The auditorium was located in the old chapel and was decked out as an advertisement for the Snow Ball at today’s assembly. The art students had clearly been placed in charge of decorations, and they had gone all out with disturbing yet fancifully abstract depictions of frozen nightmares. There was a zombie Elsa, hanging streamers of white and blue, and carefully concealed sexually suggestive imagery. It was a gonzo art installation masquerading as a high school dance.
The entire school was there, crammed into the chapel, which echoed with the sound of eight hundred butts settling into the pews. Teachers prowled the aisles, imploring us to put away our phones. Assistant principals lurked near the back, headpieces on, listening to instructions from central command.
We were arranged by order of class year, so the seniors got to be up front, while the balcony section was reserved for the freshmen, who were busy shrieking like gibbons and climbing over pews in order to annoy people near them. But this was an art school, so it wasn’t, you know, dangerous. It was what happens when you put eight hundred and sixty creative artistic teenagers in a room together: mass chaos.
Thomas and Lakshmi sat on either side of me. Elijah sat up front because he was a senior.
Principal Gustafson held a microphone and tried to get the crowd to settle down. One look at Mr. Gustafson and you knew he was in the wrong school; he belonged in a regular school. He was trying to rock his dad jeans and a sport coat, but it wasn’t working for him, and just accentuated how goony he looked. He had glasses that went out of style in the nineties and had his white hair parted down the side.
“Okay now,” he said in his Minnesota nice voice. “Okay then. Alrighty. All right, then. Let’s settle down. We haven’t got all day, people. Let’s settle down. Well, we’ve got a great assembly for you today… okay, let’s settle down, people. Okay. Alrighty.”
The crowd’s objective at this point was clearly to make Mr. Gustafson spend the rest of the day doing this, so we wouldn’t have to go back for afternoon classes.
“So today we’re going to talk about behavior at this weekend’s dance. I just want to take a moment… Let’s settle down… I just want to take a moment and appreciate the great job our art students did in decorating all this…” He gestured vaguely at the artistic monstrosity around him, and his eyes caught on something disturbing. “All this great art, which is almost entirely appropriate for a dance situation.” His eyes returned to the clearly phallic streamers hanging overhead. “Okay then. Um… all right…”
Thomas leaned over to me. “It’s times like this that I really love this school.”
“Well, um… we have a treat for you because we are going to start today with a special performance by our amazing improv comedy troupe, the Knight Lights!”
Elijah got up from his seat in the front of the auditorium just as a tall blond kid dressed in a suit emerged from the wings, swiping his finger across his throat. The crowd buzzed like a famous guest artist had just arrived.
“Oh, wait, hold on!” said Principal Gustafson. Elijah was already scrambling over the lip of the stage. Principal Gustafson held his hand over the microphone as the new kid whispered something in his ear.
“Oh, fuck this,” said Lakshmi.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Principal Gustafson put the microphone back to his lips. “Change of plans. We have an even more amazing treat for you. I know he needs no introduction, but I would like to welcome to the stage our returning National Champion in Humorous Interpretation, Hanson Bridges!” He clapped like a trained seal and handed over the mic to the tall kid.
Hanson looked like he was twenty-four, with a square jaw and the dazzling smile and easy swagger of someone who had led a charmed life. Even the principal seemed small and ashen next to him, like Hanson was in color and everyone else was in black-and-white. The crowd went nuts. People were whistling.
Elijah remained frozen, mid-scramble, on the edge of the stage. He looked back at some other people in the front row with raised eyebrows.
“I want to give it up for our principal,” said Hanson. “He’s doing the best he can. Come on guys, give it up!” He clapped his hands together while still holding the microphone like a boss. The audience complied and gave him a smattering of applause. “Honestly,” he said smoothly, like he was born to the spotlight, “we can’t do what we do at this school without an administration that respects the arts. I honor that.”
His eyes twinkled. “Now, I’m sure all of you want to hear about what the appropriate behavior at this weekend’s dance is, but I’m going to spare you that and give you some information you might actually want.” The crowd cheered. “Now, some of you may not be aware that our speech season is about to begin.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Someday, when you’re old and in a retirement home, you’ll look back on your life and you’ll have regrets—Man, I never did that thing I wanted to do, I never accomplished anything, I was not loved enough—but there will be one moment, in high school, where you can say, I saw the Eaganville Speech and Debate Team compete and by God, that was the high point of my life.” He laughed for himself and sauntered around the stage with the mic. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, I’m sure quite a few of you will have successful lives with no regrets and won’t be complete losers like some other people.”
He stood right over where Elijah was and casually shifted his eyes downward. The crowd erupted in laughter.
I felt my stomach twist into knots. I noticed Lakshmi was clutching the rail of the pew, the muscles in her forearms contracting.
“I think we’ve heard quite enough from the improv troupe, if you know what I mean. So I want to take the opportunity to bring out a team that actually deserves some applause: the returning varsity speech team!”
Thomas sighed next to me.
Lakshmi suddenly gripped my hand and made eye contact with me. “Now you’ll see,” she whispered in my ear.
The auditorium went instantly quiet as all the lights went out like the beginning of an NBA game. The speakers thrummed and crackled with noise.
