, three steps, then a pause. You step on 1, 2, 3, hold on 4, step on 5, 6, 7, hold on 8. That's it. Everything else in salsa is built on top of that. Say it out loud with us: "quick, quick, slow... quick, quick, slow."

Now the feet. We teach the version where you break forward on the 1 (some places teach breaking on 2; both are right, ours is just ours).

Notice the follower does the mirror of the leader: when he goes forward, she goes back. That's why it works with two people. Keep the steps small. Beginners take giant steps and end up in the next county. Think about the size of a floor tile. Keep your weight on the balls of your feet, knees soft, and let your hips do what they want to do when you shift your weight; don't push them, they'll figure it out.

Practice this at home to any salsa song, in the kitchen, holding onto the counter if you have to. Count out loud. When you can do it without counting, you're ready for Wednesday. Honestly, you're ready for Wednesday before that, but it's nice to walk in with a head start.

Once the basic step is in your feet, the first real move everybody learns is the cross-body lead. It's how the two of you trade places, and about half of everything else in salsa starts from it. In words, it goes like this (breaking on 1, like above):

Counts 1-2-3: The leader does his first half of the basic (left forward, weight back, left back) but on the 3, instead of bringing his left foot straight back, he turns his body a quarter turn to the left and steps his left foot back out of the way, so he's opened up a lane in front of him. The follower just does her regular 1-2-3, back, forward, together. She doesn't know anything's about to happen yet. That's fine.

Count 4: Pause, but the leader's hand (the left one, holding her right) has started gently guiding forward, and his right hand on her back is letting her know: go this way.

Counts 5-6-7: The follower walks straight forward down the lane he opened, three steps, left-right-left, passing right in front of him, and on the 7 she turns a half turn to her left to face him again. The leader, meanwhile, steps his right foot forward and around on 5, brings his left up on 6, and on 7 steps his right foot into place, finishing his own half turn so he's facing her from the other side.

Count 8: Pause. You have switched sides of the floor. Everybody's in basic again like nothing happened. Ta-da.

The secret for leaders: get out of her way. The whole move is you clearing a path and then inviting her down it. If you don't turn on 3, she'll walk into your chest, which happens to everyone the first night and is a good laugh. The secret for followers: walk forward like you mean it. Three real steps, not shuffles. He's leading, but you're the one who travels.

It reads like algebra on a page. It takes about ten minutes to get on the floor with someone counting for you. Come Wednesday.

Shoes that slide. This is the one that matters. You'll be turning, and your foot has to be able to pivot on the floor. Rubber-soled sneakers grab the floor and your knee pays for it. Leather soles are perfect. Smooth-bottomed dress shoes, loafers, low heels with a strap, a flat with a suede or leather bottom: all good. If sneakers are all you have, come anyway, and we'll show you how to do the turns on the ball of your foot, but bring the leather next time. Ladies, if you wear a heel, make it a low one that's attached to your foot; no mules, no flip-flops, no sandals that slide off.

Clothes you can move in. It gets warm in the back room. Guys, a shirt you don't mind sweating in, and bring a second one if you're planning to stay till 11 (the regulars do this). Ladies, whatever you'd wear to dinner; skirts twirl nicely but pants are fine. Nothing with dangly bits that could catch a hand. Leave the big rings and bracelets home.

A small towel is not a bad idea. Breath mints are a very good idea. You'll be closer to strangers than you're used to.

Salsa is social dancing. You'll dance with a lot of different people in one night, and there are some simple rules that keep everybody happy.

• Ask politely. "Would you like to dance?" with your hand out. That's the whole thing. Anybody can ask anybody. Ladies ask gentlemen all the time and it's completely normal.
• It's okay to say no, nicely. "Not this one, thank you, I'm catching my breath." And if you say no, don't then dance that same song with somebody else. That's the one rule everyone agrees on.
• Thank your partner. Every time, every dance, no matter how it went. "Thank you!" and a smile, and walk her back to where you found her if you asked her.
• Dance to your partner's level. If you're experienced and you're dancing with a beginner, do the basic and a cross-body lead and make them feel like a million bucks. Nobody is impressed by a fancy move done on somebody who didn't see it coming.
• No teaching on the social floor. If your partner missed a step, smile and keep going. Nobody wants a lesson at 10 p.m. from somebody they just met. (Save it for the lesson at 8, that's what it's for.)
• Watch your space. Small steps, small turns, keep your elbows in. The floor gets full, and a good dancer takes up less room, not more.
• Dance with the beginners. If you're a regular, ask the person standing by the wall. Somebody did it for you.

Carlos runs the music off a pair of CD players and a crate of discs he's been building since high school. For the lesson we keep it slow and clear, a steady old-school tune where you can hear the count, played over and over till it's in your bones. After the lesson, it opens up:

• Classic salsa from the 1970s: the big New York and Puerto Rican bands, lots of brass, lots of percussion, songs that go on for seven minutes and you don't want them to stop. This is the heart of the night.
• Salsa romántica from the '80s and '90s: slower, smoother, singers who make the ladies sigh. Good for catching your breath and dancing close.
• The Cuban stuff, old and new: son, and the newer, harder-driving Cuban dance music that the young guys in the room go crazy for.
• A merengue set around 10 o'clock, because merengue is the easiest dance in the world (step, step, step, step, move your hips) and it gets every single person onto the floor, including your mother.
• One or two cha-chas if the crowd's in the mood, and a bachata at the end of the night for the couples.

Requests are welcome; write them on a napkin and hand them to Carlos. He'll play it if he's got it, and he's probably got it.

Every Wednesday at La Palmita. Beginner lesson 8:00 to 8:45, then dancing till 11. Free, always. The kitchen's open till 10 if you want to eat first; the ropa vieja is what Carlos gets.

This part is from Yvette.

I know who you are, because I was you. You've read this whole page and you're thinking, that's nice for people who can dance. I'll trip. Everybody will look. I'll be the only one who can't do it.

Here is the truth: nobody is looking at you. Everybody on that floor is thinking about their own feet. The regulars are thinking about their own feet. Carlos, after thirty years, is thinking about his own feet. And every single person in that room was standing against the wall once, positive they'd be the one who couldn't do it.

Salsa is three steps and a pause. You walk every day. You can do three steps and a pause. The first Wednesday you'll be counting out loud and stepping on somebody. The second Wednesday you'll be counting in your head. The third Wednesday a song will come on and you'll realize you've been dancing for a whole minute without thinking about it, and you'll grin like an idiot, and that's the whole reason we do this.

Come Wednesday. Wear the shoes. Stand near me. I'll count for you.

- Yvette (and Carlos says: "and if you're really that nervous, come at 7:45 and I'll walk you through it before anybody else gets there. I've done it a hundred times. It's my favorite part.")