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Ricky loosens his tie as he sprints down the East High hallway, putting as much distance between himself and the dull thud, thud, thud sounding from the gym and its loudspeakers as possible.
He doesn’t even hate dances. At least, he didn’t hate them last year. He did some grumbling before going to each of them, sure, but something about ending the night swaying back and forth with Nini had always felt so right. And the same should be true today. It is true. He just needs a second first.
He finds the stairwell he was looking for—far enough from the gym, in a dark enough hall not to be disturbed—and collapses onto the bottom step, able to breathe again at last.
He welcomes the peace the site gives him, relishes the supposed solitude. But he isn’t alone. A girl he doesn’t notice sits halfway up the steps, watching the newcomer with piqued curiosity. She waits for him to detect her presence, but the boy is distracted, burying his head in his hands and grasping at the ends of his curls like he’s tortured or something.
So, “Hello,” she says, and the boy jumps.
The hall lights are off, but the glow from a streetlight outside shines through the window just enough for Ricky to find her silhouette as he swivels his upper body round, bracing his hands on the step above him. He tries to make out her face, and the girl boldly stares.
The way they’re sitting, the dim light only serves to illuminate his face right now, but even if the hall weren’t dark, and her face were visible, Ricky wouldn’t know her anyway. He doesn’t much concern himself with sophomores, even outspoken, troublesome ones like her, nor does he concern himself with anyone outside the miniscule circle of friends he’s had for years, really. And the girl doesn’t recognize him either. She hasn’t bothered paying attention to anyone that isn’t in the theater program, despite not being in it herself.
They’re strangers. And yet there’s an undeniable, immediate intrigue piercing both of them, at the way they both chose the same spot for refuge.
“Why are you here?” she asks him before he can ask her.
Ricky is still too surprised and too out of breath to form much of a coherent sentence. “I, uh—” he begins to feel hot again, so he pulls his necktie still looser and stammers, “Just needed a breather. All that noise was giving me a headache, and my girlfriend will want to dance soon, and I’m terrible at it, and…” he doesn’t see it, but the girl’s eyebrow raises as he trails off, then pivots, “Why are you here?”
The girl says, “Well, I can dance. But I don’t have any friends.”
“Then why come to Homecoming at all?”
She hums like she’s keeping a secret. And she is.
Gina Porter does not talk about her life. It became tiresome, having to repeat the same tragic story over and over for people who did not care and would not remember it when she moved again anyway.
Usually she’d have tried to scare whoever interrupted her off by now. But this boy, as on the outside of the gym as she is, makes her curious. So what harm is there in talking about him? At least until he tries to escape of his own accord.
“This girlfriend of yours,” she asks, “does she make you feel bad about your terrible dancing?”
The insinuation immediately offends Ricky, and it shows on his face. “What? No!”
The instinct to defend his girlfriend’s honor is a great one. Nini has never made him feel bad about anything in his entire life. He’s always thought that’s why they work.
“Then why are you hiding from her?”
“I’m not,” he insists, for some reason feeling the need to explain himself to this stranger. “I’ll go back soon.”
He remembers the first time he and Nini ever danced together, at last year’s Homecoming. Nini was the one who had been hesitant, not because she was ashamed of him, but because she herself couldn’t dance either. So Ricky had held out his hand and promised they would be terrible together. Come on, he had said. Live a little.
“Neither of us are very good at dancing,” he admits now, “but that’s never mattered.”
Gina’s about to ask why he would mention being a terrible dancer in the first place if his retreat had nothing to do with it, when a lightbulb goes off in her brain. She has seen this boy before; she’s sure of it. In the hall, always with the same pretty girl. He’s right; she isn’t much of a dancer.
Gina turns and leans her back against the wall, and the change in angle immediately removes the shadows from her face. She has sharp eyes, and an intimidating expression to offset the colorful, sparkly dress she’s wearing. Ricky isn’t sure why seeing what she looks like makes his heart rate spike, but it does.
“She’s in the musical, isn’t she?” she asks.
Tentatively, Ricky settles against the opposite wall so they’re face to face. “You know Nini?” This conversation has already lasted a lot longer than he’d thought it would, and the shift in position suggests his companion isn’t rushing to end it. Which is good, because he isn’t either. “Are you in the play, too?”
The question surprises Gina. There aren't more than twenty people in the school musical, and if he can’t point out all their faces after a month and a half of rehearsals, then it’s definitely embarrassing that she can, considering it’s her first semester here and she doesn’t have a significant other in the show like he does.
But Gina has always been fascinated by theater. She even played her own share of leading roles in the past, before she decided it was no longer worth it a couple moves ago. And when it was announced on the first day of school that East High would be doing High School Musical for their fall production this year, it was different from the usual longing she felt. It was more. Gina always wanted the lead, but Gabriella in particular? Gina felt like she was her. The outsider to East High. The daughter that always got moved around.
“No,” Gina says to the boy in the stairwell. “But I watched auditions. I remember her.”
