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“Okay, everyone, settle down,” Ryan calls, arms outstretched as Kelsi stands next to him with her arms timidly folded over her chest.
The day after the staff baseball game, with a newfound sense of unity and determination, the junior employees gather in the Lava Springs dance room and sit cross-legged like kids at an assembly as Ryan and Kelsi lay out the plan for the talent show.
“Kelsi and I have decided to have you all perform an oldie for the talent show. It’s not original, but Kelsi will take over instrumentals and I’ll be in charge of choreography. And as much as we would love to, we wouldn’t have enough time to go through every audition; there’s only one singer and he’s the narrator anyway, so I’ll be taking care of that. The rest of you will be backup singers.” At the sound of several objections, he adds, “But there will be lead dancers, so let’s be optimistic here.
“I think it’s only fair that since Gabriella was the only one other than Kelsi to wrangle you all up here, she should get the lead,” Ryan elaborates.
“You have experience with it too,” Kelsi pipes up. “We wouldn’t want to risk having a first-timer freeze up on stage. That would be…”
“Disastrous,” Ryan finishes. “A total dumpster fire.”
“Yeah. Disastrous. I’m not sure about a total dumpster fire, though.”
“Come on, guys,” Gabriella protests from the front row. “I starred in the winter musical a few months ago. Someone else should get a chance to shine.”
Ryan extends a hand to her and helps her up. “All right, everyone who thinks Gabriella should be the lead, raise your hand.”
Most of the staff’s hands fly up, save for the ones of a few bitter theater kids.
Kelsi grins. “It’s unanimous. Mostly.”
Gabriella gives an exasperated laugh and raises her hands in surrender. She tries to sit down but Ryan stops her before she can.
“Not yet. There are a few other major roles to be cast.”
Ryan taps at the clipboard perched on his waist while he thinks. “Normally I’d have Troy play Gabriella’s love interest, but…” He grimaces before moving on, quickly sensing that reminding the Wildcats that Troy is currently rehearsing with Sharpay instead of them won’t do any good for their morale.
“How about you, Chad?” he says instead.
Chad, who had been whispering something into Taylor’s ear with his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, immediately looks up. His smile drops, and a deep frown takes its place. “No way.”
“Where’s your sportsmanship, Chad? Your… courage? Or whatever you jocks tell yourselves.”
The other teens laugh at this remark, but Chad isn’t having it.
“I told you I don’t dance.”
“Don’t dance my ass. I saw that coordination on the field. You’re a dancer at heart, no matter how much you deny it.”
Taylor nudges him playfully, encouraging him to step up.
“At least do it for your team,” Ryan insists. “Isn’t it your job as second-in-command to step in whenever the captain can’t make it?”
This makes Chad reconsider. He was never officially appointed as Troy’s right hand man or anything, but because they spend so much time together their peers tend to treat Chad with much more deference than they probably should. Whether he likes it or not, he knows Ryan is right about the Wildcats looking up to him in Troy’s absence.
“If it makes you feel better,” Kelsi offers, “you get to be shot and have blood squirting out of you halfway through. Not a real shot. And fake blood, obviously.”
“Fine.” Chad stands and stomps over, sneakers squeaking on the polished hardwood floor. “There better be lots of blood.”
People whoop and cheer as he makes his way next to Gabriella. Maybe, Chad thinks, he could get used to the applause.
“And now… the killer,” Ryan announces in an exaggerated ominous voice. He clears his throat and smiles shyly. “Zeke, I thought you could do the part.”
“Do I look like a killer to you?” Zeke says jokingly. His friends shove him around good-naturedly.
“Oh, no,” Ryan backtracks. “It’s just that—you never get to star in these performances. I thought you’d be interested. Plus, I think you have the physique for it. For the character, I mean.”
Zeke hums, narrowing his eyes at the choreographer. “Depends on the character.”
“Rico, that’s his name. He gets to shoot Tony, Chad’s character.”
He throws back his head in a laugh. “Man, that’s all I needed to hear. I’ll do it.”
“Great!” Ryan clears his throat, yet again. “I’ll—I’ll write that down.”
Once the leads are lined up in front of the group, Ryan goes over to the CD player and hits play.
