Notes From An Accidental Band Geek (14 page)

“Yeah. The junior girls are all going as bunnies, and the guys are all going as . . . well, look.” As Jake was finishing, a gaggle of guys wearing silky bathrobes and pajama pants came around a corner.

“Oh!” Sarah said. “Wow.”

I was also wowed, and even though I still didn’t get the exact point of the costumes, I knew they were risking dress code demerits in wearing them. And I also suddenly realized that our cutesy Muppets ensemble was
way
too cutesy for this dance.

I turned to tell Jake and Hector just that, and got a good look at the two of them. Hector had the tiny Fozzie Bear hat perched on top of his head, fuzzy ears sticking out from under it. A dark brown T-shirt made the white tie with red polka dots draped around his neck stand out.

“Wokka-wokka-wokka!” he said, and grinned.

Jake had found a vintage Muppets T-shirt, under which he wore a long-sleeved green tee. His Kermit the Frog felt collar lay around his neck like a punk necklace, and he’d gelled his hair into a spiky mess. Jake looked good. Very good.

“Wow,” I said. “You don’t look lame at all.”

The boys smiled at each other. “Neither do you, Miss Piggy,” Jake said, his voice low. My heart fluttered. He offered me his arm, and Hector stuck his out for Sarah. The four of us walked into the gym.

22

We’d been at the dance for an hour, but I hadn’t danced at all—instead I’d spent most of the time playing name that tune with Hector and reminding myself to relax and have fun. Our group hung out in the corner of the gym with some of the other band kids—Steve was there, dressed as a mad scientist, and AJ came in wearing a light blue frilly tuxedo that was his dad’s from the 1970s. Only he was cool enough to pull off bell bottoms. Even Punk made an appearance dressed as Frankenstein’s monster, all of his piercings replaced with creepy bolts and screws and his hair dyed green for the occasion.

A few times, Sarah, Jake, and Hector had gone out on the dance floor, but I was just too shy. In public, I’d much rather play music than dance to it. Standing around gave me plenty of time to check out the other costumes, though. There were lots of
Dusk
vampires, of course, and the juniors had their skimpy-bunny thing going on (more than one of them were pulled aside by the chaperones). A few other groups had coordinated too: two Scooby gangs (glad we rejected that one), a James Bond with villains and Bond girls, and a group of seniors went as SpongeBob characters—complete with pineapple house.

The sophomore class was sponsoring the dance, and they’d decorated the gym with black and red streamers, fake spiders, and cottony cobwebs. It looked okay, but getting rid of the fried food smell would have really improved the atmosphere. I leaned against the wall, watching Hector and Jake bob and weave to a Styrofoam Rockets song with Sarah and a girl from the woodwind section.

“Dancing?” Punk appeared at my elbow. Up close I noticed that his face was painted light green.

“Not at the moment. Nice makeup,” I responded, trying to change the subject. My stomach rolled into a ball. Would he ask me to dance? What would I say? It’d be so weird!

Punk cocked his head at me and then said something I couldn’t hear over the pounding beat of the DJ’s latest selection.

Heart slamming, I shook my head and made the international gesture for “I can’t hear you”: a quick shrug, second head shake, and pointing at an ear.

He leaned so close I could count the threads of the screw protruding from his nose. “I said, want to cut a rug, Chicken?”

My stomach dropped, feet tingled, and I felt perilously close to the way I had on the first day of band camp, just before I hit the ground. Punk wanted to dance with me?
With me?
I didn’t know whether to be flattered or freaked out. I didn’t like him, like him; I certainly didn’t like dancing ; and I didn’t want to dance with him in front of anyone else—let alone
everyone
else. Especially, I had to admit, Jake.

Punk took my indecision for agreement. Grabbing my slick, sweaty hand, he led me onto the dance floor near the other band kids. Identical flashes of shock swept over their faces. I directed my eyes to my shoes. The music was fast and loud, and I briefly considered leaving Punk alone to enjoy it. But he’d probably come after me and do something even more humiliating. He danced with herky-jerky moves, arms flailing and elbows sticking out. Between his spastic movements and costume, he looked like an animated Tin Man . . . or a zombified one.