What the hell is this nonsense?
AC/DC’s “Back in Black” surged through the auditorium at a level of volume that would kill small birds. The bass waved through me like a roll of thunder.
Suddenly, the lights came on at full blast, blinding us, and then resolving to reveal a group of seven people standing onstage, posed with their arms across their chests like they were goddamn superheroes. The crowd gasped.
They were in business suits, and they looked like a commercial for angry personal-injury attorneys. Was it my imagination or was there was a slight breeze wafting their hair to make them look even more dramatic? It was like Goldman Sachs had just swooped in, kicked everyone in the balls, and taken command of the auditorium.
I spotted Logan, looking twitchy in a pin-striped number, standing back-to-back with Anesh, a kid I recognized from my math class. Anesh wore some kind of designer suit and had dark, flawless skin and poofy thick black hair. His cheeks sucked in, emphasizing his jagged cheekbones, and he looked like he’d been practicing a pouty lips look in the mirror for the past year. Taryn was there, too, the blond girl from history who was deeply invested in my wrongness about the gold standard. She looked amazing. Hot enough for Speech and Debate surely. Andrew from English class and the guy who’d debated Lakshmi the first day of school were there, too. Basically all the evil bastards I’d met so far.
That’s when I saw Coach Joey Sparks.
My blood froze. I knew him.
He was about forty, with slicked-back black hair like a Mafia type. That was basically his entire look. While the kids behind him wore business suits, Joey Sparks wore a powder-blue windbreaker and sweatpants emblazoned with the Eaganville logo. He had a whistle around his neck for some inexplicable reason. I think he was wearing Keds.
“I want to introduce you to the greatest experience of your lives,” he said, loping around the stage like a panther.
My eyes narrowed. I had seen him do this before.
“We have four returning national finalists!” he thundered, and the crowd erupted in applause. “More than any other team in this country.” He waved his hand with grace, like a preacher. “More than anyone. And, my friends, I’d like to hear a better round of applause for Hanson, who is the returning National CHAMPION in Humorous Interpretation!” The crowd roared in approval, banging on the old wooden pews enough to cause the assistant principals to put a stop to it.
“What’s humorous interpretation?” I asked Thomas, who shushed me.
Hanson raised his hands like he was cool. Apparently everyone agreed with his self-assessment.
Lakshmi leaned over to me. “Supposedly he already has an agent.”
“For what?”
“For like acting and shit. Television.”
Hanson took the microphone again. “Damn.” Everyone laughed. Even the principal. He was laughing at a kid swearing onstage. “I gotta tell you guys. We are not gonna have just one champion this year. We might have two.” He gave a beaming smile. “We might have… three. And we might have…” He waited expertly, then pointed two long perfect fingers at the audience. “You. You can join, even if you suck.” He paused and the evil twinkle returned to his eyes. “Isn’t that right, Elijah?”
Elijah had made it back to his seat by now and looked up as the crowd focused on him.
“I’m kidding!” Hanson laughed. He winked, and handed the microphone back to Coach Sparks.
“Thanks, guys—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” interrupted Principal Gustafson. “This is the year Coach Sparks will be inducted into the National Forensics League Hall of Fame as a Triple Diamond coach. And we are proud of your legacy here at Eaganville, and we are ready for another championship season.”
The crowd whooped and hollered and got to its feet, clapping like maniacs.
Everyone except me, Lakshmi, and Thomas.
Elijah found us after the assembly was over. He seemed to have shrunk; his usual exuberance had been replaced by a sad cloud of defeat.
“That was some bullshit,” said Lakshmi as soon as she saw him.
“Thanks.”
“I mean, I’m not gonna lie to you—I kinda hate improv comedy, but you were supposed to go on.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
I watched them. Was he going to ask her to the dance anyway? Was he going to let the chance slip away?
Why are you so interested, Sydney?
I didn’t have a long history with boys. I had dated two guys named Chris at my last school, and by dated, I mean made out with at a party a few times. But there hadn’t been anyone who had really liked me at my old school. And once the stink of family collapse and loserdom attached itself to me, no one really expressed that much interest. So I decided I didn’t like anyone either, and that was that.
It didn’t help that I wasn’t good at anything, or that I wasn’t hot enough for Speech and Debate. But those were minor problems, I guess.
I looked at Elijah. Was he really going to not say anything? He noticed me looking at him and returned the gaze; I tried to mentally communicate: Ask her anyway.
“So pretty cool about the dance,” I said.
“This whole dance is bullshit,” muttered Lakshmi. “Just a bunch of art kids acting out the patriarchy.”
I waited for Elijah to say something, but his blue eyes were unfocused and strange, like he was still in shock.
“I was thinking of going,” I blurted out. Lakshmi turned to me. “Not like with a date or anything, but just for, you know, fun.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How would it be fun?”
“It could be fun,” I said. “Besides, what else are you doing this weekend?”
She humphed. I caught Elijah’s eyes, and he seemed to restart like he’d been jolted with electricity.
“I’d like to go,” he said finally. “Maybe we could go together.”
The briefest hint of a smile crossed Lakshmi’s face.
“Sweet,” said Thomas. “I’m all in.”