The only good thing about the situation, Johnny thought, was that he could lie through his teeth about it without blinking; instead of letting on to his parents that he was being blackmailed into entering the talent show, he merely told them that he and the other three Birds were considering it. Andrianna had looked at once surprised and pleased and suspicious, but had merely nodded and opted not to interrogate him over it.
Now he just needed to come up with some kind of fool-proof way to get even with Carrington. Some way to show him up once, in front of everyone. Especially Zinone.
Time and place. Military precision. Never attack blindly, his grandfather had always instructed him. Never fight on the enemy's terms.
Patience to make serious shit happen.
That same rule applied for whatever the Cycle Lords were up to; but, Carrington first.
That thought burned halfway to ashes the very next morning, when Michael quietly informed him and the other three T-Birds, as well as the Pink Ladies and Frenchy, that Ivaleigh was going to arrange a meeting between all of them and the two bosses of Pickard's Gang, Blazer and Crow.
He also didn't have the T-Bird jacket on. Again.
"Why?" Johnny hissed, noting the fact sourly, with gritted teeth. Lousy fuck of a so-called leader, no respect ...
"Because they might be able to help figure out just what the Cycle Lords are up to."
"So they got a few new members, so what? Those assholes are stupid, and this ain't your fight!"
"I would agree to that, if they hadn't known more about me, as well as Davey and even you, than they should have. I have to wonder why what's going on with our lives is relevant to them."
"Or maybe you's just lookin' for trouble that ain't there."
"If you don't wanna be at the meeting, Johnny, then don't. I'm sure your mom'll keep you busy enough." Frenchy admonished, her tone sharp and quiet. "The rest of us aren't in a mood for gettin' caught by surprise. If they're up to trouble, we need to know."
"We also need to get going on auditions for the next Ladies and Birds, on top of show rehearsals." Sharon added, looking melancholy over the issue. She began ranting, "I'm gonna miss bein' Pink. The college reps are gonna be here in February, McGee told me two are from Harvard, and then we'll be hearing back from schools we applied to, and we need to choose – "
"Sharon, cool down before you give yourself a heart attack." Frenchy grinned, while Sharon made a face. "No more than four issues a week."
"I want the leadership back." Johnny demanded sharply, staring unblinkingly at Michael, who was thinking about what Sharon had just mentioned, concerning the Harvard representatives – Stephanie. "You need your ass kicked out on account of disregardin' the sacred duty of the jacket."
"And here's one right now." Rhonda commented stiffly, as Goose sidled in closer, leaning against the locker right next to hers, shoulder to shoulder with her. She arched her eyebrows at him in response, while Johnny continued with, "Hand it over, Zuko'll be no wiser."
I'm not in the mood for running circles. "I tend to think he would. I'm not going to lie for you, Johnny, if questions ever came up. I doubt Frenchy would – "
"You've disrespected the jacket six times too many, Shakespeare! Whaddya think Zuko'll say when he hears you think it's below your dumb ass for wearin'?"
"What do you think Danny would say if I were to tell him your reasons for entering the talent show?" Michael countered, as the warning bell rang for the first period of the day, and he began trailing behind Stephanie towards English Lit.
Johnny stiffened, thoroughly riled, his teeth bared. "Carrington – "
"I hear you, that you want it back. But you'll have to give me something to bargain with, Johnny, of your choosing. Do something really nice for Davey, without the expectation of being repaid, for example. Danny won't say yes for no reason."
Walking in, the students situated themselves (some thirty all together), and Rhonda sat away from Goose, two rows over next to the wall, returning his pouting look with arched eyebrows. "I'm still mad at you. Grow up a little, please? It can't be all fun and games all the time, Goose."
Michael, meanwhile, heaved a silent sigh of relief, being able to have back his seat on Stephanie's right side – in the chaos of the previous day, with everyone returning from holiday break, he had had to sit on the other side of the room from her in every class they had. They shared four classes together now, instead of three, since her Chemistry class had been switched to a different time.
