"Breathe," Isa says to me. "There are 90 of us. No one is going to be looking at you."
And I know she's right. Because the red mesh dress she's wearing with a high-neck collar and flared sleeves are enough to steal the show. But that doesn't calm my jittery legs or fill the pit in my stomach. G's pep talk is a distant memory with music blaring and disco lights shining in the Great Hall.
"Ok, places everyone," Jupiter yells, signaling Fydor and Bergen—the other squad leaders.
Zahir slaps me in the arm and shouts, "This is it!"
G is on the other side of me. His grin is so big, I don't know if I can think of him as a mouse anymore. We take our place among the PCs from all three squads, lining up evenly around the entire second-floor banister overlooking the pop-up discotech club. Close to 200 students from Whitman Academy are on the ballroom floor below us.
I take a deep breath. The music stops; the lights go black—I'm already charged, but what I feel is beyond electric. The buzz. The excitement. The raw energy of 300 kids hyped for the show to begin. Goosebumps prick my skin in waves up and down my body.
A roaring applause rings out when the techno beat of Ken Laszlo's Fire & Ice anthem blasts through the speakers. Blue lights shine on and from within the stone fountain in the center of the Great Hall; icy blue mist cascades down all three levels, sending ethereal clouds floating across the dance floor in a misty, magical scene.
On the beat of the music, circles of fire erupt from blue waters on each tier of the centerpiece.
I yell as loud as I can, and my voice is drowned out in the celebration. Students and PCs alike cheer and whistle at the Fire & Ice showstopper. My legs are bouncing; my head is bobbing—the music is so loud, the bass reverberates inside me, rattling my bones.
And I can't get enough.
A remote trigger turns on LED lights sown into the outline of every suit and gown—the Whitman student body glows in shades of cool blues, like a misty sea of icy water covering the dance floor below; PCs surrounding the Great Hall from above are lit up in fiery reds, oranges, and yellows—matching the color of our jackets and dresses.
On cue blacklights shine overhead.
Another chorus of cheers rings out as glow gel highlights our hair in the vibrant colors of the night. The spectacle is over-the-top-crazy amazing.
Breathtaking!
And because this is the Breakers. Because Edric Landry pays for the event. Because this is the opening party to the games...the only restriction is our imagination—so flame projectors surrounding the entire upper balcony, between every column, erupt with flashes of flames taller than me.
Fire surrounds us.
The fire is us as we jump up and down, moving our arms overhead like flickering flames. The entire upper balcony appears sizzling hot as I look down on the swaying sea of misty blue ice. The adrenaline-pumping experience is heart pounding; tears cloud my eyes—the blaring techno music, the ground-shaking vibrations, the explosion of contrasting colors, the heat of fire, and the chill of an icy breeze.
Fire & Ice.
My smile is bigger than G's. And I understand. This dance is bigger than me—bigger than any one of us. And impossible without all of us. I can't believe I didn't want to come. I follow G and our line of PCs, dancing—ok, jumping in a wild sort of way with arms flailing—along the edge of the upper balcony. Doom and Contra squads line the opposite and adjacent sides of the hall and are also on the move. The two lines meet up and descend the sweeping staircase along opposite banisters.
All eyes are on us.
I feel like a star. I'm not thinking about my big ears. Or if my yellow velvet jacket and black lapels are too crazy. Or if my hair is too short. Or if I'll freeze in the big moment. Surrounded by friends and the beat of the music, I hop down each step with reckless abandon—and I don't fall or trip.
Maybe I am a wizard.
Or maybe someone else is and has cast a spell on me. I hope it lasts forever. The more Whitman students yell and cheer, the bolder and wilder I feel. By the time the opening song ends, we are a large square of dancing flames surrounding the icy blue sea.
"Fire & Ice!" Edric Landry yells. A spotlight shows him standing next to the DJ on the raised platform. And everyone goes crazy. "You are a SIP of greatness—that was unbelievable. You deserve this moment." And we all cheer as he holds out his hands and claps. With one final wave, he yells, "The ice is broken—now go dance!"
Music blares, lights flash, and I watch as fire and ice collide.
"You ready?" Zahir asks. He is practically yelling in my ears. "Let's go!"
He disappears into the crush of older bodies. And I know what I need to do. But my feet are stuck underneath the hazy mist. Sweat drips down my back, and my stomach is churning—I can't move.
The enchantment is gone.
I look at my wrist. The DanceX band around the outside of my yellow jacket is glowing white with little black question marks. Because I don't know what I want. G said that's ok, but now—this moment—it's too big. The ice isn't broken, not for me. Maybe I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do, and this dance—this social challenge, the intense mingling of icy blues and fiery reds, is out of my league.
"I can't do this," I say to myself.
When I manage to break my feet free from the floor, someone grabs my hand and gets zapped —but they don't let go.
"Where do you think you're going?" G asks, that same bright smile on his face.
He pulls me into the jumping mass of PCs and students, and somehow the little mouse pushes his way through to the fountain in the center of the floor. As he leads me around to the other side of the bubbling spectacle, the physical stature of bodies grows shorter and less mature. G still looks like a little red mouse in comparison, but now I'm on the taller side.
And maybe I don't feel so scared.
I see Zahir and Isa. And then Luke and Xia. They're dancing with a group of Whitman students. And as I look around, I spot other kids from our block. Everyone is hopping and yelling and having a great time. I feel my legs bouncing and my head bobbing. The speaker next to us shakes my insides until I'm jumping, and yelling, and my arms are swaying—and I'm having the time of my life.
Until I'm not.
Because the fast music ends, the jumping stops, and a slow dance begins.
YOU ARE READING
Merlin's Curse
Science Fiction[8X FEATURED] Merlin is the greatest-eleven-year-old nerd the world doesn't know because his name has cursed him--he's all parts nerd and zero parts magic and all he wants is to be cool. When Merlin hacks a new encryption code designed to protect on...
