Jacinta was quiet for a beat. Her answer was matter-of-fact. “It is what it is, Jay. I feel like ... out of sight, out of mind, at this point.” She shrugged. “He probably doing a little sumpun, sumpun at school. But, I'm his girl, for now.”
JZ snorted. “Yeah, well, you don't act like you somebody's girlfriend sometimes.”
Her arms wiggled under JZ's grip as she laughed. “Who have who pinned down?”
“But you not trying get away either.”
JZ lifted the pressure from her arms as proof. His body melded into Cinny's when her shoulder and back relaxed into him. She spoke loud enough to be heard over the music, but in a low, uncertain voice that made JZ want to protect her.
“Me and Raheem's stuff is on this complicated tip. Heâ”
“Ay, you don't have to explain.” JZ unpinned Cinny but kept his arms draped around her nonchalantly, so his lean, hard stomach rested against her soft curves. “You know what they say, right?”
He waited until Jacinta looked upside down at him, then grinned.
“You do you, I'mma do me.”
She grinned back, teeth shining. “Yeah, but you
wish
I would do you.”
He snorted. “Girl, please.”
“My bad. I got you all wrong?”
“Yup, dead wrong.”
“Then you better tell that to him,” Jacinta said, bouncing her butt, one good time against JZ's groin.
“Man, whatever.” He thrust against her, once, mocking her gesture, playing down the embarrassment heating his face. “Your ass is phat, most definitely, and you
are
all up on me. And, real talk, it's not like I'm gay.” He put his arms up, surrendering her once and for all. “You know how me and you roll.... I know your game and you know mine.”
Jacinta stepped away and turned to face him. A smile played at the corner of her mouth, as if she were reading JZ's mind and knew he was lying.
“Exactly. I wouldn't want cramp your game since so many girls trying to be with Jason Zimms.” She flicked imaginary dust off his collar on each side, then folded her arms against her chest, teasing him with the things she wasn't saying, like whether she was down with being one of those girls. He leaned his head back, so he was looking down at her in his best “whatever” nod, as she said, “Go 'head back to your little sophomore freak, now that you've made sure the rest of
my
night is busted.”
“My bad.” JZ chuckled. “For real, tell Raheem I was just clowning. I don't want to be the cause of you ringing in a new year with your boy all pissed.”
“Uh-huh.” A smirk played behind Jacinta's exaggerated eye roll. JZ stared at her lips, unable to take his eyes off how lush they were as she fussed good-naturedly. “So foul, blocking my game on Newâ”
Before she could finish, he pulled her to him. His lips went over hers and when she responded, kissing back, he eased his arms around her, pressing her against him so hard they rocked back, thumping against a shelf of straws and cups.
His fingers wandered over her curves, probing under her tee shirt, creeping toward her bra, caressing it until he stopped, as quickly as he started.
Jacinta stepped back, dazed, her eyes darting to the half-open door of the stockroom, then back to him, silently questioning what had just happened.
Chest heaving, JZ pushed against the shelf to stand upright. Straws and red plastic cups rained down to the floor. He swallowed hard, savoring the lingering taste on his tongue of whatever mint Jacinta had recently eaten.
“Alrighty then,” Jacinta said. Chuckling nervously, she ran her hands through her hair as if to cleanse herself of any evidence of the intense interlude.
JZ squatted, taking his time picking up the mess from the floor. With his back turned to Jacinta, he exhaled soft and deep through his mouth to get his heart back into his chest.
Jacinta was as high as he was, he could tell. From the corner of his eye he saw her hands trembling. Her breath was heavy and shaky beside him, calming him.
Now that's how players ride
, he thought, purposely easing a few straws into the cup at a time until he felt steady enough to stand. He finally slid a large handful of straws inside the cup, stood up, then placed them on the shelf, feeling the blood work its way up his body, giving him some control back in the brain tower.
He bent over, picked up one last stray cup, sat it aside, then grabbed the case of soda he'd come in for.
“Can you bring those waters for me, please?” he said, pointing with the soda case.
