Stacy in Bloom Chapter 2: Time After Time, a kids incorporated fanfic

.2.

"Time After Time"

Watching through windows

You're wondering if I'm okay

Secrets stolen from deep inside

The drum beats out of time…

.xxxxx.

"That was awesome," Ryan declared as the band brought another song to an end. The others looked over at him gratefully, if not quite convinced the praise was warranted. He understood; it had been a long day already, an hour and a half into rehearsal after a full day of school. He'd long ago fallen into this role of cheerleader, however, trying to keep the enthusiasm rolling and the encouragement flowing.

"Can we take a break?" Devyn sighed, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. The Garage, though certainly spacious enough to hold the group, their practice equipment, and even a corner for their dancers to rehearse, wasn't exactly well-ventilated. "I'm dying for a malted."

Ryan quirked a brow. "Do you think you could hold off on death for another three minutes or so? We've got one song left to play through – "

He was interrupted by a chorus of groans, but he took it all in stride. "Come on, guys, it's been on the slate forever and we keep putting it off," he cajoled. "I think it'd be a great one to kick off our new Saturday night concert series with."

"Okay, okay, okay, if it'll get us to those malteds faster," Kenny relented. "What is it?"

Ryan picked up a stack of sheet music from the top of the old pink-and-purple piano, keeping a copy for himself before passing it around. "Not that I think you guys will need it, but…"

Richie gave a whoop as the stack passed by his drum set. "All right!" he cried. "I've been wondering about this one!"

Even Devyn grinned. "My audition," she breathed, curling the sheet music in her hands while simultaneously turning awestruck eyes at Ryan. "You think its good enough for a Saturday?"

The weekend concerts were always a bit more special, more pulled together than the afternoon sets at the P*lace. The band members wore matching outfits, had special stage effects, and played a themed set list. It was a step closer to a true real concert experience, in comparison to the lighter, more relaxed atmosphere of the weekday shows.

"I do," Ryan confirmed, returning her smile before turning his attention to the dancers' space. "Hey Brian," he called, catching the blond boy's attention. "Have you guys picked choreography for 'Here to Stay'?"

"We have," the lead dancer confirmed, though with a rather annoyed air about him as he gathered his troupe. "And by the way, thanks for bringing us a new recruit at such short notice!"

"I told ya she'd be a quick study," Ryan returned swiftly, his tone full of sweet sarcasm. This was Brian's first year as head choreographer, and it was obvious he felt more than a little territorial over his group. With one final, wary glance at them, he turned his attention back to his bandmates.

"All right," Ryan said, grabbing the neck of his guitar and stepping out front, turning to face the band so that he could gauge the full effect of the number. Kenny and Connie were also holding instruments, while the others had grabbed mics. The dancers took their starting positions as well, intermingled with the singers. All were waiting for his cue. "Let's do this!"

Richie counted off, and the band launched into the high-energy dance hit. Though it had been Devyn's audition piece, all of the singers took parts now, which was why it had become one of Ryan's favorites – and why he was anxious to have it on the Saturday set list. This incarnation of the band had only been performing together for a few weeks, and all during summer, when they only played daily afternoon sets. This would be their first "concert" together as a group, and Ryan thought it important that they pull out a big ensemble piece to begin with, a way to officially usher in the new lineup.

Rehearsing the song was having a more immediate effect at the moment, just as he'd anticipated – it had energized his friends, who were beginning to sing louder and move more precisely as their fatigue slipped away. Stacy had the first bridge of the song, and was busy watching Brian and Dee for cues of the choreography as the three moved in sync across and in front of the others.

"Hold on / hold on / can't you see what's going on?" she sang, the boys flanking her and moving with the beat of the music. The three pivoted, forming a conga-style line, their hands falling onto the waist of the person in front of them, and they dipped their hips in short, low circles alongside the staccato rhythm. "Hold on / hold on / don't let it slip away!"

Ryan's eyebrows shot up at the risqué move, but he rolled with it, watching as the boys immediately pirouetted away. Devyn moved center stage then, surrounded by the girls – Gina, Nicole, and the newbie, Kimberly – and the four were in the midst of a complicated, synchronized routine. As the girls fanned out, the boys slid into their positions, one on either side of Devyn, before jumping up and bending at the waist, one hand on a hip and the other flung up in the air behind them. It was quite impressive, really, but then – Brian had a flair for mixing modern dance with classical ballet.