Meanwhile, Principal McGee had had to (in a panic-induced rush) move other schedules and teachers around some, following Mr. Kleinfeld's bad heart attack (he would be in the hospital for at least another week, and was already putting in for retirement) and Mrs. Biggs's very sudden passing (an outdoor party was being planned in her honor), leaving Mr. Stuart to take over for Kleinfeld's classes, while a lady sub (Mrs. Nettles) was brought in to handle what had been Mr. Spears's lessons, while Terry Littles took up the Health & Wellness classes, while a new assistant coach, Frieda Dunbar, had been hired.
During that first go-round of having Mrs. Nettles – who had walked in and introduced herself, seeming quiet and shy – the students had stood, all ready to walk out the door, because, hey, she's just a sub.
Petite, quiet Mrs. Lonnette Nettles had promptly pulled a small bullhorn from her over-sized purse and started yelling into it. Students from five rooms down had heard the commotion. Ivaleigh and Lailea, the only two that had remained seated, hadn't been able to stop laughing – "I think you're a new hero for us!"
Having Terry Littles for the new Health & Wellness teacher was going about as well as could be expected, the woman had such little tolerance for nonsense – within ten minutes on the first day, Goose and Davey were being chewed out for being incorrigibly loud and rowdy – "I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE PHYSICALLY INCAPACITATED, OR MENTALLY, BOTH OF YOU, SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!"
"I'm already sitt – "
"Just do what she says, Davey, our ears are throbbing cos of you two smart-asses!" Rhonda had cut in.
On Wednesday morning, Biology was all about a conversation over reproduction. Every T-Bird and Pink Lady was now in this particular lesson, and the talk quickly got carried away (Mr. Stuart realized afterwards that he really probably should have known better, and it absolutely hadn't helped that he had made a detailed drawing on the chalkboard of a woman's reproductive organs).
The Ladies and Birds were in the back and weren't really paying attention: Johnny was reading a Playboy magazine behind his binder, with Louis sneaking glances over his shoulder; Goose was day-dreaming of ways to get back with Rhonda, while Davey was lost in thought over whether or not to join Rio, now officially his girlfriend, in Ohio for school. Michael was paying a little more attention, but was also thinking up designs for the motorcycle.
Gleaming black with red flames, perhaps?
Across the aisle, Paulette was giving herself half a manicure, while Sharon was scribbling away in her notebook (a new article for the school newspaper, the Rydell Record), while Rhonda was flipping idly through her Music Vendor magazine, while Stephanie was perched up on the countertop (having no assigned seat to claim), reading the latest edition of Road & Track and blowing large bubbles with her gum.
As Michael shrugged off one of his classmates – who was attempting to use Michael's shoulder as a stand and his own textbook as a pillow – Mr. Stuart stated, "This is very simple, but very important." Setting the chalk down, he moved around to the front of the desk. "Now, what is the best time of month for a woman to conceive? Mr. ... Jaworski?"
"What? Um ... conceive?"
"You know, to be fertile?"
Davey actually blushed. "Ask Nogerelli."
Hm. "Mr. Nogerelli?"
Johnny sat back a little, nearly exposing the Playboy, which he quickly shoved back out of sight. "Ask Goose."
"Mr. Goose?"
Goose clenched his teeth, sliding a cautious look in Rhonda's direction – he REALLY didn't want to bring up the talk his parents had only just given him, after his mom had found a box of condoms in his sock drawer. "Ask DiMucci?"
DiMucci, I swear, if you point a finger at me, so help me, your ears will be ringing for a week! Michael thought.
"Mr. DiMucci?" Mr. Stuart asked, with a trace of impatience.
"What?"
"Conceive. What is the best time?"
"At night?" Louis asked, and Johnny and Goose snorted, while Sharon rolled her eyes.
Mr. Stuart sighed, exasperated. "I can see that we're not going to get too far."
"I got the same problem." Louis answered, and Goose snorted again.
Sharon arched her eyebrows at Louis, her look turning chilly, although Louis didn't notice. Yet. They'd been having more arguments lately, each frustrated with the other, no compromise seemingly in sight.
"Open your books. Chapter one: Where do babies come from?"
"Wells Fargo?" one of the other students cracked, bringing a round of laughter, as Stephanie and Rhonda set their magazines down, and Sharon pushed her article aside.
