"Oi! Jordan! You coming tonight to watch Flash4 and Lu$h have it out? I can't wait to watch Lil' T crush Angel. How can he call himself a man in an outfit like that?" An energetic voice called as the loud pounding of feet indicated someone was approaching quickly. Jordon Chan turned, slowing his pace to allow his friend to catch up "They're dancing on Flash4 turf by the mini-golf course."

"I don't know Mason, I don't think my dad really likes the whole idea of dance crews. He just about killed me when I asked him the first time." The pale-skinned boy replied, swinging his messenger bag back and forth through the air.

"Aw, come on Jordy. Just stick it to him, man! No big deal, they're not exactly secretive matches. Everyone knows all the names of the street crews: Riptide, Flash4wrd, Lu$h, The Glitterati, and Ninja Crew. It's not like we're going out to get jumped during a discrete dance match in a dark alleyway."

"Mason you don't know my dad. If I told him I wanted to be a dancer he would probably kill me. Not kidding. My sister went out and joined the Glitterati and my dad literally disowned her." The black-haired boy huffed, straightening his dark blue collared shirt uncomfortably, tucking it in one part of his black pants, only to have it poke out of another. He frowned.

"Pleeeeease?" Mason begged, clasping his hands comically together and widening his dark-blue eyes. Jordan sighed in response, shuffling his dress shoes on the dirty pavement.

"Fine, I'll ask him. But—" He began.

"Yeah!" Mason crowed, doing a little victory dance in a circle around the Asian boy.

"But, don't get your hopes up." The shorter boy laughed, slinging his bag over his shoulder and heading in the direction of the subway. "It's a bazillion to one chance."

"Right. Well on the off-chance that he says yes, I'll meet you by the windmill hole at six, yeah? Later!" Mason shouted in return, waving profusely before turning and running in the other direction.

Jordan chuckled, hopping down the subway steps two or three at a time. He swiped his subway card across the scanner and emerged onto the plat form: and onto his own little slice of heaven. In this city, yes there were the top dance crews like Riptide and Lu$h, but there were some dancers who couldn't get into the crews, or didn't want to. The subway was where these wayward performers gathered.

Jordan turned in the direction of a large crowd that had gathered, Suckers Just Try blasted from a nearby boom-box, rattling the ground with each drop of the bass. Jordan shoved his way through the crowd, wincing as energetic spectators ruffled his hair and shoved his around. In the center of the mob a girl in baggy camo pants and a black tube-top spun wildly on her head before quickly flipping backwards, spinning through the air to land with her feet spread, arms flared above her head.

Jordan scoffed quietly, "Off on the half-step. You're supposed to twist your right ankle so you don't stumble." He recited quietly, remembering what he'd learned through watching and listening to the big crews discuss moves.

"Oh? What'cha say shorty? Since when are you the authority on dance? You wanna step up 'an do it better?" A tall boy crowed, stepping up beside Jordan.

Apparently Jordan hadn't been so quiet. "Um, I don't—" He began.

"Aw B.Z., don't be too hard on him, looks like the poor spaz got lost on his way to boarding school." The girl in the camo crowed. "Unless you really are a dancer in disguise? You got the build, wanna prove your worth small stuff?" He said, leaning into the black-haired boy's face

The short boy ducked his head, "Sorry, no. I guess I didn't think anyone would hear me I'm just…" he shifted his feet. "Going now." He disappeared into the crowd, face burning. He could hear the teasing cat-calls as the left the crowd behind and slipped into another mob.


Jordan slammed his front door shut, casting his bag to the side roughly, causing his cat –Meiko- to mewl in surprise and dash out of the way.

"Jordan?" A voice called, heavy Korean accent butchering the name.

"What?" The tired boy replied in effortless Korean. Not really in the mood to be yelled at by his father, or even see the strict man's face Jordan started up the stairs.

"Where have you been. You are to return right home after school."

"Sorry… the subway was real crowded." He called down the stairs before slamming his door shut. Carefully locking his doors, Jordan un-tucked his shirt and kicked off his tight shoes in disgust. He flopped down on the bed, relaxing into the embrace of the duvet. His over-sized headphones enveloped his ears in a tech-beat-saturated sound cloud and Jordan was lost to the world.


Jordan glanced at his desk clock, the green numbers flashed 5:30 and the pale boy grimaced- it was almost time for him to meet Mason at the golf-course. Figuring he'd have to make amends with his dad if he even wanted to have a chance at watching the dance-off he stomped back downstairs.

"Father?" He spoke respectfully and slowly in Korean. "I have a request I must make of you." Kang-Dae Chan - Jordan's father - slowly put his book down and raised his eyebrow, eyes cold. "I was wondering if I might, go out… with friends, at night…. tonight."

"Tuck in your shirt," The older man instructed in a biting tone. Jordan immediately obeyed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Where are you going? The library? Arcade? I expect not to watch a dance competition? Your grades have been dropping below B's, and watching those groups put their bodies on show for kicks is no way to help your mind grow."

Jordan clenched his fist. "Father—"

"I do hope you don't intend to follow in your sister's footsteps and become a dancer. There is no future in such things."

"Shut UP dad! You don't know ANYTHING about dancing. I doubt you know the difference between popping and locking and wouldn't know a good moonwalk in Neil Armstrong slapped you in the face with a sequined glove!" Jordan shouted in English, knowing his father would only understand half of it. Kang-Dae seemed to get the point though, and his face colored with rage.

"Are you implying that you plan to become some kind of dirty dancer?" The old man hissed. "Go to your room, don't emerge until you plan to revoke your prior statement."

Jordan stormed up the stairs and slammed the door, snapping the lock shut like it was his worst enemy. He stood seething for a few minutes before steeling his nerves and stripping down to his boxers and undershirt. Spinning on his heels he strode to his dresser, sliding open the bottom drawer and tossing piles of ties and socks onto the floor. Smiling softly to himself he pulled out a pile of clothes that were different from the rest.

He quickly donned a Technicolor t-shirt that he had spent all of his allowance on; the tight-fitting tee was like a visual slap to the face with its bright pinks, greens, yellows and reds. Hopping from one foot to another on the cold floor he pulled on a pair of garish yellow socks, then a pair of red-purple sneakers before realizing he wasn't wearing any pants. He cursed, then pulled off the sneakers and slipped on a pair of baggy black pants that had too many pockets to count. Pulling back on the shoes, Jordan looked at his reflection appreciatively. He turned in a small circle before clipping a pair of neon green fishnet suspenders to hang low around his knees. Tentatively, he picked up the last item in the drawer: bright green hair jell, the same green as the suspenders. Before he could lose his nerve he slicked his fingers in the goo and painted a bright stripe on the middle-left side of his head. . Grinning in appreciation, Jordan dropped the jell back in the drawer and looked in the mirror once more.

'Now I look like I could be a member of a crew,' he thought proudly, slipping towards his second story window. He slid it open, sitting on the sill for a moment before spotting something on top of his dresser. Elbow pads and a pair of fingerless gloves, he used them when he skateboarded. Jordan chuckled before he pulled a pad on one elbow, and a glove on the opposite hand. He pushed off from the window and landed on the ground in a crouch. He didn't even flinch as his shoes made contact with the ground, practiced dancer muscles used to the shock of hitting the ground at high speeds.

Jordan Chan didn't spare a glance back at his house as he took off running.