I promise that after this chapter, I'll can it
with the Flashdance references. Well, maybe. XP
Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing
02: She's a Maniac, Maniac on the Floor
"…And she's dancing like she's never danced beee-fore!"
A barely audible groan came from underneath Emi Toshiba's pillow, as her arm dangled listlessly over the side of the bed. That was all that could presently be seen of the lithe 17-year-old, as she was doing her very best not to join the land of the living. The blaring radio alarm clock wasn't helping matters.
"And that was Cover Me, with Maniac 2002!" announced the DJ in a cheerful voice. Emi couldn't understand how anybody could sound so chipper at such an ungodly hour. "Coming up, a brand new remix of Macarena!"
"Dear kami, no!" gasped Emi in horror, fumbling frantically for the snooze button, her flailing hand managing to hit every button but the intended one. In a last desperate gesture, she swept the clock to the floor, where it shattered into a mess of wires and plastic. No biggie. She could easily fix it later. Small price to pay for being spared the gut-wrenching terror Los Del Rio had inflicted on the world.
And now, she could go back to sleep…
Knuckles rapped briskly on her bedroom door. "Emi! Time to get up!"
Emi squinched up her face. Time to play the crapshoot sick card. "Moooommm! I don't think I can move! I might have snapped my spine! It's serious, I know it is! I definitely don't think I can go to school today!"
Her mother, of course, was not so easily fooled. "It's already 6:30! If you don't get a move on, you're going to be late for your first period! Don't you have computer class first?"
"Don't remind me," grumbled Emi, finally sitting up and hauling her legs over the side of the bed. She had no intention of 'getting a move on' to be in time for stupid old Computer Literacy with stupid old Mr. Malarkey, where everybody sat in front of their stupid old Apple IIs and listened to the teacher drone on about things of no interest to Emi. It was no elective class, it was punishment for something very cruel she'd done in a past life—Emi was certain of that much.
"Emi! Are you getting ready in there?"
Emi groaned again. "Yes, Mother."
She took her time getting dressed, even though she didn't have any real choice in the outfit: the required school blouse, yellow pullover sweater and pleated skirt. Whipping a brush through her short sky-blue locks, she topped the ensemble off with her ubiquitous beanie, made a face at her reflection in the mirror, and then trudged down the hall to the kitchen, where her mother was pouring herself a cup of tea.
"Where's Dad?" Emi inquired, noticing the morning paper sitting unread at his place at the table. "And breakfast?"
"He went down to the shop to fix the toaster. It's shooting sparks again."
Emi grinned as she crossed over to the fridge. The family lived in an apartment over their own shop, Toshiba Appliance and Repair, operated by both of Emi's parents—and, when she finished vocational school, Emi herself. As skilled as her parents were with all things electric, neither of them seemed to be able to tame the demonic toaster. "No problem. I'll just pick something up on the way to school." She grabbed a juice box for the trip, kissed her mother on the cheek, and waltzed downstairs to an imaginary beat, having momentarily banished thoughts of first period from her mind. "What a feeling…being's believin'…" she hummed under her breath as she waved goodbye to her father, still feverishly grappling with the toaster, and headed out the door.
The Toshibas' store was located in a shopping center with a number of other primarily Japanese merchant families, who all lived in the floor over their businesses. There was the Fujiyas' food market, where Emi frequently stocked up on such unhealthy goodies as Pudding Baby and coconut pocky; the Nidas' flower shop; Crystal Tokyo Video Rental, which was run by the Tsukinos; and, of course…the Itohs' liquor store.
Emi walked quickly past this last one, as she wasn't exactly eager to run into one of the store's occupants, who would be heading out the door for school at approximately the same time as her. Actually…well, a little part of her did want to see him. The tiny, infinitesimal part that thought he was cute. The rest of her was anxious to clear the area as quickly as possible.
But there he was on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction as her, so that intersection of the two paths was imminent. Emi groaned to herself. Couldn't he take a different route, just once? Wasn't he too old for high school, anyway? He was already 18 or 19, after all.