It’s a song that opens with a strong beat and a catchy, metallic sort of tune; suddenly a man starts singing, “Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…” There are saxes, trumpets, trombones, backup singers, and many other instruments that are the sole essence of seventies disco music. The Lava Springs staff find themselves dancing along, free-styling and immersing themselves in the music before Ryan gives them proper instruction.
The singer goes on to tell a cautionary tale of a showgirl named Lola, her love and the bartender Tony, and a wealthy man who visited the Copa one night and proceeded to harass Lola, thus provoking Tony. Tony and Rico fight, someone shoots a gun, and Lola is devastated to realize that her Tony has been fatally wounded. Thirty years later, Lola is left to grieve over her youth and her lost love, “drinking herself half blind” as she and the feathers in her hair fade, as she watches the Copacabana turn into a disco club and ultimately loses her mind.
By now the teens have stopped dancing and stare at the directors, waiting for answers.
“That was dark,” Chad deadpans.
“Yeah, but catchy, isn’t it?” Ryan writes something down on his clipboard, humming the chorus.
Kelsi tries to assure them. “And we have so many ideas for how we want to do it! You’ll see.”
“I think it’s interesting,” Gabriella chimes in, sounding a little nervous herself. “I get to have feathers in my hair, right?”
“Of course.”
She claps her hands together. “Amazing. So where do we start?”
Ryan sets the clipboard on the floor and kicks it to a corner of the room. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chad has come to the conclusion that he is in way over his head. Balancing a nearly full-time job along with strict rehearsals has his body absolutely wired. But he wouldn't even think of asking Troy for help anytime soon. Every time one of the dancers high-fives him before leaving the dance room, every time he has to pick up the slack in moments of low staff and general inadequacy, he’s only reminded of Troy’s betrayal.
Yeah, maybe he’s being a little melodramatic, but Troy was the traitor who roped all his friends into these jobs and then abandoned them without an explanation. And Chad can’t back out now. People are counting on him—his peers, his team.
He goes over the choreography in his head as he busses dishes and deals with snobby jerks who are inclined to throw a fit if their salad is short of a single spinach leaf. It’s an intricate plan, more complicated than Chad thought he and the staff were capable of, but Gabriella’s enthusiasm and Ryan’s expertise have surprisingly gotten them through.
As he makes his way through the kitchen among the other scrambling teens, he tries to follow the steps in the salsa he dances with Gabriella at the beginning of the song. To demonstrate, Ryan danced with Gabriella so Chad could observe from another point of view. He danced with Chad too, in order for Gabriella to get the gist. So Chad knows he’s going to be dancing with her in the talent show, but right now she’s almost as clumsy as he is; he can’t help but imagine dancing with Ryan as the music guides them along, quick steps and swaying hips as Manilow sings, “They were young and they had each other, who could ask for more?”
Then it gets even more complicated, the extras dancing around the three main characters, and maybe Chad is overthinking it—the work day is over before he knows it. He attends rehearsals like always, letting the choreography and the sound of Ryan’s commands clear his head.
Now that he’s not on speaking terms with Troy, Chad usually hitches a ride home with Taylor, but something holds him back today. Even though his limbs are practically begging him to crawl into bed and rest, Chad still believes there’s plenty room for improvement—he trips over Gabriella’s feet no matter how slow they take it, and midway through the fight scene he ends up splayed on the floor more often than not.
And he has a suspicion. Sometimes he’ll stay later than the rest, talking over some details with Kelsi or trying to figure out where in the world his arms should go. But it’s strange: Chad has never actually seen Ryan leave the dance room before. In fact, he’s pretty certain the choreographer is, without fail, the first one in and the last one out.
Of course he tells himself that he’s only returning for extra practice, but Chad can’t help his curiosity. Is Ryan really taking this talent show that seriously?
He uses his staff key to open the lobby door. Technically he’s not supposed to be here, but he’s not worried. The halls of the Lava Springs country club are dark and dead to the world. He slinks down the ceramic floor tiles, navigating like a blind man with his hand stretched out in front of him.
As he gets close to the dance room, unconsciously gaining speed, he nearly trips over his flip flops when he notices light spilling out from his destination. With his back pressed against the wall, Chad becomes aware of music playing softly and a familiar voice absentmindedly mumbling along. Suppressing a laugh and the slapping of his flip flops to the best of his ability, he creeps into the practice space.
