Disclaimer: Hairspray, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of Marc Shaiman and New Line Cinema.
Something's Off-Beat
"Hey, little girl with cash to burn," I sing into the mike on the stage.
For the umpteenth time my gaze travels over the girls dancing on the white kids' side of the dance floor, back to the refreshment tables in the back, and lastly to the doorway of the gym. And for the umpteenth time my search is a failure: that amazing little girl is not here. I remind myself to keep smiling and try to get into the music as the kids dance happily to my singing.
I really should not feel so disappointed; there's no reason for me to. I didn't ask her to come. I didn't say that I wouldn't have a good time at the hop tonight if she didn't show. I didn't say I was going to watch out for her coming. No, I did not say anything like that. I simply suggested that she come to the hop and dance for Corny. Advice, I just gave some friendly advice, nothing more. I should be enjoying tonight, singing and dancing the night away… But I am not.
When I left her yesterday when the bell rang, I thought that everything would be normal again, no more cases of nerves and speechlessness…and stomach flip-flops for Link Larkin. I had to catch the early bus to the studio. I had the show to think about and those new dance steps to remember.
Yet as I walked down the hall with Brad, getting the bus, doing the show, and knowing the dance steps were the last things on my mind. I had to silently instruct, command myself to keep walking, not to turn around and go back to that classroom and that girl and ask her what her name was.
I ran into Amber outside by the bus. I do not remember a single word of our conversation. A pair of large brown eyes kept floating about in my mind, distracting me. Several times I glanced up at the school building; I was starting to lose the battle regarding not going back. Once I thought someone was watching us from a window; but when I turned to get a better look, Amber pulled me into a kiss. She noticed my absentmindedness, and I shrugged away her questions.
Things got worse from there. During the show, while on the air, I momentarily forgot the words of "The Nicest Kids in Town" and mouthed my way through part of the song. I have sung that song five days a week for three years – that would be the last song I forgot the words to. But the worst moment came later, during one of the new dance numbers: I forgot the steps of the dance. For several agonizing seconds, while the camera was focused on me, I just stood still, trying desperately to remember the dance. Nearly all the council members' smiles changed into open-mouth gapes for a half a moment before once again they smiled cheerfully. Amber stared at me with horror, bug-eyed, even after I resumed dancing. She started fussing the instant the show broke for a commercial, and I could only apologize for my mistake. There was no way I could explain that I'd messed up because I had been wondering if that girl's big brown hair with blond highlights was as soft as it looked.
I haven't seen her at all today. I casually peeked into detention a few times, but she wasn't there. Maybe if I'd spotted her just once, I would be more into the hop.
I catch Amber's gaze as she dances near the front of the stage. She frowns quizzically. I give her a quick wink and she smiles. She has already commented on me not seeming to be quite myself.
"Are you searching for someone?"
"Hm? Uh, no…"
"You keep looking over my shoulder."
"Sorry."
"Will you sing 'It Takes Two'?"
"No!!!"
"No?"
"I-I-I mean I wasn't planning to."
"But it would be great if you did, Link. You could sing to me. You haven't yet, you know."
I do know, and am not planning on doing anything about it. Usually I sing to a lot of the girls that come to the hop. But I have other things on my mind.
"The ladies' choice."
"The ladies' choice," three backup singers echo me.
Suddenly butterflies fill my stomach as I spot a short girl with big hair dance her way up the dance floor by the rope separating the white and black teenagers until she reaches the boy she was talking with in detention on the other side of the rope. My hands become damp, and I grip the mike tightly.
She came.
The hop has been in swing for almost an hour. I'm singing for the fourth time. It has been thirty hours since I saw her, spoke to her, bumped into her – no, thirty hours and twenty-one minutes. She is here. And the night is looking up.
Somehow I manage to continue singing despite the loud pounding of my heart while I watch her talk with her friend. She throws her arms around him and gives him a big hug. Lucky guy. I wish it was me she was hugging. She confidently moves to the center of the dance floor, and the kids back away. Suddenly I remember why I encouraged her to come. Corny!
I look to the other side of the stage and see that he has noticed the girl and is watching her with interest. I return my gaze to her, and a smile grows bigger and bigger on my face as she shows off her moves. Most of the kids cheer her on.
"Woooooooow!" I voice my thoughts.
The girl is just amazing. And some of the guys are now dancing with her, too. Corny looks like he has found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And I have finally found my beat. I slid across the stage and hold out a hand towards her, singing to her. Finally, our eyes meet for the first time in over thirty hours, and her smile is like a sunbeam. For the second time in my life I feel my stomach go flip-flop.
I finally reach the end of the song. The gym fills with wild cheering. The girl is surrounded by admiring students – mostly guys. I jump off the stage and head towards the group, my smile just a little tight. Before the night is over I will know her name and will have danced with her at least twice.
THE END