Jacinta obliged and followed him to the door. He heard her suck in a deep breath. It streamed from her nose, hissing behind him like an inner tube with a pinhole. He stopped just inside the doorway and turned to her.
She looked up at him expectantly, eyes wary and curious at the same time.
“Ay, make sure you tell Raheem he can thank me for whatever go down between y'all tonight.” He winked, slow and seductive. “I know you gon' wild out on him. Just try not to call my name when you do.”
He stepped out of the stockroom into a thirsty crowd clamoring for liquid, his laugh swallowed by the music's blaring.
Lost in Place
“Baby to be number one, you've got to raise the bar.”
âHigh School Musical, “Bop to the Top”
Â
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M
ichael opened the door a crack and peeked into the Players' auditorium. A rush of cool air gushed from the crack, assaulting his face as if reprimanding him for breaking the serenity of the cavernous hall. His eyes adjusted to the gloom within seconds and instantly roamed forward to the well-lit stage, where a lone dancer swirled and leapt across the floor. He opened the door another few inches and slipped inside, tiptoeing lightly to the last row, his footsteps silenced by the lush carpet as much as from the whirling crash of strings and percussion echoing from the speakers.
Although he'd been to the auditorium many times, he still couldn't get used to its size. He felt like a tiny, solitary boat bobbing among the vast sea of luxe, burgundy faux-velvet seats. The rows flowed endlessly. Three rooms the size of Del Rio Bay's auditorium, which was a one-thousand-seat theatre, could fit inside the huge hall. The stage felt miles away, yet offered a perfect view of Rob dancing from one end of it to another, lost in a rhythmic frenzy.
Michael nudged a seat down with his thigh and sat, eyes never leaving the stage. Even from the very last row, Rob's energy grabbed hold of him. His heart, a willing passenger on the wild ride, leapt and swayed in time to Rob's movement.
He flinched as the music thundered, shaking the walls. The sound system was so pristine it seemed as if a live band were playing. Suddenly, the beat transitioned from a traditional ballet tune to classical smothered within a contemporary bass line, and Rob, possessed by the music, went from a dizzying round of pirouettes to a funky krump, his arms and legs contorting, fighting off an invisible army of attackers.
A ballet remix, Michael thought, nodding his head along in time to both the music and Rob's angry gyrations. By the time Rob finished serving his imaginary foes, Michael's chest heaved as if he'd been the one dancing. He breathed slowly through his nose, calming himself from the raucous performance, stood up and made his way to the stage where Rob paced back and forth, silently analyzing his recital.
Rob's right eyebrow shot up when Michael, standing at the bottom of the stairs, stage left, called his name.
“Ay, what's up, man?” Rob said, chest heaving a mile a minute. He padded to the back of the stage and grabbed a hand towel and bottled water off the floor. His face disappeared behind the towel, as he mopped away the sweat.
“Nothing.” Michael proceeded up the stairs and stood at the stage's edge as if needing an invitation to go further. “I had to drop off a costume Madame Zora asked me to tailor. Upstairs is crazy packed. Auditions?”
“Yeah,” Rob said, dejected. He plopped down on the edge of the stage, his feet dangling dangerously over the ledge leading to the orchestra pit.
“Oh, was that the piece you auditioning with?”
“Nope.” Rob sipped from the water bottle. “I'm not trying out.”
“Word?” Michael's eyebrows rose. He eased beside Rob onto the stage floor, his back against the stair's railing. “You're missing a production? That's gotta be a first. How long you been with the Players?”
“Six years.” The pride in Rob's voice rang out into the empty auditorium. “Never missed an audition and never missed a production. . . until now.”
“Why now?”
“Going through masters review at the Carter.” Rob arched his back and peered toward the darkened ceiling. He rolled his neck, then stretched his arms as he continued. “It's mandatory for all second-semester fourth-year students. I could probably still do the Players' production. I'd just have to give up something” He smirked. “Yanno, like sleep and eating.”
Michael laughed, lowering his voice when the echo sounded back boastfully. “Oh, just not sleeping or eating? That ain't no big.”