Moping along, watching the concrete, hands shoved in the pockets of his much-too-baggy grey camouflage pants. With that ridiculously spiky, anti-gravity brown hair, and that even more ridiculous goatee.
Actually, the goatee was kind of cute, too.
Emi squinted her eyes shut. No, I'm not going there. She opened them to see that he'd stopped right before her on the sidewalk. D'ohhhh…
But, "Hello, Reiji," she said formally, coolly, as if she were greeting a stranger.
"Hi," Rage responded flatly.
"How are you this morning?" Brilliant, Emi! You're finally talking to him, and you manage to pick the absolute lamest dialogue ever!
"Fine." Rage shifted.
Emi's mind suddenly lapsed. In the entire history of their acquaintance, this was the longest conversation they'd ever had. And she now had no idea what to say next.
"Well?" Rage asked after a minute.
"Well, what?"
"Are you going to move out of the way? I've got to get to school sometime today."
Cheeks flaming, Emi jumped out of the way, and Rage plodded past her without another word or glance. Way to ruin her good mood, Emi thought as she readjusted her beanie, then turned her nose up.
"Goateed freak," she muttered.
Emi was in an even gloomier mood on the way back home. Several of her classmates had been jabbering on last period about the great rave they'd attended last weekend, with its kickass DJ and abundance of candy necklaces, glow sticks and suspicious-looking little tablets. Emi's parents disapproved of raves wholeheartedly, and Emi, being the dutiful daughter, had never attempted to go against their wishes by sneaking out.
But she loved to dance, more than anything else in the world. She'd known that ever since she'd been five years old and choreographing routines to the "Muppets' Greatest Hits" on her Fisher-Price record player, to the applauding audience of her parents. Of course, her taste in music had changed a bit over the years, as her collection of albums had ballooned well into the hundreds, but Emi still got that same rush every time she popped a trance CD into her stereo and the beat automatically manifested itself through the movement of her arms and legs.
It was kind of pathetic, she thought, forever dancing by yourself where the only audience was your reflection in the mirror over your dresser. But outside of the raves, there just weren't any places for kids her age to go dancing. All of the clubs around were 21 or over, except for Asylum, and even there you had to be at least 18. Which left Emi, with almost a year to go before her next birthday, out of luck.
Emi just wanted a place where, at least once a week, she could forget about things like industrial school and lame remedial computer classes; a place where she could lose herself in a crowd, drown herself in a sea of strobe lighting and machine-made fog, and simply be swept away by the music. A place to transcend it. Her place…
She shook herself back into reality.
Yeah, fat chance of that happening.
"Excuse me, miss? Would you like a flyer?"
A smiling teenage girl extended a piece of bright magenta photocopy right under Emi's nose. "Grand opening is this weekend. No cover charge. We'd love to see you there!"
Emi accepted the flyer, scarcely glancing at it before deciding to pitch it into the nearest trash receptacle. Another nightclub ad. Well, it was the first time she'd passed for 21, anyway. She was about to toss it into a nearby dumpster when one line of copy caught her eye: All Ages Welcome.
She quickly scanned over the rest of it, her pulse quickening with each line. Club Revolution, it was called. Grand Opening Saturday Night. The Hottest Beats Spun by the One and Only DJ Naoki. 'One on One' Freestyle Dance Tournament - First Prize $500. No Cost to Enter.
She wouldn't dare enter the tournament, of course, but that didn't matter. It was a sign. Whoever the Patron Saint of Dance Clubs was, they'd decided to smile on her today. This had to be it—her place.
Flush with sudden excitement, her previous dismal mood all but forgotten, Emi hurriedly stuffed the flyer in her school briefcase and broke into a run, not noticing the figure heading in her direction on the sidewalk. With a smack, she collided with them, her briefcase flying out of her grip and tumbling into the gutter. "Oh—I—sorry," she gasped, pushing her crooked beanie out of her eyes. "I wasn't watching where I was go…" She looked up into the person's face and flushed. "…ing."
"No kidding," Rage replied.