Gina isn’t even sure why she tortured herself by slipping into the back of the auditorium that day. She usually avoids the hoopla altogether. But alas, she did, and she remembers when the drama teacher had each auditionee line up for audition materials.
The teacher walked down the line one by one, deciding who should audition for what, and at the end of the line was Nini. A girl who had tripped her way through the dance portion of the audition and whose name had made Gina laugh the first time she’d heard it, before she’d realized it wasn’t a joke.
The drama teacher took a look at the girl, then consulted her notes. “How about we have you read for… Kelsi?”
Kelsi, the demure songwriter. A supporting role.
An indecipherable expression flickered across Nini’s face. For a second, Gina thought Nini might even refuse, suggest something else. But just as soon, the expression disappeared, and the girl meekly nodded.
Gina watched as they began the next phase of auditions. When it was time for the Gabriellas, Gina was sure. If she were up there, the role would be hers.
But then she spared a glance at Nini, watching from the edge of the stage, and saw a similar longing in her gaze. At that moment, Gina saw herself in Nini. Someone who wanted more, but didn’t go for it.
Gina knows why she didn’t audition herself, but she could only wonder about Nini that day. Now, Nini’s boyfriend was sitting across from her. She can get her answer. “Why didn’t she audition for Gabriella?”
Nini may have even gotten it. Gabriella wasn’t a particularly dance-heavy role.
Ricky scrunches his eyebrows together. “Gabriella?”
“The lead,” Gina reminds him. “I could tell she wanted to audition for it, but didn’t. Why not?”
This stumps him. Because he’s positive she’s mistaken about this. Of course, Ricky believes that Nini is talented enough for every lead ever if that were what she wanted, but after years of being in the ensemble, playing utensils or foliage or half a barnyard animal, Nini is playing Kelsi, her biggest role yet. She has never once told him she was unsatisfied.
He tells Gina as much, and Gina shrugs. “Maybe if you saw her audition you’d see what I saw.”
Ricky doesn’t even remember what he was doing the day of Nini’s audition, but he’s sure it was something considerably less painful than having to listen to a bunch of guys who voluntarily wear tights sing off-key just to get to Nini’s minute-long tryout when he can hear her sing just for him at home any time he asks. “Would they have even let me watch?”
Gina shrugs again. “You could have snuck into the back like I did.”
She flushes after she says it, because it wasn’t even necessary to say—she definitely remembers people showing up just to support their friends—and because if Gina is Gabriella, him watching from the back with her would practically make him her Troy Bolton.
She waits for him to point this out— hey, just like the main couple in the movie!— but he never does, because he hasn’t seen it, nor any other musical barring the first 15 minutes of The Greatest Showman.
She wonders if, had he been there, she would have auditioned in the end, just like Gabriella had. The fact that the idea even crossed her mind, that for a moment it had even seemed possible, unsettles her.
She gives herself an internal scolding. She can’t let herself be distracted by this boy. He is not Troy Bolton. “But then again, you seem to be a bit of an idiot, so maybe not,” she says for good measure.
Ricky’s eyes widen at the words. Then, incredibly, he laughs .
Gina can’t believe it. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing.”
She scowls at him, and it only makes him grin wider. Because he thinks he understands something about her now. She’s trying to be intimidating, in a way that would probably work on Nini, or his friend Big Red. But to Ricky it feels more like a test he’s determined to pass, an unusual feeling considering he can’t remember the last time he’s tried to make a passing grade in anything.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re here,” he reminds her, emboldened by his own assessment of her.
She leans forward toward him, and that wipes the smile off his face. The sequins on her dress cast tiny dancing lights across her cheeks, and Ricky can’t help but think the effect makes her look almost like an angel, despite the deliberately scary expression she’s sending his way right now.
He gulps, and the reaction seems to satisfy her.
“First Homecoming?” she changes the subject. She rests her head against the wall again, and Ricky shakes his head, clearing it of the fuzziness her proximity had filled it with.
“N–nah, Nini and I went last year. My mom actually chaperoned. Prom, too.” Then he winces, unsure why he said that last part.
Gina hums. She hadn’t realized he and his girlfriend have been together that long. “Was that embarrassing?”
Ricky allows himself to think about those dances last year. His mom had definitely meant well, given them space for a majority of those evenings, but yeah, it had been a bit embarrassing, the way Ricky would feel her staring throughout the night. Sometimes, he would even catch her stifling a laugh at his less-than-coordinated dance moves. Not in, like, a mean way, more in an amused, motherly, I’m-so-glad-you’re-trying way, but still.
There was one time at Prom when the woman had even pulled him and Nini aside to take pictures of them. Nini hadn’t minded at all, but Ricky had been mortified.
But at least his mom was there.
Something tortured overtakes Ricky’s demeanor again. “I thought so. At the time.”
Gina tilts her head at him, and for some reason it's enough for him to elaborate, “She lives in Chicago now. Officially, as of last week.”
Her gaze feels penetrating suddenly, as she studies his face. “Oh.”
Ricky scoffs, angry now for some reason. “Oh?”
