High School Musical || Huke Stemmings

Don't Stop

It was quiet until the next morning. Then, Perrie walked into school. She checked out the sheet that Mr. Higgins has posted, listing who had to take part in a second round of auditions. And she saw the dreaded phrase . . .

"CALLBACKS!!!" Her scream echoed through the halls of East High.

Niall rushed to her side and read aloud from the sheet. "Callback for roles of Arnold and Minnie, next Thursday, 3:330 p.m. Niall and Perrie Horan. Harry Styles and Luke Hemmings."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Perrie demanded angrily. "They didn't even audition."

"Maybe we're being punked?" Niall suggested. "Maybe we're being filmed right now. Maybe we'll get to meet Ashton!"

"Shut up Niall!" Perrie snarled.

By this time, a crowd of students had gathered. Luke's teammates Michael, Liam and Zayn were among the students staring at the list.

Michael saw Luke's name. An expression of complete and utter horror crossed his face. "WHAT?!!!!" He yelled.

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At lunchtime, the news that Luke and Harry had tried out for the musical had spread throughout the school. As students entered the cafeteria, they took their usual seats. Jocks sat with jocks. Brainiacs sat with brainiacs. Drama kids with drama kids. Skater dudes, cheerleaders, punks . . . each sat with their own kind.

That was the way the world was meant to be. Orderly. Predictable. Understandable.

Perrie held court at the head of the drama kids table. Calum sat at the far end, listening to every word, but keeping quiet, as usual.

"How dare he sign up," Perrie said. "I've already picked out the colors for my dressing room."

"And he hasn't even asked us permission to join the Drama Club," Niall pointed out supportively.

"Someone's got to tell him the rules," Perrie decided.

"Exactly," her brother agreed. He thought for a moment, than asked. "What are the rules?"

As if he was just waiting for that cue, Zayn, a tall burly basketball player with a killer smile, began singing.

Zayn:

You're like perfection, some kind of holiday
You got me thinking that we could run away
You want, I'll take you there
You tell me when and where, oh-oh-oh

But then I asked for your number, and you don't have a phone
It's getting late now, I gotta let you know
That everybody wants to take you home tonight
But I'm gonna find a way to make you mine

The other jocks gathered around, curious. Zayn looked at them, took a deep breath, and admitted. "If Luke admit he sings, then I can tell my secret." He whispered. "I bake."

"What?" Michael couldn't believe what he had heard.

But now that he had confessed, Zayn felt that he had been set free. "I love to bake," he said. "Scones, strudel, even Apple pandowdy." He was too caught up in his enthusiasm to stop. "I dream of making the perfect Crème brûlée," he said as Michael buried his face in his  hands.

The jocks were horrified. Urgently, they sang.

Jocks:

Don't stop doing what you're doing
Every time you move to the beat
It gets harder for me
And you know it, know it, know it
And don't stop 'cause you know that I like it
Every time you walk in the room
You got all eyes on you
And you know it, know it, know it

Zayn had started something. Over at the brainiacs table, Elizabeth Gillies, a studious girl who wore glasses and a plain skirt and sweater, suddenly jumped up from the table, threw her arms wide and exclaimed, "Hip-hop is my passion! I love to pop, lock, break and jam."