***
Next chapter: Emi and Yuni go toe-to-toe…
Club Revolution: The Politics of Dancing
02: She's a Maniac, Maniac on the Floor
"…And she's dancing like she's never danced beee-fore!"
A barely audible groan came from underneath Emi Toshiba's pillow, as her arm dangled listlessly over the side of the bed. That was all that could presently be seen of the lithe 17-year-old, as she was doing her very best not to join the land of the living. The blaring radio alarm clock wasn't helping matters.
"And that was Cover Me, with Maniac 2002!" announced the DJ in a cheerful voice. Emi couldn't understand how anybody could sound so chipper at such an ungodly hour. "Coming up, a brand new remix of Macarena!"
"Dear kami, no!" gasped Emi in horror, fumbling frantically for the snooze button, her flailing hand managing to hit every button but the intended one. In a last desperate gesture, she swept the clock to the floor, where it shattered into a mess of wires and plastic. No biggie. She could easily fix it later. Small price to pay for being spared the gut-wrenching terror Los Del Rio had inflicted on the world.
And now, she could go back to sleep…
Knuckles rapped briskly on her bedroom door. "Emi! Time to get up!"
Emi squinched up her face. Time to play the crapshoot sick card. "Moooommm! I don't think I can move! I might have snapped my spine! It's serious, I know it is! I definitely don't think I can go to school today!"
Her mother, of course, was not so easily fooled. "It's already 6:30! If you don't get a move on, you're going to be late for your first period! Don't you have computer class first?"
"Don't remind me," grumbled Emi, finally sitting up and hauling her legs over the side of the bed. She had no intention of 'getting a move on' to be in time for stupid old Computer Literacy with stupid old Mr. Malarkey, where everybody sat in front of their stupid old Apple IIs and listened to the teacher drone on about things of no interest to Emi. It was no elective class, it was punishment for something very cruel she'd done in a past life—Emi was certain of that much.
"Emi! Are you getting ready in there?"
Emi groaned again. "Yes, Mother."
She took her time getting dressed, even though she didn't have any real choice in the outfit: the required school blouse, yellow pullover sweater and pleated skirt. Whipping a brush through her short sky-blue locks, she topped the ensemble off with her ubiquitous beanie, made a face at her reflection in the mirror, and then trudged down the hall to the kitchen, where her mother was pouring herself a cup of tea.
"Where's Dad?" Emi inquired, noticing the morning paper sitting unread at his place at the table. "And breakfast?"
"He went down to the shop to fix the toaster. It's shooting sparks again."
Emi grinned as she crossed over to the fridge. The family lived in an apartment over their own shop, Toshiba Appliance and Repair, operated by both of Emi's parents—and, when she finished vocational school, Emi herself. As skilled as her parents were with all things electric, neither of them seemed to be able to tame the demonic toaster. "No problem. I'll just pick something up on the way to school." She grabbed a juice box for the trip, kissed her mother on the cheek, and waltzed downstairs to an imaginary beat, having momentarily banished thoughts of first period from her mind. "What a feeling…being's believin'…" she hummed under her breath as she waved goodbye to her father, still feverishly grappling with the toaster, and headed out the door.
The Toshibas' store was located in a shopping center with a number of other primarily Japanese merchant families, who all lived in the floor over their businesses. There was the Fujiyas' food market, where Emi frequently stocked up on such unhealthy goodies as Pudding Baby and coconut pocky; the Nidas' flower shop; Crystal Tokyo Video Rental, which was run by the Tsukinos; and, of course…the Itohs' liquor store.
Emi walked quickly past this last one, as she wasn't exactly eager to run into one of the store's occupants, who would be heading out the door for school at approximately the same time as her. Actually…well, a little part of her did want to see him. The tiny, infinitesimal part that thought he was cute. The rest of her was anxious to clear the area as quickly as possible.
But there he was on the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction as her, so that intersection of the two paths was imminent. Emi groaned to herself. Couldn't he take a different route, just once? Wasn't he too old for high school, anyway? He was already 18 or 19, after all.