The dancers angled off then, Connie and Kenny commanding center stage as the reprise lyrics started. Stacy emerged between them, in the middle, while Devyn took one flank – Ryan noted his position on the other for the actual performance – to finish the song. "We're here to stay / no one can take us away," crooned the girls, while the boys picked up the backbeat: "Keep holding on / can't stop us now." Stacy, Devyn, and the dancers – now behind the band – did the same swinging hip move from before; the others, holding instruments, wouldn't be able to.

The group finished with a natural flourish; his friends let out little shrieks of delight, satisfying sounds to Ryan's ears. He liked leaving off on high-energy numbers for just that reason: adrenaline coursing through their bodies would make them much more likely to return for another hour or two of work after the standard fifteen-minute break.

"I think we've earned those malteds," Kenny huffed, turning with a big grin to slap hands with best friend Devyn. "I'll race ya to the P*lace!"

"You're on!" she laughed, the two taking off and leading the rush out the door and across the street.

"Hey, Brian," Ryan called, grabbing his co-leader's attention as his dancers followed the band members. "About the choreography…."

The blond boy grinned knowingly. "Let me guess," he proposed, crossing his arms over his chest, "tone it down?" He lifted his chin, his expression superior, as if he was spoiling for a fight. This wasn't the first time they'd had a variation on this conversation – and, Ryan suspected, it wouldn't be the last.

"It's just a bit…suggestive for a middle-school audience," he hedged, his tone somewhere between irritation and deference. He wasn't the sort that sought out confrontation, much preferring to play diplomat where he could. "Maybe you and Dee could do without touching the girls so much?"

Brian lifted a brow, but seemed to think better of challenging him directly. "All right, Captain Prude," he replied. "But if you want me to tone it down with my dance moves? Maybe you shouldn't pick such suggestive numbers." He shrugged. "Or, you know, you could always just mind your own business." With that, he trotted off after the others, leaving Ryan alone in the practice space.

Ryan frowned, his brows knitting together as he contemplated Brian's final words. He didn't think he had been overstepping his boundaries in offering Kimberly an audition with the dancers; after all, she'd asked him because she knew he was the de facto leader of the group. He made a mental note to refer all future potential dancers to Brian, hoping that would be enough to nip that burgeoning problem in the bud – goodness knows he didn't have a shortage of such niggling issues to deal with already.

But, something else had caught him off guard as well. He'd been called a lot of things in his time – including "bossy," "pushy," and "know-it-all" – but "prude"? That was new. Though, really, it had never really been his concern to worry about the image that Kids Incorporated was projecting to its audience. After all, there were always older members of the group to keep things in order, if necessary.

Plus, he contended, there hadn't been nearly as much upset in the ranks of the dancers over the last couple of years as there had been in the line-up of musicians. It was only natural, he suspected, for Brian and the others not to see the problem with exploring flashier, riskier dance moves, because they were used to everyone in their squad being the same age – and interested in the same things – as themselves.

Sometimes Ryan wondered if he was the only one of the lot who looked out over their afternoon audiences, only to see a sea of ever-younger faces staring back.

It was something that had been bothering him more than he cared to admit lately.

He shrugged, walking back across the room to where his guitar was plugged in. He sat down on the amp, plugging in a pair of nearby headphones and shuffling through the papers on his music stand. Between school, college applications, the band, and fall workouts with the baseball team, he had little time to work on his own music. He missed these few, quiet, precious moments, just him and his guitar and the melody that manifested in his mind.

His eyes slipped shut as his fingers found familiar frets, sliding across the coiled steel strings in a haunting refrain, darker than the usual Kids Incorporated fare. In what little spare time he had, he tuned his radio to punk rock from the late 60s and early 70s. He liked the way it transitioned into the realm of the experimental, the way simple chords became minor keys, mixing with off-kilter time signatures to become something almost bizarre, and yet, strangely intoxicating all the same. It was music meant to challenge the listener, not only with its lyrics but with its very timbre, tone, and structure.

It was music that pulled at something deep inside him, that inspired him to write, to play, to analyze and examine.

As much as he enjoyed playing with Kids Incorporated, he felt stifled by it at the same time. Their standard fare consisted mostly of pop music covers, the sort of extremely catchy but ultimately mindless fluff that played well to a young audience. It was trickier to pick songs now that the vocal – and musical – composition of the group had changed.

