Gerard throws his whole body into every move, arms windmilling with the enthusiasm of a dog chasing a tennis ball. His coordination is surprisingly poor, but his commitment isoutstanding. When the screen shows a hip thrust, he humps the air, pink socks sliding on the hardwood floor.
“Work those hips, Gerard!” Elliot shouts from the couch, where he’s sprawled with a bowl of popcorn. “Pretend I’m standing behind you!”
Oliver, slightly more coordinated but still resembling a malfunctioning robot, tries to match Gerard’s energy. When he spins, he nearly takes out our coffee table with his legs.
Nathan’s doing better than the others, probably because freshman eagerness hasn’t been beaten out of him yet. His pink hair catches the light as he nails about 60 percent of the moves, which, for a hockey player, is downright impressive.
And then there’s Kyle.
Our grumpy goalie stands in the corner, moving only his arms in the most minimal interpretation of dance I’ve ever witnessed. His face maintains its usual scowl.
“Come on, Kyle!” Alex calls from his spot next to Elliot, his voice bright with encouragement. “You’re doing great! Feel the music!”
A few seconds later, Bonnie Tyler starts singing about a fire in her blood, and the choreography demands a split. Gerard attempts it and gets about a quarter of the way down before his quads give up. Oliver doesn’t even try, just keeps flailing his arms. Nathan makes a valiant effort only to end up in a wide squat.
Meanwhile, Kyle drops into a perfect split, holds it for the required amount of beats, then rises back up, his expression never changing. The room goes silent.
“Holy shit!” Elliot exclaims. “Kyle, you flexible motherfucker!”
“That was amazing!” Alex beams at his best friend. “See? I told you dance was another form of athletic expression!”
I smirk as Kyle gives Elliot the middle finger but neglects to do the same to Alex.
The song ends, with Gerard collapsing dramatically onto the floor, Oliver bent over with his hands on his knees, and Nathan pleased with his three-star rating. Kyle crosses his arms and glares at the TV.
“Alright, before round whatever-number-this-is starts,” I announce, stepping in front of the screen, “I’ve got something way more interesting than watching you guys pop, lock, and drop it.”
“Nothing is more interesting than Gerard’s interpretive hip thrusts,” Elliot says, throwing popcorn at his boyfriend.
“Not even a Polar Bear Plunge for charity this Saturday?”
Gerard bolts upright, swaying slightly as the blood drains from his face. “A what now?”
“Polar Bear Plunge. A bunch of people run into the freezing ocean for the children’s hospital. Jackson invited me at the diner, and I figured the team might want in.” I try to keep my voice casual when I say Jackson’s name, but based on the way Oliver’s eyebrows rise, I’m not entirely successful.
“Running into freezing water?” Gerard’s eyes light up as if I’ve offered him free puppies. “For charity? That sounds incredible!”
“Count me in,” Oliver says immediately. “Any excuse to see you fuckers shriek when that water hits.”
“Me thinks he’ll be shrieking too,” Elliot stage-whispers to Alex.
Nathan nods thoughtfully. “Could be fun. Good team bonding, right?”
All eyes turn to Kyle, who’s already shaking his head. “Fuck no. Absolutely not. I don’t do voluntary hypothermia.”
“Come on, Kyle,” Gerard wheedles. “It’s for sick kids!”
“Sick kids can have my money. They can’t have my body temperature.”
Oliver pulls out his phone. “Let me text the group chat. See who else wants in.” His thumbs fly across the screen, and within seconds, the house fills with the disembodied voices of my other teammates.
From somewhere upstairs: “FUCK YES! POLAR BEAR PLUNGE!”
From the kitchen: “Hell yeah, brother!”
From the basement: “I’m so fucking in!”
Kyle stares up at the ceiling with a weary expression.