Moping along, watching the concrete, hands shoved in the pockets of his much-too-baggy grey camouflage pants. With that ridiculously spiky, anti-gravity brown hair, and that even more ridiculous goatee.
Actually, the goatee was kind of cute, too.
Emi squinted her eyes shut. No, I'm not going there. She opened them to see that he'd stopped right before her on the sidewalk. D'ohhhh…
But, "Hello, Reiji," she said formally, coolly, as if she were greeting a stranger.
"Hi," Rage responded flatly.
"How are you this morning?" Brilliant, Emi! You're finally talking to him, and you manage to pick the absolute lamest dialogue ever!
"Fine." Rage shifted.
Emi's mind suddenly lapsed. In the entire history of their acquaintance, this was the longest conversation they'd ever had. And she now had no idea what to say next.
"Well?" Rage asked after a minute.
"Well, what?"
"Are you going to move out of the way? I've got to get to school sometime today."
Cheeks flaming, Emi jumped out of the way, and Rage plodded past her without another word or glance. Way to ruin her good mood, Emi thought as she readjusted her beanie, then turned her nose up.
"Goateed freak," she muttered.
Emi was in an even gloomier mood on the way back home. Several of her classmates had been jabbering on last period about the great rave they'd attended last weekend, with its kickass DJ and abundance of candy necklaces, glow sticks and suspicious-looking little tablets. Emi's parents disapproved of raves wholeheartedly, and Emi, being the dutiful daughter, had never attempted to go against their wishes by sneaking out.
But she loved to dance, more than anything else in the world. She'd known that ever since she'd been five years old and choreographing routines to the "Muppets' Greatest Hits" on her Fisher-Price record player, to the applauding audience of her parents. Of course, her taste in music had changed a bit over the years, as her collection of albums had ballooned well into the hundreds, but Emi still got that same rush every time she popped a trance CD into her stereo and the beat automatically manifested itself through the movement of her arms and legs.
It was kind of pathetic, she thought, forever dancing by yourself where the only audience was your reflection in the mirror over your dresser. But outside of the raves, there just weren't any places for kids her age to go dancing. All of the clubs around were 21 or over, except for Asylum, and even there you had to be at least 18. Which left Emi, with almost a year to go before her next birthday, out of luck.
Emi just wanted a place where, at least once a week, she could forget about things like industrial school and lame remedial computer classes; a place where she could lose herself in a crowd, drown herself in a sea of strobe lighting and machine-made fog, and simply be swept away by the music. A place to transcend it. Her place…
She shook herself back into reality.
Yeah, fat chance of that happening.
"Excuse me, miss? Would you like a flyer?"
A smiling teenage girl extended a piece of bright magenta photocopy right under Emi's nose. "Grand opening is this weekend. No cover charge. We'd love to see you there!"
Emi accepted the flyer, scarcely glancing at it before deciding to pitch it into the nearest trash receptacle. Another nightclub ad. Well, it was the first time she'd passed for 21, anyway. She was about to toss it into a nearby dumpster when one line of copy caught her eye: All Ages Welcome.
She quickly scanned over the rest of it, her pulse quickening with each line. Club Revolution, it was called. Grand Opening Saturday Night. The Hottest Beats Spun by the One and Only DJ Naoki. 'One on One' Freestyle Dance Tournament - First Prize $500. No Cost to Enter.
She wouldn't dare enter the tournament, of course, but that didn't matter. It was a sign. Whoever the Patron Saint of Dance Clubs was, they'd decided to smile on her today. This had to be it—her place.
Flush with sudden excitement, her previous dismal mood all but forgotten, Emi hurriedly stuffed the flyer in her school briefcase and broke into a run, not noticing the figure heading in her direction on the sidewalk. With a smack, she collided with them, her briefcase flying out of her grip and tumbling into the gutter. "Oh—I—sorry," she gasped, pushing her crooked beanie out of her eyes. "I wasn't watching where I was go…" She looked up into the person's face and flushed. "…ing."
"No kidding," Rage replied.
***
Next chapter: Emi and Yuni go toe-to-toe…