Going nowhere.
Unalarmed.
“Clearly, a lot more than you,” Jules said. “Silly Rabbit, homophobes aresounattractive.” He looked around at all of the slack-jawed watching faces. Come on, zombies, how ’bout we make this show a tad more interactive? “Am I right,” he asked the crowd, “or am Ireallyright?”
Silence.
But then... “He’s absolutely right,” a voice rang out.
It was a girl, and she not only spoke up, she pushed her way out onto the grand stage that was this open hallway surrounded by the breathless, spellbound audience.
She was insanely pretty, with a cap of short dark hair that framed big brown eyes. Dressed in jeans that were worn almost white and a ragged, sleeveless Ramones T-shirt, she wore clunky black boots on her feet. She looked around at the crowd, laughed a little, then threw her arms out wide as she loudly sang “Gotta dance!”
Jules laughed out loud in surprise. It was the famous call that Gene Kelly sang at the start of a long, ridiculous dancesequence inSinging in the Rain, and it felt so weirdly wonderful, like it was this girl’s personal version of recitingJabberwockyin response to having all those eyes glued to her.
Exceptshe’dcompletely given in to her impulse.
Bravo!
“Well hello, Don Lockwood,” Jules said, calling her by the name of Gene’s character in the movie, and she laughed in happy surprise at that, even as there came an answering call from the crowd.
“Gotta dance!”
This time it was a boy who pushed his way out and over toward Ramones Girl and Jules. He was a wiry kid with reddish brown hair—only slightly taller than the girl. He looked like his picture would be in The Official American Citizen Guidebook next to the description ofAverage Male Teenager, except he was damn near grinning his ass off as he did a faux soft shoe, even as Ramones Girl smiled widely back at him.
Then, sure enough, came another call from the crowd: “Gotta dance, gotta dance!”
And this time two more girls—one blond, one brunette—and a slightly rotund, cheerful-faced boy made their entrance. They were all dressed in overalls with red and white checked shirts, clearly coordinated in the dorkiest yet most awesome way. These kids were surely Ramones Girl’s posse—the lionhearted freaks and geeks of what had to be this school’s theater club. Jules had searched for them both yesterday and the day before—he knew they’d provide a safe haven—but their first official school meeting wasn’t until the end of the month, and wherever they were in the meantime, they’d kept themselves well hidden.
Until now.
The blond girl gave McSneerface the finger.
But he ignored her, unimpressed, aiming his words at Ramones Girl. “Get the fuck out of here, Jizzabelle. Nobody cares what you think.”
Before she could respond, there was another “Gotta dance!” from the crowd. This one wasn’t quite on key, but the boy who stepped forward made up for it in volume. Surprise flashed in Ramones Girl’s eyes as she turned...
Whoever he was, he wasn’t wearing a letter jacket, but he looked as if he should’ve been. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, handsome face. Like Central Casting had sent him over as their best candidate for homecoming king or maybe class president.
And right behind him was another larger group of girls who looked as if they watchedDesperately Seeking Susantwice nightly. They were nearly as clothing coordinated as the overalls trio, but the intentionality was missing, as if this was just another regular Madonna-inspired day. They didn’t sing, and they weren’t in unison, but they definitely agreed, “Gotta dance.” “Although I have no clue what that means,” one of them muttered.
Now the crowd was coming alive with more murmurs and movement and Homecoming Boy had to raise his voice a little to be heard. But raise it he did. “My brother’s gay and I love him,” he said. “So knock it off with the name-calling, Rodney.”
Oh, Mean Dad. You named your kidRodney? Really?
Ramones Girl was clearly into improv, because she didn’t hesitate to take both what Homecoming Boy and Jules had said to Rodney, and respond.
“Oh my God,” she said, moving toward Homecoming Boy, also projecting to be heard over the crowd, like the seasoned performer that she so clearly was, “that isso hot!”
She gestured furtively to her posse, hissing “Shelly, Sadie, Hob!” and the two girls and younger boy snapped to it, leaping into action, following her lead as they all draped themselves on Homecoming Boy, stroking his chest, murmuring, “Sosohot!” even as the blond girl continued to glare at Rodney.
Homecoming Boy was a little flustered. “Thank you,” he said. “That’s... thank you, but, oh! Yeah,nothank you...”
Average Boy hung back, just watching, his eyes brimming with amusement. “I don’t know, Rod,” he said to McSneerface. “You might want to drop that word from your vocab.”
“You wish, faggot.”
Average Boy just laughed, completely unperturbed. “Idowish because I have a friend who’s gay, and he doesn’t like that word. You can call me whatever you want, but really, it says way more about you than me.”