Richie, their cheerful and charming drummer, possessed a beautiful voice, but he much preferred to stay behind the scenes. He constantly conceded solo parts; it was hard enough getting him to take a verse or chorus during one of the ensemble pieces. He had been recruited at the same time as Connie, the youngest member of the group. She had auditioned with a Madonna song, and usually took the lead when one of the Material Girl's numbers made it to the slate. She had also shown interest in learning how to play an instrument, which Ryan encouraged at every turn.

The two newest members of the band, Kenny and Devyn, were each quite talented in their own right. The two had been partners for years before joining Kids Incorporated, mostly plying their trade in the school yard or on street corners. Kenny could hit Michael Jackson's high notes almost as well as the Kid, the singer he'd replaced. Devyn had the ideal voice for a pop princess, and could produce pitch-perfect harmony on a Motown classic, or project the innocence of Debbie Gibson or Tiffany on a solo. Musically, she was likely the second-strongest vocalist of the group, after Stacy.

The pretty blonde had stepped into Gloria's shoes as lead singer with aplomb, carrying hits from Taylor Dayne to Whitney Houston to everyone in between. Her voice had gained a seductive strength as she matured; it could be belted out or whispered quietly with equal ability and control. In the last year or two, she'd taken an interest in instrumentation as well, experimenting with everything from guitar to steel drums in an effort to help him and the others out on that score.

For his part, Ryan was hardly ever without his guitar on stage; it might as well have been an extension of his body by this point. His voice fell into a range between Kenny's high tenor and Richie's smooth baritone, which meant he found himself singing lead, or partnering in a duet, more often than not of late. He preferred songs with a little grit, covers from bands like Bon Jovi and Foreigner, when it came to choosing his own numbers. These types of songs came closest to his originals, exploiting the best features of his voice and playing ability.

Such choices were a necessary evil, as most of his free time these days was spent working on things for the band – vetting songs, learning stagecraft, giving lessons – and it was beginning to wear on him. He'd taken up baseball for the sheer chance to get away from it all, to be a part of a team instead of the leader, to have someone else hold cheering duties for a change. As much as he enjoyed performing with his friends, he wanted more time to write and sing his own songs. Music wasn't just something he was good at – it was the way he expressed himself. His biggest dream was to get into Juilliard on a music scholarship, and he couldn't help but wonder how much – if at all – his presence in Kids Incorporated was holding him back.

"That's beautiful," ventured a quiet voice, breaking into his reverie.

He opened his eyes, his gaze rising to find Stacy standing in front of him. He felt a jolt of surprise at her presence, but quickly recovered himself, pushing the headphones off his ears. "Thanks," he replied with a soft smile. "So's my inspiration."

He missed the flush that colored her cheeks, busy scratching down a few notes on the variation of the melodic line. She thrust one hand forward, offering him one of the two sodas she held. "I thought you might be thirsty, too," she said sheepishly.

"Thanks, Stace," he replied, glancing up at her gratefully as he took a sip. "You didn't have to do that."

She shrugged. "I know, but you're always taking care of us." She downed a bit of her own drink, her eyes wandering to his music stand at the same time.

He eyed her carefully. He knew if he was patient enough, she'd get around to the real reason why she'd returned so early. Stacy had many endearing traits, but punctuality was decidedly not one of them.

Mercifully, she didn't make him wait that long. "I was wondering if you'd go through 'Who Will You Run To' with me again? One-on-one?" she blurted out in a rush, almost as if she expected him to decline.

"Sure, Stace," he replied, giving her his best encouraging look. He scooted over to give her sitting space beside him on the amp. "Pull up a guitar and stay awhile."

Her expression melted into a grin as she set down her soda and picked up the band's communal pink guitar. Ryan switched the cord for his headphones with one for her instrument and pulled the music stand close, between them, before laying out the sheet music. The two sat side by side, straddling the amp, almost mirror images of one another.

"I'll play you in," he said, to which she nodded, poised at the ready with her left hand already forming the first chord. He struck the first note of the rhythm line and she followed, hesitant at first, but quickly gaining confidence.

"You're not sure what you want to do with your life," she sang, "but you sure don't want me in it…"

Ryan listened quietly, trying to concentrate on her playing, but found himself distracted by her voice. There was a quiet confidence lingering there, perfectly controlled in the alto range, but with the promise of something beyond…something that invariably made his heart pump a little faster in his chest.

