Kasey Screws Up the World Read online

  “Looks good!” Jorge said when he finally noticed we’d stopped, a full two minutes after we set down our mics.

  “Easier than I thought.” Finn led me off to the side of the stage, just behind the curtain.

  No backing out now.

  We had a good view of one side of the empty auditorium from our spot, and as the crowd filtered in, I imagined every person in the audience was the coveted reality show producer Lara desperately wanted to impress. Finn ran through the routine using his fingers as the dancers. I only practiced what it would be like to have a seizure.

  The lights dimmed, and I smoothed down the leotard Lara had gifted me with shaky fingers.

  “Ready?” Finn asked, offering me his hand.

  I had to be. I’d run out of excuses.

  As we stepped toward center stage, Lara gazed up at me from the front row with the other performers. Her glitzy dance leotard caught the beam of light the technician shone on me, illuminating her face in the process. Which meant I couldn’t ignore the way her smile disappeared, replaced with a look of utter confusion.

  She gripped the edge of her seat with tightened muscles. I took a deep breath and focused my attention on some random audience member at the back of the theater. Someone who wouldn’t judge me.

  I had the first lines, which Finn probably realized was a mistake when a full thirty seconds went by and my mouth didn’t open. The random audience member shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  Finn cleared his throat. “I know you expected the fabulous jokes of your Cruise Director…”

  He elbowed me and the next words flew from my mouth without my permission. “But unfortunately he’s tied to a brick at the bottom of the—” I covered my mouth, partly at my outburst but also because it was part of the routine. After a deep, calming breath, I dropped my hands to my sides. “I mean, he’s sick.”

  A few people in the crowd laughed. And I mean just a few.

  I turned to Finn and pleaded with my eyes. He gave me an encouraging smile, one I’d like to interpret as: Remember, we hadn’t tried very hard on the joke portion of our routine.

  “Don’t worry,” Finn said, to the audience and to me. This wasn’t part of the script. “Along with singing and dancing tonight, you were supposed to be in for some comedy, but apparently the only way that’s going to happen is if the dancers trip and the singers forget their words.”

  This earned him genuine chuckles. I felt a pang of jealousy; I wanted the same reaction. “Speaking of the dancers, we thought we’d interview one before they performed. A get-to-know-them kind of thing.” I peered out into the audience, making a grand show of placing my hand to my forehead like a sailor looking out on the horizon. “Ah, there’s a nice victim.” I walked to the end of the stage and gestured for Lara to stand up. This was the only way I could justify to myself to do a dance routine: by first giving my sister a little bit more of the spotlight through a tongue-in-cheek interview. This way, the audience would anticipate her performance. I could be the star and help my sister at the same time.

  I held out the mic to her. She looked away, and my heart beat fast. I pulled the mic back to my side. “Uh…” This wasn’t in the plan! I turned to the audience and saw every face glued to me. If Lara wouldn’t say anything, I’d have to. “Maybe we should ask the singers. They’re more vocal,” I adlibbed.

  At least the audience laughed at my quick joke. I stood up straighter.

  Finn glanced from me to Lara. An awkward second of silence passed before he jumped in to rescue me. “Enough with the jokes,” he said, breaking from the script, his voice wavering. “You’ll get more of those when the other dancers perform.”

  What was he doing? I gritted my teeth as the audience laughed, fearing they might misunderstand him and interpret his words as a jab that Lara was the joke. I quickly walked away from her, hoping they’d forget I ever pointed her out. I had to think of a way to make Lara look good again. And fast.

  “Now it’s time to wow you with the first performance.” Finn put his arm around me. “Ours.”

  “But—” The sound reverberated from my mic.

  “Hit it boys!” He gestured to the sound guys and they took the hint even though it wasn’t the cue we’d practiced. The first notes of the Katy Perry song thumped through the speakers. Finn yanked the microphone from my hand and set it on the floor behind us with a loud thump that echoed throughout the room.

  I froze in place, refusing to move. “We didn’t help Lara out!”

  He grabbed my hand, tugging my body toward his. His other hand clasped on my shoulder. “I know. But she wasn’t cooperating, so I had to find another transition into the song. Ready?”

  I glanced behind me and caught my sister’s horrified expression. I gave Finn a tiny shake of my head.

  He ignored my protest. When his foot stepped forward, mine automatically moved backward. My other foot joined in, muscle memory taking over my brain’s commands to stop. As Finn sent me into a twirl, what I wanted took victory over what I would regret later. I forgot my fears. I forgot the audience.

  I forgot Lara.

  I put my entire body into the twirl, making sure to keep my lines and angles neat and structured like my dance team coach always insisted. Each stomp of my foot reverberated through my body and pumped new energy into my moves. The music pulsed to a crescendo and my feet were in perfect sync with Finn’s. Just like we’d been the entire week.

  Finn lifted me up by the shoulders, and I kicked my legs to one side of him. Velocity and force normally existed for me only in Physics class, but on stage they allowed me to push off his one side and swing my legs around his body onto his other. He pulled me back to center and I finished the move by straddling him mid-air. A loud cheer from the audience gave me the courage to spice up the step with a backward flip to the ground. We hadn’t even practiced it, but with the audience cheering me on, something told me I could master it.

