37
M C watched as Conrad pulled a massive ring of keys from his coat pocket and opened the door that led to the high school’s performing arts wing.
It was on the other side of the building from the English Department, part of the sprawling, single-story facade along the asphalt circle where the buses gathered.
But while the rest of the structure was low and mostly brick, this area had outer walls of plate-glass and a raised roof.
MC remembered lingering outside the doors on spring nights just like this one, waiting to go see her brother sweep everyone away with his charm and vocal range during school plays.
But tonight, there were no crowds, no cars, no people at all. The benches in the entryway were unoccupied, a few stray pieces of trash tucked in corners. When Conrad, MC, Joe, and Nora walked in, there was even a hush to the air, like they’d entered a church.
“You kids have fun,” Conrad said, tossing Joe the key ring. “Lock up behind you when you leave.”
“Wouldn’t want anyone sneaking in here to steal the flying monkey costumes,” Joe said.
Conrad was already jogging back to the Destroyer of Worlds. He and Gabby were going out for a night on the South Shore, which Joe had promptly labeled a babymoon, much to Conrad’s annoyance. Nora had brought her car, too, so the three of them could make their exit later.
“Showtime,” Joe said, taking MC’s hand and tossing his backpack over one shoulder.
“What should I do?” Nora said, looking just as confused as she had when MC had first sprung the details for meeting up here on her.
She’d made the official invitation at Nora’s going-away drinks at the library earlier that night, pulling her aside from a debate Lois and Maureen were having about the political milieu of Horton Hears a Who!
“Take a seat,” MC said, throwing open the auditorium doors and hitting the house lights. “I know you like the back row, but I’d recommend front and center.”
Nora shook her head, still perplexed, but took MC’s advice. Joe, meanwhile, jogged up to the booth in the back and got to work powering up the stage lights and audio, like Nico had showed them. They’d only gotten to do one practice run onstage. MC hoped it would be enough.
“Holy shit,” Nora said.
MC looked back at her. Nora had put her face in her hands, but when she raised it again, she was smiling.
She’d figured it out. Obviously.
Once Joe had set everything up in the back, he joined MC onstage.
They disappeared behind the curtains with his backpack to get changed into the same getup they’d worn junior year.
Loose black pants, snug black T-shirts, no shoes or socks.
Joe took out his makeup bag to do some quick eyeliner for them both, adding some glittery blue shadow to make it pop.
He insisted on a little blush but relented on the lipstick.
They’d studied an old video of their performance to get all these details right.
Now, as they looked at each other, the lights already hot onstage just a few feet away, it really felt like they’d traveled back in time.
Joe had more stubble now, a better haircut.
MC stood a little straighter. Cracked her knuckles.
“Ready?” he said.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He grabbed her hands and grinned. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
They headed out onto the stage and took their positions at opposite ends. Dipped their chins, gathering themselves as Joe queued the music on his phone. When the track came on, full of reverb on the giant speakers, the beat led them in like a ticking clock.
Joe, of course, had been the one to get obsessed with Massive Attack.
It fit the brooding vibe he’d been going for junior year.
Hardly anyone at their school had heard of them.
When it came time to choose a song for the talent show performance, “Teardrop” seemed almost too perfect—fresh and retro all at once.
Most importantly, the beat was slow enough that, as complete amateurs, Joe and MC could actually dance to it.
Now she realized how spot-on Joe’s taste had been. As the steady heartbeat rhythm of the song filled the theater, they moved through complementary gestures of cheesy agony, until the heavy entrance of piano chords began to draw them together.
At first, MC tried not to think about Nora watching her.
In high school, that had been her mantra—forget that anyone is watching—which only made her that much more self-conscious.
Now she tried to change tactics. To feel Nora’s eyes on her in the darkness.
She swept her arms toward Joe, twisting through one of Jim McDade’s mom’s elaborate pirouettes.
They swirled together, broke apart. Not every step was perfect, as MC had hoped, but they always managed to find the rhythm again, the repetitive bass line and gentle vocals leaving room for stray movements.
Halfway through the piece, MC could feel herself loosening up.