Rob smiled. “Yeah. But masters ain't no joke. It's an eight-week review and the final week is all auditions so they know what level classes to place you in for the fifth year.” He stood abruptly. “I need to be at the top of my game. The spring production's just the sacrifice I gotta make, so I don't slip and end up in the special ed dance classes.”
He and Michael's low-key laughter rang back softly. There was an awkward silence when the echo died. Rob draped the hand towel around his neck and sat, poised.
Michael cleared his throat. He glanced about the vast stage, hesitant to go on. It was the first time he'd spoken to Rob since their awkward ride to his house Friday night. He teetered between apologizing and simply acting as if nothing were wrong.
Chickening out, he chose the latter. “Your dance piece is tight, son.You gonna rip master's auditions.”
A ripple of doubt waved across Rob's face. “Thanks. I hope so.” He swiped at the sweat dripping from his arm, glancing at Michael sideways. “So how was the party Monday night?”
Michael fidgeted against the railing, as if trying to reach an itch. “It was all right.”
Rob took a gulp of bottled water, then wiped his chin with his arm. A small grin played at the corner of his mouth. “You know Maribel was hot that I didn't go. Once I told her I was going, she definitely wanted to roll through.”
Michael started to ask why he didn't come, but instead kept it low-key. “Oh yeah?”
Rob nodded. “A friend of hers used to mess with JZ.” His eyes rolled. “Keep in mind, dude totally played her. But she still must have given him a good review, 'cause Maribel was pressed to meet him.” He shook his head, laughing. “She kept saying she wanted to see if he was as cute as his pic. I'm like Mar, day-um, where's the loyalty to your girl? He dogged her out, hello.”
Michael chuckled politely, conscience now of how loud they were inside. And he didn't want to act overly relieved that Rob had unofficially called bygones. “That sounds like JZ,” he said. “Kid is like butter with chicks, for real.”
“The thing is, I was going to dip by the party but Madame asked me to fill in for Melias.” He dabbed at his brow with the towel. “I didn't get out of the performance until eleven-thirty. Mar still wanted to go but I was through.”
So happy to see Rob's absence wasn't his fault, Michael admitted it, his grin sheepish.
“Real talk, I thought you were icing me 'cause of what I said Friday night about not auditioning.”
Rob shrugged. He stood up, walked to the back of the stage, and placed his water and towel on the floor, raising his voice to be heard. “Naw, I'm not tripping. It's your future, Sean Gianni.” He walked over to Michael, his fist extended for a pound. “We cool through whatever.”
Michael grinned. If Rob was calling him by the nickname he'd given Michael when they'd first met, a mixture of Sean John and Gianni Versaceâtwo designers whose work Rob thought Michael's style resembledâthen they were definitely cool again. He knocked fists with Rob, satisfied that his friendships were in order without any casualties.
High from that satisfaction and still infected with the way Rob performed, Michael sat in the Del Rio Bay auditorium the next day, staring at the Carter application through the room's dimness, an off-key version of “Start of Something New” assaulting his ears. By the time he'd registered the blissful silence when the music halted momentarily, Lizzie was in the seat beside him plucking the paper from his fingers.
“Oh my God, is this an app for the Carter?” Lizzie's green eyes gleamed as she looked from the paper to Michael. She gushed on as Michael nodded. “Are you thinking of going? For which major? Their art major?”
Michael told her about the new program, speaking in the usual hushed reverence reserved for rehearsals. The last thing he needed was Mr. Collins peering through the darkness from the stage, evil-eying him for disrupting his henpecking disguised as stage directions to the Bay Dra-da cast. A dance number broke into full effect, showering the auditorium in sound, just as he finished.
Lizzie stared wide-eyed at the paper. She held it gingerly in her fingers, as if the paper were made of fragile parchment.
“So you're thinking of going?” She scowled, rushing on before he had a chance to say anything. “Mike, you've gotta go. God, I'd kill to attend the Carter. But you know my 'rents.” She nagged in a nasally passage that sounded nothing like either of her parents, making Michael laugh. “Elizabeth, we're glad you have an appreciation for the arts, but school is school and theatre is an extracurricular activity.” She reluctantly handed the paper over to Michael and slumped in the seat.