"Thank you, Ms. Lane. Please pay attention. I'll try to explain this using a flower. Its parts are so constructed that pollination happens rather often. If not, then a bee or any other nectar-gathering creature can create the same situation. Which is to say, the male part of the flower transfers pollen to the female part, which allows for fertilization and seed production."
"Hey, I'm already lost, where are we?" Matt Decker asked.
"Chapter two, page five." Jeannie Beachwood answered, frightened and nauseated – she'd missed her last two cycles, and needed to tell ... someone. Her parents had forbidden her from seeing Hank, leading to a lot of sneaking around with him since late November. Could be worse, could be a frat boy. She felt like crying.
"Hey, put your pollen tube to work, ladies!" Curtis Gordan cracked.
"Shove yours where the sun don't shine, asshole!" JoAnna Leroy flung back testily.
"Does anyone know what a pistil is?" Mr. Stuart asked through gritted teeth, in hopes of redirecting the chatter.
"Hey, JoAnna, I got your pistil right here!" Curtis sing-songed, at once on his feet, attempting masculine appeal.
"Go suck on a bee-hive!"
"Everyone, please! Now ... next chapter ... " Mr. Stuart had begun pacing the aisle between the two desk sections – the girls on one side, the boys on the other. "Now, this same method can be applied to the reproductive organs of more complex life forms ... but now we're dealing with response. Any questions before we begin?"
"Yeah, is it maybe a girl on a couch could get a dude all hot and not know it?"
"Negative. Attraction – "
"Or what about when ya got 'em in the backseat and they change their tune? I mean, c'mon, girls, show us that you really love us!"
The replies were simultaneous:
"Gross!"
"Is that all you think about?"
"Urg, I think I'm gonna throw up!"
Goose was standing up on his chair by this time. "And where does the pollen go?"
"Mr. McKenzie, sit down! Moving on! Now, the human is the only being consciously capable of controlling its number of offspring. Any questions or educated comments on that?"
"Yeah," Johnny chimed in, nearly shoving his magazine in Mr. Stuart's face, the page turned to the centerfold, a very pretty blonde dressed in next to nothing. "Can you tell me where she lives?"
"Yeah, and what's this?" Goose added gleefully, pointing at the woman's visible bellybutton.
Paulette decided to play along; winking at Johnny, she laid her hands on Mr. Stuart's shoulders, fluttering her eyelashes, keeping her tone breathy, seductive. "Hey, Mr. Stuart," she purred, "I was wondering if guys like you, ya know, mature and all, carry some protection with them, for sexual occasions?"
Michael could swear Mr. Stuart turned red, be it from embarrassment or some other reaction entirely (while Johnny's eyes flashed, his leer promising some wicked retaliation). He looked over at Stephanie, holding her gaze evenly, unblushing, and she smirked at him. Not bad, Carrington.
"Hey, can't a chick just do that thing in a book, ya know, where she adds up the days of her, whaddo ya call it ... mentalstration?" Johnny demanded.
Paulette cracked up laughing, while Rhonda snapped, "Oh, that's real nice, Nogerelli!"
"Yeah, and what if the numbers don't add up right, huh?" Olivia Lane demanded back, earning a chorus of "Yeah!" from the girls' side.
"Well, hope he's proud of what he's done!" Louis answered, holding up the classroom rabbit.
"Hey, DiMucci, put Cottonwear back!", and the boys roared with laughter, something Principal McGee couldn't help but overhear as she was passing the room.
"That's enough, Mr. Gordon!"
"He was only pokin' fun!"
The classroom door opened. "What is going on in here?!"
"Sex talk!"
"Pillow talk!"
"The fine art of rubber wearin'!"
"What happens when a boy and girl can't play safe!"
"Reproduction!"
"Hey, Principal McGee, where does the pollen go?" Goose yelled.
Michael had half a mind to raise his hand and announce, "I am not with them!"
Miss McGee's face couldn't have turned redder if it had tried. "Mr. Stuart!" she barked, after taking a moment to compose herself (what a shaky, embarrassed composure it was). "My office! NOW!"
A few of the students whistled the Death March as the two of them vanished into the hallway.
Satisfied that this class was over, ecstatic for a longer lunch, Stephanie slid down from the counter and headed for the door, shoulder bag in hand.