  Not all our aerials went as smoothly and on the next attempt, I missed my cue because I’d gotten ahead of the beat in my excitement. I ended up leaping in front of Finn stupidly and then circling back to his side to try again during the next measure. Finn played it off with both hands to his cheeks and his mouth forming a wide O and that got both a laugh and a cheer from the audience.

  It seemed planned. Like I knew what I was doing. Like I was in control of both myself and of the audience. They were pliable in my hands, and I could decide whether they got bored or elated, whether they clapped afterward or snickered.

  I decided to wow them.

  As the music slowed and Katy Perry held onto her last note, Finn flipped me into the air. Each time we’d practiced this move earlier it involved a lot of false starts and praying, but this time I didn’t clench up, didn’t chicken out as his hands reached for me. I folded my body into the throw. My hands reached out and gripped his chest, pushing off again so my legs could wrap around his neck as I landed on his shoulders.

  The music segued into clapping and an ovation from everyone in the crowd. Everyone except one.

  Finn set me down, and I wiped the sweat from my brow as my lungs pumped for breath. I wanted to revel in what little recognition I had because I knew in only a few seconds, Lara would glide on stage and re-claim the spotlight back for herself. I should have waved and blew kisses to the adoring fans like Finn was doing. Instead, I stood there biting my lip, running through potential excuses and explanations to say that would make my sister smile again.

  “You were amazing,” Finn whispered through a break in claps. The audience settled back into their seats.

  For the first time, I believed him.

  As I descended the stairs, Lara stood at the bottom, waiting to be called onto stage. Her lip quivered as she opened it to say something to me, but she changed her mind and flipped her attention to the wall. Her hand stretched the skin of her face, smearing eye shadow all over her cheek.

  The room that had seemed so warm a moment ago made goose bumps pop all over m
y arm. I reached toward my sister, hoping to tell her it wouldn’t matter once she got on stage. She flicked me away.

  I slumped into my seat.

  “I don’t know how anything will top that performance,” Jorge said. I cringed. Finn gave me a reassuring nod. “But if anyone has a chance, it’s your next performer,” he continued, “She’s a future Tony award winner and sure to be a contestant on next season’s Next American Dance Star. Get her autograph after the show, folks. Because I’m sure it will be worth something soon. Please welcome Lara Fishbein.”

  Lara smoothed down her flowy ballerina skirt and climbed the steps as if each one required too much effort. Three of the ship’s staff dancers—all dressed in white leotards—lined up behind her. The lights bounced off her glittering outfit into an array of sparkles, making it impossible to keep your eyes off her.

  Smoke rose from generators. The crowd oohed and ahhed at the special effects while Lara and her dancers stood frozen in poses. My leg shook with nerves for her. And then the music began.

  I nodded my head at the first note, ready to count along the measures of Rihanna’s slow, melodic ballad. But the beat pulsed faster, more aggressive, more familiar. Katy Perry’s vocals trilled, but not enough to drown out the subtle laughter echoing through the audience.

  Finn’s horrified expression matched my own.

  As Katy belted out a vocal in the very measure where Finn and I started our swing dance, the backup dancers took off, twirling across the stage and arcing their hands in the air. Lara stood in place, and for a moment, I thought it was part of the act. But then her head snapped up and she opened her mouth wide. Belatedly, she twirled like the dancers, only a few counts off, lagging like a live TV broadcast delayed a few seconds from reality.

  The dancers noticed their leader’s postponed movements and contorted their heads back at her. They slowed their steps, but Lara skipped a few of the moves they had just done. She leapt in a split, which didn’t match the delicate low dip the other dancers completed. The dancers stopped mid-bow and turned to each other with questioning eyes. One even shrugged, as if trying to save face in front of the audience.

  Lara stopped short at the sight of the shrug. The entire stage paused like a still life, the only movement coming from Lara’s chest as it puffed in and out rapidly. It felt like an eternity before she strolled back to the center as the grooves of Katy Perry’s chorus pulsated in a cheery melody. She lifted her arms in the air, bent her neck, and froze in the same position she began the show in.

  The other dancers stared at her before hurrying back to their starting positions. One of the dancers waved to someone backstage, and the music cut to a screeching halt. A few seconds passed before it began again.

  The audience stirred. All the sweat in the world seemed to be gathering at the nape of my neck. I hoped for Lara’s sake her delusion of a producer being in the audience was just that. The woman behind me said, “Yikes, this embarrassing to watch.”

  I had to do something. I had to save my sister. A million ideas raced through my mind: pull a fire alarm, get up on stage and dance with her, stand up and trip in the aisle so everyone looked at me instead. But all of those things would do the very thing that caused this mess in the first place: they would rob her of her spotlight once and for all.

  So I did the only thing I could do. I turned to the people behind me. “She’s really good. I think the ship’s turbulence may have messed her up.”

  “Yeah.” Finn nodded. “It’s rocking like crazy right now. I feel nauseous.” He clutched his stomach for emphasis even though this had been the calmest the boat had felt all week.