Michael tweaked her shoulder. “It's all right. Either you'll end up like Julia StilesâColumbia graduate actressâor the Olsen twinsâNYU dropouts slash actresses.”
He and Lizzie laughed freely within the cover of loud music and dancing.
“It's definitely going to be Columbia actress then.” Lizzie shook her head, her eyes gazing at the application on Michael's lap. “My parents would kill me if I dropped out of school for acting.” She plucked the application off his lap, reviewing it as she spoke. “Oooh, did you see this?” She poked her finger at a line on the program's fact sheet. “There's housing for the summer students. How cool is that? You could live in DC, on your own, all summer while you go.” Her grin exploded. “Oh my God, that's so starving-artist. I'm glad we're good friends because I know you'll understand when I say I'm so jealous.” Her eyebrows wriggled playfully. “Not like push you down the stairs so I can take your place on stage jealous ... happy for you jealous.”
They laughed, long and hard, trading jokes about theatre-cides, “accidents” befalling leading guys and girls right before showtime, before lapsing into silence. Lizzie's attention returned to the application. Michael gazed at the stage.
Mr. Collins's voice, thin and proper, rang bass-less in the auditorium and the music stopped instantly. High-strung and persnickety, he was hands-down one of the least liked teachers in the school among anyone taking advanced math. But here, in the auditorium, the students respected him. Persnickety and high-strung translated to innovative and often well-hailed productions.
The students on stage hung on to Mr. Collins's every word, anxious to get it right, anxious to please both him and their own thirst for success in the spotlight.
Michael couldn't blame them. Because of Mr. Collins, Madame Jessamay, and Bay Dra-da, he'd found his place at school. Before joining the troupe's crew, he'd assumed he was doomed to go through high school feeling like a fish out of water as the clique became increasingly busy with their own schedules.
Until then, his designs had been secret from everyone except Mina because he'd been too afraid JZ would find his stash of drawings and give him grief for sketching girl's clothing.
I was only thirteen though,
he thought to himself, justifying his reluctance to crow about his talent. He shifted in the chair as the old feeling, the icy fear of discovery, wrapped itself around his heart.
His head ticked slowly side to side as he spoke. “But I'm still doing it.”
Lizzie, practically vibrating beside him with excitement, tore her attention away from the application. “Still doing what?”
“Holding back.”
Lizzie frowned. “Umm, are you gonna tell me what you're talking about or is playing Twenty Questions part of the fun?”
Michael's smile was tiny, but genuine. He plucked the application from Lizzie's grip and shook it gently at her. “This. I want to audition, but I'm also kirkin' out about it.” He talked through Lizzie's confused gape. “Liz, when Mr. Collins reviewed my designs the first time, I was a wreck. Having people judge my designs is still like ... woah. I'm not used to it.”
“Now you know how I feel every audition.” The giggle in her throat died when she saw the worry crease on Michael's brow. She rubbed his shoulder. “But Mr. Collins loved your designs, Mike. Who wouldn't?”
“Thanks.” He shrugged. “I'm just saying, there's a part of me that's scared to put myself out there. Rob said there's already over a hundred candidates. If they're applying, they must have the talent.”
Lizzie laughed. “Have you never watched reality TV or Bay Dra-da auditions?”
Michael chuckled along. “True.”
He'd sat through enough theatre auditions to know that plenty of people showed up without an ounce of talent. But this wasn't a Bay Dra-da audition, which he reminded her. “Lizzie, people come from all over to attend the Carter. Trust, they're gonna have some level of talent.”
“Mike, you have more than âsome level' of talent.” Her eyes rolled. “I should be recording this. Next time you go on lecturing me and Mina about something, I can remind you of a time you weren't Mr. Know-It-All.”
“Shoot, don't trip.” Michael's eyebrow popped in mock disapproval. “I do know it all.” He knocked shoulders with Lizzie. “But if you must keep score, go ahead and mark this as the
first
time I didn't have all the answers.”