The Brandywine Prophet

5.1 Young Love

CHAPTER FIVE

YOUNG LOVE

(5, 6, 7, 8)

Rihanna again. But that’s okay.

The dancer was good; attractive all dressed in black with her creepy modern dance. Rihanna was a good choice; the song had the kind of bass line Chase could walk to; the kind of walk that made him feel at ease with his job; the kind of walk where his feet hit the ground on the beat and made him feel on top of the world. The song thumped from overhead with the amphitheater’s own speakers. Venues never have their own sound equipment! But then again, most venues weren’t outside. 

This girl is pretty cute. The clipboard said her name was Kennedy. Chase never met a black girl named Kennedy. But she was good. And she was cute. And she might just exit his side of the stage. If she did, that meant she liked him. If she finished her dance and walked off the other side, that meant she had no interest in dating him at all and he could forget about her forever.

Chase pulled back the green curtain and looked at the judges. How weird to see them bathed in sun! They bopped their heads to Rihanna. Lorrie sported her trademark, wide-open smile and nodded in excited approval as she scribbled comments about Kennedy’s dance without ever looking at the paper. (Phenomenal! Effortless! Be mindful of your footing!) The other two judges were attentive, but not as exuberant as Lorrie. They never were. (Good work. Practice your footing.)

Sixty--maybe seventy--people were in the audience. Pretty good turn out for teen solos.

Come on Kennedy, choose my side. Chase knew perfectly well that the wing in which a dancer exited the stage had nothing to do with their interest in him. It was just a mind game. He was self-aware of his mind games. He could stop if he wanted, but the games passed the time.

Chase tugged at his belt loops. He forgot a belt today and his pants kept falling down. His black Sparkle Motion polo was tucked in but hardly helped.

(5, 6, 7, 8) The Rihanna song ended abruptly (like most songs that were cut to meet the three-minute time limit). “Work it Kennedy!” someone yelled, spurring moderate applause. Kennedy held and dropped her final pose. She spun around, away from Chase, exited stage-left and fell with joyous relief into the arms of her teacher. 

She wasn’t that cute anyway.

Chase was surrounded by girls. Always. Right now he counted thirteen. There were usually more; usually practicing their routine in unexaggerated bursts or stretching their limbs with legs in a “v” on the ground. Each girl had to sign in with him. They gave him their name and number, and he phoned the lineup to April May. April May was the announcer. Her head never bopped. She didn’t have time to bop. She had to deal with Chase and the judges and tally the scores and announce the names and play the music.

“Next up we have competitive hip-hop, age fifteen. Please welcome Haley Jordan performing ‘Poker Face.’” April May had an adorable voice. Probably why Pauline hired her as the announcer.

Back stage, Haley Jordan’s expression was one of complete horror. Chase studied her mannerisms; breath held, eyes unblinking, teeth grinding circles, body motionless except twitching fingers at her side and the gentle sway of white beaded earrings. And then (5, 6, 7, 8) the music started--Lady Gaga--and Haley came to life. “Do your sassy walk, Hay-Leeee!” squealed her teacher. As the girl’s face emerged from the shadows of backstage and into the sunlight, her expression transformed instantaneously. Open. Alive. Smiling. Her earrings jangled and all her energy was focused on her audience. (Beautiful expressions. Cute costume!)