"Learn anything, Steph?" Goose called teasingly.
"Hey, Zinone, what's the rush, ya gotta take a pill?"
Stephanie ignored them, with Rhonda and Sharon right on her heels. "Shit was a little much for me." she said, pushing back the memory of Michael meeting her gaze so boldly. I don't want ... I need more than what I see with him. More than words.
"D'ya think we'd still be wanting sex when we're as old as McGee?" Rhonda asked.
"Hell if I know, I ain't never gettin' that old!" Stephanie replied flippantly.
"Oh-ho!" Rhonda grinned.
"Steph, is that a grey hair on your – "
"Finish that sentence, Cooper, and you'll be sorry for it." Stephanie warned.
Smiling cheekily, Sharon went off to have it out with Louis about his previous comment of, I got the same problem.
Meanwhile, Principal McGee was telling Mr. Stuart off, that teenaged bodies were more developed than teenaged minds, and that there was no need to go and encourage –
"Encourage what, Greta?" the school nurse, Mollie Jenkins, demanded. "Isn't it better that sex be discussed, riled though it may make them, so that they know what they're doing? We can't let these kids walk around without a clue. Especially the girls. My mother was fourteen when I was born, and her boyfriend, my father, had her utterly convinced that sex was exercise. She didn't even understand why she had me until a doctor explained it to her. It didn't end well for any of us."
"Hey, Principal McGee?" It was Jeannie Beachwood, looking sick to her stomach. "Hi, Nurse Jenkins. I've missed my last two periods, I'm worried." Worried was an understatement, she was downright terrified.
"Well, don't, dear, you can make them up after school." Principal McGee answered without thought, trying to process what Mollie had just shared.
Nurse Jenkins stiffened at the look on Jeannie's face, and said, "C'mon, my office."
Principal McGee blinked, then paled as the realization dawned; she stared blankly at Mr. Stuart, her mouth opening and closing, but he could only shake his head, and hurried off to find Miss Mason, needing a woman's insight on a few matters.
And then there was Coach Frieda Dunbar, who quickly earned the nickname 'Mrs. Grundy'. She had a whole set of rules for interactions between the boys and girls that were under her supervision at any given time; the most infuriating one to the students was that boys and girls weren't permitted to be within a foot of one another.
By Thursday, the teenagers were revolting.
Coach Calhoun could do nothing but stand and watch while a fair few of the the girls ran around the gym during the last class of the day, prancing and making sure to put on a show that involved a fair amount of bouncing and visible underwear – Delores and Amalia had been forbidden by their mothers to participate, although that wasn't stopping them. Paulette had to admit she was impressed at her kid sister's nerve, and promised to keep quiet about it.
The boys, meanwhile, chased after them, making kissing faces and bedroom eyes and suggestive comments a-plenty, whooping and hollering and pawing.
Coach Dunbar was snarling, and Coach Calhoun told her, "I don't know what you thought was going to happen. I'm willing to bet a good half these kids aren't virgins, and that goes for both genders."
"They must be separated, then! Weed out the bad blood from those who behave properly!"
They had to talk loud to make themselves heard over the many voices and the cacophony of music being blasted from the record players.
Behind her, Terry Littles snorted loudly. "Good luck with that." she said, adding at Coach Dunbar's searing look, "This is high school, Freida. Do you really think the kids are going to listen to us tell them who to be friends with? Who to do anything with? The gossip may run rampant, but half the time these kids don't even actually care, who did what with who, focused as they are on getting through this three-ring circus that's being a teenager. Just don't bother putting your moral ideals on them, because apparently, it comes to this."
She gestured broadly at the rampaging teenagers.
"I'll set them straight. They need to be set on the path of virtuousness. The girls especially need to be warned of the dangers of pre-marital fornication and the one-eyed snake – "
Littles and Calhoun looked at each other – She's in for a hell of a time – before they both blew their whistles and began calling for order over the bullhorns.
On Friday afternoon were more auditions and rehearsals for the talent show.
Rhonda was skipping and twirling around the stage, singing her verse, holding two leafy branches and wearing a box decorated in glitter and splotches of red, yellow, and orange paint, with the word 'Tree' peeking through; her expression was neutral but pissed off. Olivia Lane and Amalia Timmerson were behind her, Olivia with an apron on and a small white cornucopia attached to her head, and Amalia dressed in a witch hat and cape.