Not that I was much better. Still shocked and hit by waves of embarrassment, I stood, feet firmly planted on the floor, and attempted to dance by only shaking my shoulders from side to side. My hands and arms floated somewhere around my middle. The picture of grace. NOT.

Punk reined in his gyrations so he could get closer to me.

“You need to chill out, you know,” he said over the music and into my ear. I tried to grin, but my cheeks were as tight as a snare drum head. I ended up baring my teeth.

“Seriously, Chick-chick,” he went on, “have some fun. No one is dying around here. It’s a
dance
. Enjoy it.” He returned to his own dance space, then made a wild, armflapping, head-shaking turn combo—Frankenstein with rhythm. Other kids, band kids and non-bandees alike, stopped to watch him. When he noticed his audience he hammed it up even more: pigeon-bobbing his head, doing some seventies-inspired pointing, and shaking his hips like Elvis. The crowd—which I had backed into to escape Punk’s spotlight—loved it.

And then he locked eyes with me and mimicked holding a fishing pole.

Everyone turned to me as he cast the line. Terrified, as though it were a real line with hook on the end, I followed its imaginary trajectory through the air, up, up, up and down, down, down, right to me.

Split-second decision time: Play it up or flee. My heart and stomach said to run away as fast as I could, but my legs were cemented to the floor.

The invisible fishhook landed. The crowd watched.

“It’s okay to have fun,” I whispered to myself. I took a deep breath, stuck my hands against my sides, tilted my chin to the ceiling, and hopped out of my spot toward Punk like a snagged tuna.

Punk mimed reeling me in, and I hopped closer, heart slamming, waiting for the fun to kick in . . . because now all I felt was nervous.

Everyone stared at me, wondering what was going on between us. I wondered the same thing. I didn’t like Punk—I knew that—but I didn’t know
what
his intentions were. Was all this because he like-liked me? Or was it just some weird joke?

I kept hopping a little closer each time, and he kept reeling. A few times I pretended to struggle against the line, and that got a laugh from those who were still watching. Thankfully, some kids had gone back to dancing and the song was nearly over. The whole thing reminded me of clucking like a chicken at band camp. Although this time, even though I was terrified, I forced myself to do it. And finally, once I got into it, it
was
kind of fun.

Just as the tune crashed to its end, I reached Punk. He squeezed my shoulders.

“Gotcha!” he said with a grin, and strode back to the side of the gym where we’d stood earlier. Breathless, I straightened my pig ears and followed.

As he leaned against the wall, the adrenaline left me, and annoyance—left over from being put on the spot—took its place.

“What was up with that?” I snapped, unable to control my tone of voice. Another upbeat dance tune slammed from the speakers.

“Jeez, Chicken,” he said. He held his hands up in a mock “I surrender” pose. “Shoot me for wanting to have fun at a dance. Or wanting
you
to have fun for a change.” I was tired of everyone (including myself) around me worrying about whether or not I was having fun—it made me feel even more awkward and lame.

“Why do you care whether or not I have fun? It’s not your business,” I said.

He stuck his hands deep in his pants pockets and pulled back. “You’re right; it’s not. It’s not my business to try and save your butt in band either, but I’ve done that too.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jake, Sarah, and Hector hovering nearby.

“I never asked you to do anything for me!” I cried, directing all my frustration at him.

“Don’t worry. You won’t catch me doing anything for you
ever again
.” Punk pushed through the dancers, heading toward the door.

Before I turned to face my friends, I tried to compose myself. I was shaking. I’d just had a public fight with someone I barely knew over something I didn’t understand, while wearing pig ears. Awesome.

“Uhh, Elsie?” Sarah stood at my elbow. “What was that about?”

I shook my head and mumbled, “I don’t know.”

She tugged my arm gently. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

I didn’t resist, just let her guide me through the crowd, out of the caf, to the first-floor girls’ bathroom. A gaggle of sparkly vampires huddled around the mirror, applying lip gloss and dishing about their dates. When they left, Sarah faced me.

“Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” I said, tugging at my Miss Piggy necklace. “I don’t know what happened.” I summarized the events after we danced.

Sarah sighed. “Elsie, you bit his head off after he danced with you.
That’s
what happened. Of course he’s ticked.” She paused. “Do you like him?”

