"You’re kind of amazing, Wend."
I had almost hoped those words would make my heart balloon with happiness. That everything wrong might disappear in a thick puff of smoke with Andrew as the last boy standing. But all I could feel was the overwhelming sense that I hadn’t fallen for all his seduction, his smiles, his stories--and he had yet to figure it out.
"Thanks," I mumbled, looking away from those wet, inviting lips. He wanted us to kiss. That’s why he kept licking his lips when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
"Hey!" A rumbling voice interrupted our seemingly intimate moment in the hallway. Steven ambled to us from the choir room, slapped Andrew on the back, and asked, "What’s up, buddy?" in a high-pitched voice that was three octaves above his normal bass. He was kidding; he didn’t really care about Andrew’s day. He just really enjoyed thinking that he was a cock-block, though in my head, I was thanking him profusely.
All Andrew could do was glower at Steven and angle his body away from mine. "Nothing," he grumbled. His eyes wandered around my head and up at the ceiling, but not directly at me.
"Practice is starting," Steven offered, pointing back to the room.
"Really?" I asked, pulling myself up off the floor. "I didn't even see anybody go in."
Steven shrugged, and I followed him in, leaving Andrew to sulk in his own weird self-pity. Today wasn't much different than any other Rhythm Masters practice day: after school practice until five, then a break, then run-throughs, and last, a breakdown of the day's practice and upcoming events. Though I was not really a dancer, I did love the singing and the being on stage part of this whole fiasco.
And fiasco it was when I entered the room. Glitter rained and hairspray stuck to the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and all the guys stood in the corner high-fiving and openly watching some of the girls stretch.
"Anybody seen my makeup bag?"
"Quit looking over here, weirdos!"
"All right, let's start practice!" Mrs. Johannsen clapped her hands. No one even pretended to notice as they weaved in and out of each other, chasing and slapping and screaming.
Elisabeth Short stood in the middle of the room, clad in her white short shorts, black baby tee, and stocky legs, and yelled, "Everybody, shut up!" She certainly could quiet a room.
Mrs. Johannsen sighed and closed her eyes for a second. "Thank you, Elisabeth," she murmured. "Okay. Let's run through the show. And Saturday morning, which is tomorrow morning, I better see shining faces at four AM ready to get on that bus. Competition starts at eight-thirty, so you should be in costume preferrably before you get to the school. Hair, too."
"What about makeup?" Emily Short whined. Her sister Elisabeth nodded in agreement.
I had almost hoped those words would make my heart balloon with happiness. That everything wrong might disappear in a thick puff of smoke with Andrew as the last boy standing. But all I could feel was the overwhelming sense that I hadn’t fallen for all his seduction, his smiles, his stories--and he had yet to figure it out.
"Thanks," I mumbled, looking away from those wet, inviting lips. He wanted us to kiss. That’s why he kept licking his lips when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
"Hey!" A rumbling voice interrupted our seemingly intimate moment in the hallway. Steven ambled to us from the choir room, slapped Andrew on the back, and asked, "What’s up, buddy?" in a high-pitched voice that was three octaves above his normal bass. He was kidding; he didn’t really care about Andrew’s day. He just really enjoyed thinking that he was a cock-block, though in my head, I was thanking him profusely.
All Andrew could do was glower at Steven and angle his body away from mine. "Nothing," he grumbled. His eyes wandered around my head and up at the ceiling, but not directly at me.
"Practice is starting," Steven offered, pointing back to the room.
"Really?" I asked, pulling myself up off the floor. "I didn't even see anybody go in."
Steven shrugged, and I followed him in, leaving Andrew to sulk in his own weird self-pity. Today wasn't much different than any other Rhythm Masters practice day: after school practice until five, then a break, then run-throughs, and last, a breakdown of the day's practice and upcoming events. Though I was not really a dancer, I did love the singing and the being on stage part of this whole fiasco.
And fiasco it was when I entered the room. Glitter rained and hairspray stuck to the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and all the guys stood in the corner high-fiving and openly watching some of the girls stretch.
"Anybody seen my makeup bag?"
"Quit looking over here, weirdos!"
"All right, let's start practice!" Mrs. Johannsen clapped her hands. No one even pretended to notice as they weaved in and out of each other, chasing and slapping and screaming.
Elisabeth Short stood in the middle of the room, clad in her white short shorts, black baby tee, and stocky legs, and yelled, "Everybody, shut up!" She certainly could quiet a room.
Mrs. Johannsen sighed and closed her eyes for a second. "Thank you, Elisabeth," she murmured. "Okay. Let's run through the show. And Saturday morning, which is tomorrow morning, I better see shining faces at four AM ready to get on that bus. Competition starts at eight-thirty, so you should be in costume preferrably before you get to the school. Hair, too."
"What about makeup?" Emily Short whined. Her sister Elisabeth nodded in agreement.