Luckily Ryan’s back is turned to the threshold of the room—he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he scribbles furiously with a pencil—though the floor-to-ceiling mirror before him isn’t exactly helping Chad conceal himself. From where he’s standing, reflected in the mirror, Chad distinguishes a notebook in Ryan’s hands, one he’d never seen during rehearsals, and it’s kind of jarring to witness him holding something other than a clipboard.
“What’re you writing there?” Chad asks.
Ryan’s head snaps up, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. He slams the notebook closed and spins around, the plain blue cover clutched tenaciously in his hand.
“Just some notes.”
Chad chuckles. “So I was right.”
“Right? About what?”
“That you stay up at ungodly hours to choreograph for this stupid show.”
Ryan frowns. “It’s not stupid. You might think it is. But the Midsummer Night's Talent Show is a very big deal to the Evanses.”
“Despite rigging every competition thus far.”
At this comment Ryan laughs a small laugh. “You could say that again.”
“So what is the eminent choreographer Ryan Evans doing here instead of heading home with his fabulous twin sister?”
Ryan breathes out forcefully, slightly leaning up his head and bringing up a free hand to pinch at his temples. Chad must be delirious with sleep deprivation, maybe just pure exhaustion, because for a second he thinks Ryan looks tragic like this, cheeks colored with a hint of red, blond lashes falling over his closed eyes, hair a little mussed from his currently missing hat. Tragic and good-looking. Tragically good-looking.
“She went ahead without me,” he explains. “I stayed behind, you were right about that. There’s just so much to plan out, rearrange. I’ll think I have it—and then we’re short one person or the stage isn’t big enough.”
“I know how that feels.”
Ryan brings his eyes back down to him, an eyebrow raised skeptically. “Do you?”
“Sure. Try ordering a whole group of kids around while Mr. Fulton is yammering about our work performance costing him his job, there is always someone standing in the way, and every ‘guest’ is either sending their food back or demanding to speak to the manager.”
He physically cringes. “Yikes. I should speak to my parents about Lava Springs’ working conditions.”
“That would be greatly appreciated,” Chad laughs. “How’s the choreo coming along?”
“Well,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “It’s… okay. I know I get in my head trying to make these things as close to perfect as possible, but you guys seem to like it so…”
“I don’t know if that means you’re going to add more moves, but if you’re considering it, I’ll be the first to say: don’t.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Ryan admits, “If you’d really like to know, I was just trying to see if I could somehow incorporate a jazz square.”
“That’s what you didn’t want me to see? More choreo notes? You really are a dance geek!”
“My notebook is different, Chad. I’ve got sketches in here, costume designs, personal notes, things you do not need to know about.”
Chad smirks doubtfully. “Anyway,” he says, returning to the subject at hand. “A jazz square? Listen, man, I don’t even know what a jazz square is. Take that as a warning—you add that on top of everything else, I’m going to fall flat on my face.”
“I think you could do it,” Ryan urges. “Seriously. Don’t you know everyone loves a good jazz square?”
“Actually, I don’t know. I don’t know anything about dance at all. In fact—”
“Just picture it. We kick off with Lola dancing by herself on stage in a yellow flapper dress and, of course, yellow feathers in her hair. She’s surrounded by other dancers and Tony, in slacks and a wrinkled white blouse, appears at the edge of the crowd. He drapes a dishrag over his shoulder and joins Lola, and they dance salsa before they’re consumed by the crowd.”
“I know all this already. I’m pretty sure it’s, like, ingrained.”
“It doesn’t hurt to run through it one more time,” Ryan says dismissively, walking over to set down his notebook on the piano and rewind the stereo beside it. “Are you not here for extra practice?”
Chad just smiles and shakes his head.
“So, all the dancers weave around each other, spin each other around in pairs, until they part and Lola is dancing by herself again.” Ryan saunters to the center of the room, doing the solo merengue he assigned to Gabriella—all Suzy Qs and fancy footwork. “See, there’s room to do a jazz square here.”
Chad rolls his eyes and picks up the lightweight chair from a corner of the room, preparing to stand in for Zeke as Rico.