Gina considers him for a moment. “I get it now. Why you’re hiding.”
“No offense, but I’m not sure you do.” He’s not even sure he does.
She seems unphased by his newly harsh tone. “Let me guess,” she says. “It feels safer to run than to stay and experience something that has changed without your control. It feels safer to talk to a stranger in a stairwell than to learn what a dance is like without her.”
The words floor him.
How pathetic would he have to be to be unable to face a school dance without his mommy there?
Ricky opens his mouth to respond, to deny it. Then he closes it. Because he can’t deny it.
For the first time, he wonders briefly if the chaperoning was a way for his mom to run from his dad before deciding it wasn’t far enough away. He wonders if there will come a time when Chicago isn’t far away enough either.
And now, he’s running too. People always said he was a lot like his mother. He hates that he feels shame for it now.
Gina smiles. “Am I close?”
A little bit. Actually, I think you may have just peered into my soul, but whatever.
“Why did you come?” Ricky asks again, and again she parries, “Does your girlfriend know how hard this is for you?”
Of course Nini knew. Nini was the first person Ricky went to when his mom had left. She’d tried to comfort him the best she could, but Ricky isn’t sure he could even be comforted right now.
But Nini doesn’t know that making her happy is the only thing keeping him together right now. So even though he knows she wouldn’t have made him come tonight if he’d told her the extent of it, he wouldn’t change it, because she wants to be here. And he just wants to be normal for her.
So if he had to tell her he needed a minute to run to the bathroom, only to come to this stairwell instead, so what? He’ll go back. He’d just wanted to clear his head, make himself better for her first. Everything is for her.
When Ricky doesn’t respond, Gina continues, “She loves you,” because as sure as she saw the ambition on Nini’s face at the audition, she saw her love in it in the halls after, whenever the two of them were together. She knows Nini would want to know how much he’s struggling.
Ricky coughs. That word… he and Nini haven’t said it to each other yet. But he doesn’t tell the girl in the stairwell that, because he’s ashamed to be the boy who hasn’t said those words to his girlfriend after a year. He’s afraid, and damaged by his parents, and scared of commitment, and he doesn’t want her to see him that way.
The girl bites her lip, and Ricky tears his gaze away when he notices he’s staring.
Gina doesn’t like that he’s stopped looking at her. “You asked why I came,” she says.
He looks back, and for the first time, the teasing is completely gone from her face. His heart is beating more wildly than ever, as if it can tell that Gina is about to say something honest, something she would never tell anyone else.
“I’m here because here isn’t home.”
The confession hangs in the air for a moment. The first real thing she’s said about herself this entire conversation. The first real thing she’s said about herself in a while, to anyone.
Ricky’s mind is awhirl, consumed with the desire to know more and struck with the knowledge that she’s a runner too.
Mainly, his heart sorrows. And despite the fact that he was terrible at it, and probably not nearly good enough to be her partner if what she said about being able to dance was true, he wishes for one fleeting moment that he was free to dance with her. That he could hold her and make her laugh and be her friend. Just to make her feel a little better. Just to make her night worth something more than an escape.
And for a second he thinks the girl may be reading his mind again, because then she says, “You should treat your girlfriend better.”
But when he reminds himself that she couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking, the observation, the still-earnest way she said it, startles him all the same. He wants to make a spiteful retort, something like, You don’t even know me, but for some reason that feels untrue. He wants to tell her that he and Nini have been together for over a year, and he doesn’t know any couples their age who have lasted that long, so that must mean something. But then he remembers his parents, and he’s not sure it means anything at all.
He wants to ask her what about their short conversation led her to that conclusion, when everything is for Nini, but he’s not brave enough.
And Gina is sad to have said it. Because as she’s spent this quiet moment with this stranger, she has decided something unbelievable. She likes him. In a way she’s never let herself think about anyone ever, she likes this boy, is intrigued by him, enjoys his company. And she thinks he’s a good guy, she really does, one that probably does love his girlfriend. But she’s not sure it’s enough. And she doesn’t want him to lose this, too.
His phone buzzes, and he knows it’s Nini, asking if he’s okay.
“I should probably…” He doesn’t take his eyes off Gina as he says it.
She nods. “Yeah.”
He stands from the stairs, fixing his tie. He thinks he should probably say something, but isn’t sure what. It feels like the end of something bigger than a conversation. He’s not sure how to say goodbye to it.
“Thanks for letting me intrude, Intimidating Girl,” he decides finally.
Gina holds his gaze for a moment, before finding her teasing smile again. “Good luck, Lover Boy.”
Ricky walks back to the considerably less peaceful gym, thinking about everything the stranger said. Somehow, it feels like another test has been laid out for him.
He finds Nini easily and asks her to dance.
He spins her in his arms, determined to pass this time. Determined to be normal and enjoy himself and be good to her. Because everything is for her.
And so when the girl in the sparkling dress slips into the gym, lighting the space she inhabits at the edge of the room like a beacon leading, pulling him back to her, he pretends not to notice.