Overhead, perched on a swing in the rafters, Eugene Fitzherbert was holding a box of fake leaves, trying to smile through his numbing panic – he hated being up so far up, but Sharon had flirted with him a little and he'd caved in the blink of an eye.
Sharon had a sparkling green top hat on, and Rhonda wondered if she could get away with poking her in the back with one of the branches. Let me out of this zoo! I am so sick of being the tree!
Stephanie was up next, dressed in jeans, heels, and a red sweater, with a Christmas star on her head and a dress hoop over her clothes; Violet and Lucy were on either side of her, each of them giving flirty looks while singing their verses and dancing.
By this time, Michael knew the piano tune so well he was playing it by heart, his eyes on Stephanie, anxious excitement in his veins – this evening was when Ivaleigh was taking him to meet with Pickard's Gang; the motorcycle was fully built, although the engine was having trouble starting. He had learned this the hard way just yesterday afternoon, taking the cycle out for the first test drive at Golden Regional Park; feeling uncoordinated, and with Ivaleigh and Frenchy keeping an eye on him, he'd attempted to pop a wheelie, and it hadn't gone well. The first time, the bike had run out from beneath him, flipping him over; the second time, he'd lost control completely and landed flat on his back. He'd had a helmet on, and his neck and shoulders were still sore because of it; what was more, the front wheel guard was now dented, and the engine kept turning over.
"Forget the tricks for a time, just learn t' hold it steady, an' make it move when you want it t' move. You wanna impress blondie, then ya gotta own it."
"Much as the ground enjoyed getting kissed, though, I'm sure." Frenchy teased.
Reality returned at sound of Blanche Hodel's high, thin voice, calling to the girls on stage, "That will be all!", and McGee sent her a look of stern admonishment, chastising, "Blanche!"
Blanche didn't get a chance to answer, because Sharon called loudly, pleadingly, "Wait a minute, there's still more seasons we haven't done for you yet! We have to start with winter cos Paulette's always late and ... "
Paulette flipped open her veil, and glared, mouth pressed, while Stephanie stared at Sharon, winded and annoyed. If I have to start prancing again someone's gonna get slapped.
Not looking for a fight (she wasn't really talking to Louis at the moment), Sharon added, " ... well, she was late again today, but she's here now ... "
Paulette gave a sweet smile towards Blanche, Miss McGee, and Miss Mason, who was sitting with them, clipboard in hand.
" ... and we'd like to do summer and spring for you!"
"Sharon, will you stop yelling?" Miss McGee returned, plainly exasperated. "You're in the show!" And if you don't win, I may well die of shock. Sassy as all the Ladies were, they were each giving it their all for this, leading Miss McGee to believe that their win would be a cake-walk.
Sharon yelped for joy.
Michael listened to her argue with Stephanie about adding Christmas bulbs to her dress as they departed.
Next up were the Prep-Tones (led by Muffy Rogers's Brad), dressed in lettermen sweaters and looking clean-cut, singing their own version of 'Mr. Sandman', sounding a bit like The Four Aces; they moved in sync throughout the song, being both thematic and uptight about the whole thing. While Miss Mason seemed impressed and pleased, Principal McGee tried not to cringe; while she wasn't the biggest fan of rock n' roll music, she preferred not to be put to sleep by songs, either.
"Thank you."
The Prep-Tones dispersed, looking agitated but hopeful.
"Next up ... The T-Bones."
Michael pressed his mouth into a line to keep from laughing.
"T-Birds!" Johnny yelled impatiently from next to the drum set, flinging a cold look in Michael's direction, before herding Louis, Davey, and Goose forward to center stage – Davey wouldn't be able to properly perform until February, but was keeping up all the same. There was also no piano music for this jig yet.
Piano music won't help.
Not a minute into the lyrics, Principal McGee's smile was long gone, and Michael wondered if he shouldn't put his fingers in his ears: Stephanie had been right, Goose and Johnny couldn't sing well, and while Louis and Davey managed to balance them out a little, the song itself was about the place where dudes – the oh-so-cool ones such as themselves – were guaranteed to find action.