The bathroom door opened, giving me a chance to think. Sarah was right—Elsie the Jerk strikes again. Tinker Bell flitted in, all fairy wings and pixie dust. Feeling deflated and helpless, I stayed silent until she disappeared into a stall.

“No!” I met Sarah’s eyes when I said it. “Not at all. He’s nice, and been really nice to me, but I don’t like him, like him.” Was that the third time I’d made that assertion in less than thirty minutes? Probably. “And, yeah, I acted like a total jerk back there.” I blew out a puff of air. “Awesome.”

“Pretty much,” Sarah responded. “This is why people stay away from you, Elsie. You need to think about other people’s feelings more.” The words, unexpected and upsetting, made me gasp. She stopped, and I could see that she was upset too. Was I really that clueless about everyone else around me? As much as I didn’t want to believe her, Sarah had no reason to lie to me.

When she went on, it was with a softer tone. “Whatever this deal is, you’d better figure it out, because someone’s been waiting all night to ask you to dance, but got a no-dance vibe from you until that little scene. And it’s not Hector.”

Jake.

The hurt evaporated and my heart fluttered like Tinker Bell’s fairy wings. She’d emerged from the stall and was washing her hands, a length of toilet paper stuck to one iridescent green shoe.

“Umm, ’scuse me?” I pointed at the damp strand.

She thanked me and scraped it off. Her voice was high and clear, the way an actual fairy’s might sound. “I think you could use some fairy magic, Miss Piggy! ” She pulled a silver wand from the bun in her hair and waved it around her head. “Ickle-sickle, gobble gubble! High school boys are nuthin’ but trouble! Ickle-sickle, gobble gee! Pick the one that’s right for
she
!” She bopped me on the nose with the wand and flitted out the door.

When it closed behind her, Sarah and I burst out laughing.

“The one that’s right for
she
?!” I gasped.

“Ickle-sickle, gobble gow! Let us leave this bathroom
now
!” Sarah said through giggles.

On our way back into the gym, I realized I hadn’t said anything to Sarah about Jake. I wanted to dance with him, but would he still want to dance with me after the scene with Punk? My hands started sweating at the thought, and a lump appeared in my throat.

 

 

 

We found Hector and Jake in basically the same spot where we’d left them, talking to AJ and Steve. Steve cocked an eyebrow at me and I frowned at him.

“Don’t ask,” I said.

“Oh What a Night,” a song from the seventies that my mom dances to around the house, came on.

“Love this one!” AJ said. “Let’s go find some of the color guard to dance with!” He tugged Steve’s arm.

“As if they would,” Sarah teased.

“Don’t doubt my powers of persuasion, freshman,” Steve growled, playful.

AJ grinned at the two of them. “Listen to your drum major! Dance!”

Hector and Sarah followed them into the crowd, leaving Jake and me alone.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Do you know this song?” he asked.

“My mom likes it,” I said, suddenly shy. I wanted him to take my hand so I could feel that zing of electricity again, but I was also afraid that he would—or that its sopping wetness would gross him out.

Jake chewed his lip. “Want to dance?” He pointed to the dance floor, where AJ was rocking out with two girls from color guard. “We could stay away from him.”

I smiled. “Sure.”

He held his hand out and I grabbed it. That shock shot through my arm, up my shoulder, and exploded my smile into a wide grin. We wove through the crowd to find Hector and Sarah, Jake not letting my hand go the entire time—in spite of its clamminess.

When we reached them, Sarah’s eyes widened. Jake dropped my hand and faced me. I took the opportunity to casually wipe it on the side of my dress, hopefully drying it off. Jake bobbed his head and rocked his shoulders from side to side, like he’d been dancing his whole life. I shuffled across from him, aware of every dip and sway my body made, feeling wooden and awkward. Why did everyone else look more comfortable than me ? Being younger than everyone else suddenly seemed to be a very big deal.

As much as my mom may like this song, it was not good for dancing.

It finally ended. I wasn’t sure if I should cross the gym again—what if Jake wanted to keep going?—so I just kind of stood there. He did too.

The DJ’s voice came from the speakers. “This next one is for couples only. It’s a fan favorite by Theo Christmas, ‘Her Majesty Cry.’ ” Soft strumming guitar filled the room. Around us, kids paired off and got close. Fear pinned me in place.