“Rico emerges from the crowd in a pinstripe suit and decked out in diamonds. He sits down, watching Lola and looking smug. He calls her over”—Ryan dances his way over to Chad—“and Rico rises from his seat and tries to dance with Lola. She doesn’t want to, so she pulls away but he spins her back to him.”
Ryan is too busy running through the choreo, but all Chad can think about is how close they are, hands linked as “Lola” tries to part, then twirling Ryan back to him so that his face is only a few inches away.
“Tony sails across the bar, er, stage. The second time Lola tries to pull back, Tony catches her free arm and spins her to the edge of the dancing crowd. He confronts Rico while Lola watches, petrified.” Ryan looks around, momentarily at a loss. “Uhm. Since she’s just standing there, I guess I’ll stand in for Rico now.”
They take a moment to switch places. “Tony and Rico grip hands and have a little back and forth; Rico picks up the chair and throws it at Tony” —Ryan tosses the chair to Chad—“and Tony throws it back into the crowd, which the extras will slide backstage. The two men join again, and when the sound of a gunshot goes off, Lola runs in between them and pulls them apart.”
The two boys separate and get in their places, an invisible Lola between them. “The extras shuffle backstage for their costume change. A single spotlight shines down on Lola. She spins around erratically, in horror, looking at the men as they circle around the edge of the light, staring each other down.”
Chad is sure he’s about to spontaneously combust but he’s not sure why. He and Ryan are circling across each other, and Ryan is pointing to him, glaring at him with cold blue eyes that could kill, and Chad feels as if he is seconds away from dropping dead.
“They circle like that until Tony’s back is to the audience—”
“And that’s when I get to press that blood packet over my stomach,” Chad interrupts, clamping his hands together and pretending he’s holding a plastic bag filled with fake blood over his abdomen.
“Yeah. You’ll kind of stumble sideways, turn a little bit before you go down so the audience can see the wound, then collapse on your side.”
Chad does as he’s told, his backside undoubtedly bruised by now from throwing himself on the floor countless times.
“Lola cries out and sprints to Tony. As she lifts him into her lap and shakes him desperately, trying to wake him, Rico straightens his tie in the spotlight, brushes himself off and walks calmly, coolly offstage, as if his work here is done.”
Apparently Ryan is playing Lola again because before he even realizes what’s going on, Chad is being gathered into Ryan’s lap, one palm holding up his upper back and the other pressed firmly against his chest. Chad is breathless; he must have fallen on his back harder than he meant to. But that doesn’t explain the uncontrollable warmth rising in his cheeks.
“The narrator—me—takes center stage. The spotlight narrows so that it's really only focused on me, but Tony and Lola are still vaguely visible as the extras shuffle back onstage. They’re all dressed in flashy seventies disco attire—tube tops, blazers, sequins, bell bottoms—to show that the times have changed. While they’re all getting up there, I’ll do some dances to distract the audience—”
“And they’ll never be able to look away from your jazz squares.”
Ryan seems to have an epiphany. “Oh my god. I didn’t even think of that.” He pushes Chad off of him, leaving him pressed against the floor.
“Ouch. Could’ve used a warning.”
He doesn’t respond. Already he’s halfway across the room, reaching for his notebook. He splays out the pages on the piano top and gets back to scribbling. Chad fixes his curls in the mirror before going over.
He remembers what Ryan said, how that notebook was strictly for his eyes only, but in his defense Ryan doesn’t even bat an eye when he joins him by the piano, though that might be because he’s currently in his own little land of jazz squares and timed turns and swiveling steps. Careful to keep his distance, Chad lays his forearm on the black, almost reflective surface and leans on his side.
There’s a fire in Ryan’s eyes, one that Chad finds he’s grown accustomed to. Personally he could never imagine being this passionate about dancing of all things, but seeing Ryan in his element, shoulders hunched, breaths sort of shallow, makes Chad see it a bit more clearly.
Innocuously, Chad glances down at the notebook. He doesn’t expect to discover anything bad; how criminalizing could the mind of Ryan Evans really be? The pencil is working on the right side of the college ruled journal, and Chad’s eyes land on the previous page.