It turned out to be a grocery store, and at one point, Miss McGee was certain she heard a line about a female butcher; the main chorus was about 'walkin' like a T-Bird', which Miss McGee guessed meant swaggering in some sort of macho parade. Finally, she managed to yell out, "Thank you!", dredging up every ounce of politeness that she could muster.
"Yo, Miss McGee, my ma said you's welcome over some time for some spaghetti ... ya know, at your convenience ... "
Miss McGee inwardly cringed at the attempt of being sucked up to, and answered with a too polite, "Thank you, DiMucci.", as the T-Birds departed from the stage, with Davey expressing some interest in the Roy Orbison albums, with Louis rolling him down the aisle, the chair tilted backwards a little. They were nearing the auditorium doors when one was flung open, and Ivaleigh flashed past them in a hurried walk, her red hair dancing behind her, with Rafael at her side.
"Hey, Mike, c'mon, they're waitin' t' meet ya, Crow said it's the basin near the Fourth Street bridge in LA."
"Crow? From Pickard's Gang?" Davey asked, his eyes narrowing, and Ivaleigh halted, looking back at them, replying noncommittedly, "Yeah, they wanna meet Michael first. They'll get t' y'all next week.", as Michael joined her, on edge (though not nearly as on edge as Ivaleigh was).
"Why?" Johnny demanded, snarling.
"Cos Mike's leader." She looked back at Michael. "Danny's comin' too, Paula told me he'd meet us there."
"Excuse me!?" Johnny launched at full volume, and Davey, Louis, and Goose shrank back, while the wide-eyed attentions of Principal McGee, Blanche, and Miss Mason were dragged around.
"You can't come anyway, Johnny, not without your mum being there, you're still wearing the monitor. Imagine that particular scenario. I'll tell Danny to call you, and I'll make sure to mention that you've auditioned for the show. You can take it from there." Michael replied tautly after a moment of wrecked silence. "Ivaleigh, Rafael, and I need to leave now. See you on Monday."
Just one more punch, just let me knock the Brit slug back to whatever pile of chickenshit he crawled outta under, shred his existence …
I hate him.
"C'mon, Sharon, I was only jokin'!" Louis yelled at her bedroom window, a large bouquet of roses and Queen Anne's Lace in hand. He was trying not to think about the 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn.
Everything's happenin' too goddamn fast!
"How many times you want me to apologize?"
"What I want is for you to stop making me feel like how I feel doesn't matter! And I'm tryin' to work on my chem paper, Louis, go home!"
"I brought flowers!"
Sharon put her hands over her ears and just barely suppressed the urge to scream.
"Hey, DiMucci, swerve off, leave her alone." Nate Cooper's voice floated up to her from near the front door.
"Our sister's got enough crap on her mind without more of your bullshit." William Cooper added. "Leave, before I pop you a good one for makin' her the butt of your dumb little sex joke."
"If you're that worried about not gettin' far, why don't you go sniff somewhere else?"
Sharon held her breath: Frustrated and unimpressed with his advances as she was, he was still the one she wanted to go around with. His smart-ass sense of humor had always felt like the perfect balance to her more serious nature. He could get her to relax and laugh in a way that no one else could.
"I don't want no one but Sharon!"
"Isn't Sharon just the lucky one?" Nate demanded.
"I – you – Sharon – "
"Go home, Louis, we'll discuss this in the morning!"
Johnny, meanwhile, was still seething – it was an anger over his wounded pride that he couldn't shake – riding his bike south along Highway 1, as fast as it would go, coming upon the town of El Segundo, an hour away from home; the sun had gone down, the time near six in the evening, and there was Manhattan Beach, with some sort of party going on, the revelers plainly in their early twenties.
He should have been home, working on assignments, or making deliveries, or talking on the phone with Paulette, or repeatedly calling over at Zuko's place, or picking up a bat and pretending the baseballs were Carrington's head –
I can't fuckin' breathe anymore!
Johnny parked out on the sand, and walked (strutted) towards the beach café, wanting to bellow at the world, wanting to seem cool and unaffected, wondering what he could get away with in the next few hours.
In the end, it turned out to be nothing, and everything.