A Dance With Levina

THE DANCE

The days before the dance passed in a blur. Because of the website, people at school suddenly knew who I was; I received compliments from more people than I had ever talked to during my entire four years at Jacob Creek. I barely noticed, though; my thoughts were only on the dance. I practiced dance steps doggedly in my bedroom each night, hoping and praying that I could acquire rhythm by brute force.

Saturday dawned with a crispness that promised a brand new start. At long last, almost at the very end of my high school career, I was finally getting the recognition owed to me. My website was a smash, and the girl of my dreams was breathlessly waiting for me to ask her to dance. Perhaps high school wasn't such a bad gig after all.

I arrived early. Only a handful of cars stood parked outside the front of the school. I checked myself one last time in the mirror and entered the school.

"Hey. Groovy suit," said Ms. Heniz, our biology teacher. I had decided on a retro look: I wore a suit I had found in the attic from my dad's high school days.

"Uh, you too," I said. "Nice dress."

"Ticket?"

I pulled up the receipt from the website on my phone and showed it to Ms. Heinz. She squinted in confusion.

"It shows I purchased the ticket," I said. "You know – save the trees, right?"

Ms Heinz squinted at the screen for a few more seconds before favoring me with a large smile. "Wonderful, just wonderful," she said. I don't think she had any clue what I was saying. She waved me in just the same, though.

The hall to the cafeteria was covered with poster-sized photos of our Local Stars. There was Nicole Jackson, the KING-5 news anchor Derek had mentioned. Peter Bricker, Jacob Creek's mayor (and father of Jerry Bricker, our reigning wrestling champion). Ms. Paliester, of course, portrayed in a photo that must have been taken in her heyday in the 1970s. The blur of gold and orange surrounding her face made me dizzy. A handful of other quasi-celebrities completed the lineup.

"Yo, Jude!" Derek sauntered into the hallway. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a mess. Whereas I had opted for a retro look with my fly 1970s disco suit, Derek had chosen a more ... eclectic ensemble: a faded black blazer over a yellow T-Shirt that said "Dancing Monkey" and a pair of jeans ripped to shreds.

He eyed me up and down. "Looks like someone raided Daddy's closet!" Since that was exactly what I had done, I said nothing. Looks like someone raided the dumpster at the Goodwill, I wanted to say, but I chose the prudent (and cowardly) option and kept silent.

"Nah, I'm just kidding, you look great. Just go easy on the disco moves. We don't want anyone to get hurt by a flailing arm," he snorted. "Just kidding, bro."

"You guys all set up?" I asked.

"We are about ten minutes away from kicking some serious ass. Just waiting for Mayor Bricker and a few others to arrive."

A classmate walked by, pinning up a few flowers next to the pictures of the Local Stars. Derrek gave the kid a nod and pulled me aside.

"Hey, great job on the website. You really came through."

"I'm glad it worked out," I said lamely.

"The cartoon of Ms. Wong was freakin' hilarious. God I hope she tries to get on the floor tonight, the whole school will bust a gut!" I wanted to punch the smirk out of Derek's eyes. He actually had me feeling bad for Ms. Wong. "See you on the flippy-flop," he said, and walked down the hall.

I entered the cafeteria. It was dark. Several layers of black butcher paper covered the large windows. The tables and chairs were cleared away, except for a tiny handful tucked in the corner: the "corner of shame," the dwelling place for those too chicken to ask for a dance. Posters of famous dancers from the past hung on the walls: John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever (my patron saint that night, of course), Gene Kelley from Singing In The Rain, Pamela Anderson from her turn on the actual Dancing With The Stars, Ginger Rogers, and several others.