There’s a detailed sketch of someone there, who Chad doesn’t recognize because Ryan had probably done him way too much justice. He’s muscular, with broad shoulders, and dressed in a pinstripe suit with a superfluous amount of diamond rings on his fingers. He’s got a dimpled (shit-eating, in Chad’s humble opinion) grin; black, close-cropped and tightly curled hair; and over his head is written “Rico” in fancy cursive. But beside the model, in lighter strokes, is written “Zeke” with a few small hearts surrounding it.
Chad averts his eyes at once.
It was nothing surprising. It shouldn’t have been. Whenever Zeke is within a ten foot radius of him, Ryan has the tendency to turn bright red and lose his capacity to form proper, complete sentences. First and foremost, Chad is slightly enraged. He wants to snatch the notebook out of Ryan’s hands and see for himself if he’d added such flattering features to his “Tony” model.
But almost immediately after that vindictive thought, he mostly feels bad for the guy. After plenty of conversations with Zeke in the boys’ locker room, and having to put up with his random gushes about some pretty girl he saw that day, Chad can say with confidence that Zeke does not swing that way. Besides, Zeke is head-over-heels in love with Ryan’s sister and since she and Ryan are practically joined at the hip, he must know this already.
Not that Chad has ever had to deal with this kind of thing, but he sympathizes with Ryan: a boy hopelessly in love with someone who isn’t likely to reciprocate. It can’t lead to any good, not for Ryan, but Zeke is a sweetheart (constantly teased for it) and will probably let him down easy, should Ryan ever decide to confess his feelings. Still, Chad thinks any guy would be lucky to have someone as put together as Ryan absolutely fall apart in his presence.
The song must’ve started to replay by now, Chad realizes. The stereo is coming up to the part where they’d been interrupted by an apparent divine intervention, so he walks back to the center of the floor.
“Are you gonna doodle all day, Director Evans? I don’t think we’d be doing the choreo justice if we just left it hanging like that.”
To Chad’s relief, this comment makes Ryan take his eyes off the notebook. He shoots Chad a playful look before laying the pencil on the pages and closing it.
“Right,” Ryan says as he comes closer. “Where were we?”
“The narrator steps aside and rejoins the crowd,” Chad explains, mocking Ryan’s way of giving instructions to get the dancers to really envision the scene. “Tony stands—”
“With blood still on his shirt, all messy—”
“Yes, blood on his shirt. I was getting to that—”
“And he helps Lola get to her feet…” Chad lets him take over. “Her hair is disheveled but the feathers remain, and she’s stained with blood all over: streaks on her face, mostly in her hands and up her arms. The yellow dress is stained as well, and one strap is hanging off her shoulder.”
“That’s enough on costume design, Ryan.”
He pretends to ignore him but moves on. “She and Tony dance in the same way they were at the beginning. Lola is smiling widely because, well, she’s lost her mind, while Tony’s expression is more neutral.” As he elucidates this, he grasps Chad’s hands and raises his arms; they dance, just like how it was in Chad’s mind. Ryan is agile and precise with his steps, leaving Chad to predictably keep up.
“The extras take up the entire stage to dance, Tony and Lola are swallowed by the crowd and subsequently get separated. Everyone is passing around their dance partners and the audience will lose track of the two leads.”
At this point, the boys are evidently not supposed to be moving together, but since there’s no one around to pass on to, Ryan doesn’t think much of Chad not loosening his hold.
“The crowd parts again, Tony is gone and Lola is dancing alone, holding her arms up and grinning as if she still has a dance partner. The narrator stands beside her, singing as the audience comes to the realization that…”
Chad feels Ryan slipping away, feels it in his soul, Ryan backing away to act out the final part, backing away from him. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he grips Ryan’s hands even tighter and pulls him closer, forcing him to look into his eyes.
“...It was an illusion, all along,” Ryan finishes, breathlessly.
And Chad makes a final, stupid, unscripted move.
He closes his eyes, closes in, and kisses the choreographer’s lips.
He draws back, and there are those blue eyes again. They’re not full of hatred like Chad thought they would be. They’re just confused, an endless ocean of all the questions Chad doesn’t have answers to.
And before Ryan can voice these concerns, Chad’s feet are on the move beneath him, slowly treading backward.
“Chad?” Ryan calls, his voice distant.
He spins around and runs from the dance room, runs like death is on his heels. The last thing he hears before he bursts through the lobby doors is the song: “Don’t fall in love, don’t fall in love…”