  Lara threw herself into her repeat performance while her back up dancers moved with timid steps, their eyes constantly flicking toward her. She overemphasized her leaps, sometimes wobbling as she landed, and she exaggerated her twirls. Her anger seeped into her movements; instead of fluidly gliding her arms through the air, she looked as if she was punching an invisible airbag. Most likely picturing my face inside the emptiness.

  On one of her leaps, Lara landed with too much bounce, and crashed into one of the other dancers.

  The audience burst into hysterics. Lara burst into tears. I simply burst, half rising out of my seat as if I planned to pull a bait and switch and take her place without anyone being the wiser. I should have been the one to fail.

  Lara abandoned the routine all together and rushed off the stage. All heads turned as she headed down the side aisle despite her empty seat in the front row.

  Finn and I followed after her.

  I found her by the elevator, jabbing the button, her heels dangling from her hands.

  “Lara, are you okay?”

  She rolled her red-rimmed eyes. I expected to see a mix of embarrassment and pain. Instead I only saw one thing: blame.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Kasey. This was important to me. You knew that.” The elevator doors opened, and she disappeared inside.

  But I also knew that I wasn’t the one that messed her up. She did that all by herself.

  Displaying 1 out of 10 comments.

  Ali said…

  Oh look. You screwed Lara over. Not predictable at all.

  MY FAVORITE DAY OF the school year used to be the annual Fall Pep Rally. They could bench me as an alternate during games, but during the pep rally, the team had no choice but to allow me to walk beside them in uniform. When Lara introduced the team last year and announced my name, my eyelashes fluttered closed as I savored the stream of claps in response. Sure, the clapping had been steady throughout all the introductions, but a tiny part of me let myself believe the applause was for me only. The very best part happened when I secured my spot in the last row and hit every jive of my hips and stomp of my foot in sync with the other girls. It didn’t matter if the students in the auditorium needed 20/20 vision in order to see me from. All that mattered was that I was part of it.

  Now, it didn’t matter to anyone else that I wasn’t.

  As I entered the auditorium behind Lonnie, I concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other as my shoes padded across the gray carpeting in the auditorium. A teacher ushered us into the third row. A sick feeling of dread pulled me into the red canvas seat like an anchor. I would have preferred to sit in the back but like classroom seats, the coveted slacker area had already been taken. Oh the irony of being early just so you could slack off without being under the watchful eye of the administration sitting on the stage.

  “Think of it this way.” Lonnie balanced his elbow on the armrest between us. “This will give you the perfect opportunity to act unimpressed at the dance team’s performance.”

  “Lucky me.” I willed a case of sudden-onset pneumonia. I faked a cough to test it out and Lonnie shook his head at me with a knowing purse of his lips.

  “So. I have news.” He tapped out a rhythm on the armrest, setting his words to music. “Or lack of news, rather.”

  “Hmm.” I pressed a finger to my lip. “That sounds like a subtle attempt at distracting me.”

  “The Clark impersonator wasn’t Ali. Denise told me Ali said, and I quote, ‘what, do you think I have no life?’“ Lonnie changed his voice into a high-pitched falsetto that sounded nothing like Ali.

  A breath seeped from my throat. It wasn’t Ali. That meant the first Clark commentor might have really been Finn. But the commentor never returned. That led more credence to the theory that it was someone trying to start shit. My public announcement of not accepting any comments from impersonators probably made them give up the effort. I sucked on my lower lip.

  Something Lonnie said caught up with me. “Wait. You talked to Denise?” I forced the end of my sentence to sound hopeful but I worried he might catch the way my voice shook on her name.

  Lonnie focused very intently on the way his jeans faded in the knees. He shrugged.

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “Nope, she announced that and then marc
hed to her seat. It was like a drive-by sentence. I doubt it even counted as a conversation.”

  Not to her, I thought, but I didn’t say that.

  I should have said that. Keeping that info to myself would only complicate matters more.

  Awkward silence settled between us as the crowds around us chattered with the excitement of missing classes. Silences hadn’t been awkward between us since Ali’s party over the summer.

  “And now,” our Principal announced, “The team that’s so good, they’re sure to win at Nationals.” She waited for the crowd to rile up in cheers. “The Manhattan Prep Dance Team!”

  Ali and Denise strutted onto the stage in their sparkly leotards and skintight black pants that showed off all their curves. I used to complain about the revealing uniforms and how difficult it was to squeeze my big butt into them. If only that was my biggest problem these days.

  They grabbed dual microphones and commanded center stage as they introduced each girl, one by one. They paused for several seconds after Crista Finnochio, where the Fishbeins used to be.

  I sunk lower in my seat. No one else noticed the change but the absence of our names felt like a gap in the universe.

  Denise read the next name, “Nikki Goldman,” and a girl with curly hair waved.

  They didn’t need me at all. The space I’d left was just that, a space, a quick breath between names, nothing more. I inched even lower, desperate to use the back of the seat in front of me as a buffer, blocking out my ability to watch the performance with everyone else. Lonnie tugged on my sleeve until I gave in and scooted upright again.

  They were reading about me. It was only fair I watched them. I deserved the torture.

  “Denise looks good,” I said to Lonnie in an attempt to distract myself.