It was kind of fun, dancing around with her best friend on an empty stage, an old hit bringing back memories of how seriously they’d taken themselves as teenagers.
They still took themselves seriously, of course.
But back then they’d cared about expressing it.
Getting into writing, or dance, or any of the arts had seemed cool in and of itself—but so much of the appeal, MC realized now, was just in having an outlet.
A shape for all the insane feelings churning through their bodies.
No wonder it made them cringe to look back on it. What they thought was so well-masked had been naked the whole time, obvious to anyone who bothered to look.
That was the thing about getting older. Things didn’t get easier, but they got easier to hide.
Except it was stifling, the effort of maintaining all that armor. The opposite of how MC felt now, dipping Joe in her arms, then letting him dip her in turn. Like they were free again.
The music pared back as it came to a close, the piano dropping, then the percussion, and finally the bass. MC and Joe finished with their backs pressed together. They held the pose for a few seconds after the track cut out, just as Jim’s mom had instructed them to.
Then they stepped apart for a bow.
A full decade ago, in this very auditorium, they’d been met with a cavernous silence.
Hundreds of suburban teenagers staring blankly back at them, confused by five straight minutes of UK trip hop and interpretive dance.
It still hurt to remember the muffled laughter that broke out just before the clapping finally started.
Even if that clapping eventually built to an applause, MC and Joe had known that their performance wasn’t being cheered.
It was just the weirdness of it—the delight of something random, inexplicable, freakish.
They’d curled up in Joe’s bedroom later that night and watched back-to-back movies just to stop themselves from crying.
As it turned out, neither of them was strong enough to handle scrutiny, like real artists would.
Nora gave them a standing ovation.
Joe pulled MC against his side and rubbed her shoulder. The clapping gave way to a wolf whistle, the smile back on Nora’s face once again. MC sighed.
Then she and Joe hopped off the stage.
“Were we low-key dance prodigies or what?” Joe said, shaking his hips.
“Honestly,” Nora said, “it’s even better than I remembered.”
“S. K. Smith approves.”
MC wiped a hand across her forehead. She was still sweating from the lights, the movement, the nerves. But the way Nora was looking at her in that moment made it all worth it.
“Wish I could stick around and bask in the adoration,” Joe said, thumbs flying across his phone, “but Nico’s almost here.”
“You’re leaving?” MC said, not exactly disappointed, but missing him already all the same.
“He wants to see my eye shadow. In private.”
“Leave us the keys,” Nora said. “We’ll lock up.”
Joe handed them over, then gave MC a final hug. “Dream team,” he said.
“Always.”
He let go and winked at Nora. “Be good, girlies.”
Then he sauntered up the aisle, leaving MC and Nora alone.
They stared at each other.
“Just so you know,” MC blurted, “this was not about me trying to get you to change your mind.”
“I know.”
“I had just remembered you asking about a reprise or whatever.”
“I know, MC.”
“And I thought—not that it was a going-away present, exactly. More of a parting gesture.”
“It was perfect.”
MC blew out a breath. “Okay, good.”
“I wouldn’t mind learning some of those moves myself.” Nora hoisted herself onto the stage.
MC scrambled after her. “Which ones?”
“The ones where you guys were rubbing up on each other.”
MC laughed.
“I actually hate dancing,” Nora added. “I just like watching you do it.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, you’re so body confident.”
Nora squinted up into the stage lights and said, “That doesn’t apply to dance.” When her eyelids fell, MC saw her gaze linger on MC’s mouth.
MC cleared her throat. “Can I ask you a question?”
Nora raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, can you?”
“I’d like to take you to the airport tomorrow.”
She stiffened.
“It would mean a lot to me,” MC said in a rush, “saying goodbye for real.”
“You do know I plan to continue talking to you when I’m gone.”
“I know.”
Nora pursed her lips. “Is it embarrassing that I’m worried I might lose my will? If you’re there.”
“Not at all.” MC kissed her. “I promise to shove you on the plane.” Another kiss. “And if you use your jiujitsu on me or whatever, I’ll just bike you cross-country.”
Nora kissed her back. “You,” she said, “are a kookaburra.”