He loved listening to her sing, the sort of emotion she could effortlessly evoke no matter what the lyrics, the way it echoed through him and yet embraced him all at once. He looked upon her now with a strange mix of pride and protectiveness, conflicting thoughts and feelings forever intertwined. They'd practically grown up together – musically, at least – and their respective sounds complemented each other quite well because of it. It felt natural to sing with her, to sit beside her and exchange guitar tracks, to perform with her on stage. Her presence was comforting, steadying, grounding. He'd looked after her when she was the youngest, along with everyone else, because he had always appreciated how open and honest she was with him. When he'd first rolled into town and rather arrogantly asked to be let into the band, she had walked right up to him while the others held back, prodding at him with curious hands, as if she'd never seen a real leather jacket or felt real spiky hair before. It was a memory that would always stick with him, and part of the reason why he was just a bit concerned about how down she'd been since Renee and the Kid had moved overseas.

Her fingers slid off the frets and she strummed a dead chord, bringing him crashing back to reality. "It's all wrong," she groused, slapping the body of her guitar with frustration.

Ryan gave her a sharp, surprised look. "You've got this, Stace," he assured her, laying a hand on her shoulder. When she didn't respond, he ducked his head, trying to capture her gaze. "But somehow, I get the feeling you're not talking about the song anymore…"

She bowed her head, her lips thinning into a grim line as she eyed the tops of his sneakers.

Another patch of silence stretched between them, Ryan's concern mounting with each passing moment. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

She shook her head, stubborn in her refusal to look up. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately," she reluctantly admitted.

When she didn't elaborate further, Ryan finally spoke. "Well, you know if you ever need anything, you can come to me, yeah? I hate to see you so down and out, so anything I can do…"

The corners of her mouth turned up in a hint of smile. "I know, Ryan. Thanks."

He gave her shoulder another reassuring squeeze before pulling away, reaching down to flip off the low buzz of the amp. He knew something was bothering her, and he wished she'd share it, but at the same time, he knew better than to push. All he could offer was the reassurance that their friendship hadn't changed just because the others were gone.

Besides, she was resilient; he'd rarely seen her down for more than a couple days before returning to her normal, bubbly self.

Desperate for a change in conversation, he asked, "So, how goes the English assignment?"

"Terrible," she sighed, pulling the strap of the guitar over her head. "I'm almost a week behind on the daily prompts already."

"Well, that I can help you with," he announced, digging through the stack of papers on the ground next to the amp. He pulled out a sheaf of loose notebook paper, hastily stapled together in one corner. "Here – I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about it."

She finally looked at him then, her expression a mixture of surprise, awe, and gratitude, as if she was being handed a piece of the holy grail. "Wow, thanks," she breathed.

"A day in the life of the mundane," he joked, seizing the opportunity to lighten the mood. "If you read my assignment, you'll realize you really can't do any worse!"

She shot him a surprised look. "I doubt that," she snorted. "You've always got your nose buried in a book!"

"Ah, but just because I enjoy reading a good story doesn't mean I can write one," he clarified. "Look, there is such a thing as overthinking. Stop doubting yourself and your abilities, and just start writing. You'll probably find inspiration in the last place you'd ever expect."

When she still looked skeptical, he switched into cheerleader mode. "You're a terrific person, Stace. You're one of the most popular girls in your class, you have loads of friends, and you're a talented singer – that's more than a lot of other kids can lay claim to." He clapped a hand over her shoulder, giving her another reassuring squeeze. "There's plenty there, just waiting to be mined. You just have to have the confidence to know it's worth writing down."

Finally, mercifully, a genuine smile curved her mouth. As her eyes traveled from the hand on her shoulder back to his face, understanding seemed to blossom across her expression. "I think I understand this whole 'inspiration' thing now," she said. "Thanks, Ryan – you're the best!"

He grinned in response. "Glad I could help," he replied. "Now, are you ready to give that song one more try?"

She nodded, looping the guitar strap over her head, and he turned his attention back to the sheet music. It always seemed whenever he was close to contemplating pulling away from his duties with the band – to his friends – some crisis always sucked him back in. For now, he was content to continue along this same path, but eventually, something would have to give.

He glanced at Stacy as he played her in. I just hope it's not you, he thought as she began to sing once more.