Chapter 9: Dancing
Squidward stepped into his bedroom with his magic paper in hand. He was now wearing another nightgown. He laid down on the bed, draped himself with the blanket, and hugged the magic paper like a child would do with a comfort object. His memories of the torture he had endured ever since SpongeBob got hired at the Krusty Krab faded way. He was already imagining where he would put the trophy and the numerous phones calls he would receive from recruiters hungry for his talents. Unlike the evenings of previous days, he fell asleep in a few minutes.
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SpongeBob, with faintly moistened eyes, was watching the tiki from the window of the pineapple's bedroom. At certain times, he had perceived light coming from the tiki's windows. During one of those moments, he had seen Squidward without the towel on his head.
'I guess Squid was alive this whole time.' He turned around and walked to his bed. He laid on it and wiped his eyes, which were red from of all the tears he had shed. The horrifying image of Squidward's decapitated 'head' suddenly floated by. 'Maybe he pretended to be a ghost to punish us for ruining his stuff.' He took a deep breath and loosened his limbs. "Good night, Gar-bear."
"Meow."
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Patrick was anxiously glancing around all of the rooms in his underground home. He had fervently prayed to Poseidon and was now waiting for a sign about the fate of Squidward. After several more minutes of waiting, he sighed and sat on the couch. 'Maybe Neptune's too busy today.' He gazed at the floor for an endless amount of time until he suddenly remembered that the dance contest was tomorrow.
"Oh yeah." Patrick jumped to his feet. 'Better do more of those exercises Sponge told me to do. My legs are prolly still too weak.' He rummaged through a box and took out a large variant of a grip strengthening device. He laid on the couch with only the left side of his body touching the cushions. He placed the device between his buttcheeks. He then began to repeatedly open and close the device with his buttcheeks. As he got deep into the intense workout, his brows knit.
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The next day…
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March 29, 2008.
Under the morning sun, SpongeBob and Patrick were repeatedly switching between solos and dances that required cooperation. Their movements flowed together as seamlessly as the flights of migrating scallops. As the sun gradually illuminated the underwater realm, the two imagined themselves being under the spotlight.
Patrick halted as he remembered the countless times strangers had laughed at him. "Sponge, if we win the contest, will they really stop thinking of me as dumb?" He put a hand near his mouth.
SpongeBob twirled to a stop. He put his hand on the starfish's shoulder. "Just stay positive, Pat. Once they see us perform those complicated techniques, they're gonna realize how smart you really are."
Patrick glanced at the ground. "But what if they think all I'm good for is doing physical stuff?" He sighed. "If I become famous, they can change my image to whatever they want."
"But isn't that what you wanted, right?" SpongeBob smiled warmly. "Didn't you want to win the contest to get exposure? Employers will look for you 'cause of the talent you have."
"Y'know, Sponge..." Patrick scratched his head as he searched through the faintly cloudy sky for an omen. "Do you think we can really win? Alotta people are gonna show up over there."
SpongeBob patted Patrick's back. "As long as we stick together, we'll be fine. Most of those competing are going solo." He put his hands on his hips. "Since we're a team, we're gonna stand out."
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Squidward was flawlessly executing his dance with a smirk. Although each move required much space to perform, he did not bump into any nearby furniture. The magic paper, even though he had not used it yet, seemed to have blessed him with extra energy.
When he finished the dance routine, he strolled to his sofa and sat with his back resting against the cushion. Although he would usually repeat the routine several times for each practice session, he only did it once today. 'Just watch. Those idiots who blindly follow that postmodern dance craze are gonna find out how stupid they are once they see how good I am.' He turned on the TV and put his hands behind his head.
Johnny Erain's head was shown on the TV screen. "The Election Day for president of the Oceanic Union is just around the corner. The Liberal Party's nominated candidate, Nicholas Stingray, is currently campaigning through several districts in Melanesia. The Amendment Party's nominated candidate, Michael Goldfish, is focusing his campaign in Micronesia, where his social policies are giving him massive popularity. This can be attributed to Micronesia being hit the most hard by 2004's slump. However, this election may be much tighter than previous ones due to the record-low amount of registered voters. Experts say that this low amount of voters is due to the lack of participation from the younger generations, the portion of the population who have the most trouble with unemployment. Based on surveys and studies on these youth, dissatisfaction with politicians who do not represent their political aspirations is the most common reason why they do not vote. Regardless of the obstacles these two candidates face, a live debate between these two is planned to be broadcasted a week from now.
"In other news, a long-anticipated orchestra led by Squilliam Fancyson, a rising star in the music industry, will perform at the presidential inauguration. This will be Squilliam's first major public performance. Our staff predicts that this year's inauguration for Oceanic president, regardless of the low voter turnout for the election, may be one of the most viewed inaugurations in our country's history." Several photos and small video clips of Squilliam were shown on the screen. All of them had paid extra attention to his signature unibrow and smirk.
Squidward, with boiling blood and grit teeth, snatched the remote and changed the channel. 'I'll prove that dimwit wrong. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he learns that I've become famous.' He took out the magic paper from his shirt pocket and gazed at it. However, he glanced away every several seconds to make sure he did not accidentally activate a spell.
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SpongeBob, in his underwear, was staring at his reflection on the bathroom mirror. He was holding a fresh pair of squarepants. He turned to the left and then to the right to see how the bathroom's lighting would alter the look of his scrawny body. He then flexed his toothpick-thin limbs. His biceps were small bumps. His pecs were nonexistent. A normal amount of belly fat hid his abs from any visibility. A faint lump formed in his throat. He glanced at Patrick who was standing near the bathroom's entrance. "Pat, do I look good enough for the contest?"
Patrick glanced at SpongeBob's reflection and perceived a healthy young sponge. He smiled. "There's nothing wrong with you. Since you're not chubby like me, you'll be able to do some moves faster." He glanced at his big belly. "But being chubby got its perks too."
SpongeBob scratched his chin. Like countless times before, Patrick's reassuring words fell to deaf ears. He glanced at the clock on the wall and put on the fresh squarepants. He then began brushing his eyebrows with a tiny brush.
Patrick shrugged. "You're gonna be wearing a shirt anyways."
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A few hours later…
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Squidward, while sitting in the boat, was reading a new issue of a dancing magazine. He was constantly glancing at his watch.
Mr. Krabs was sitting on the windowsill of the giant window on the right side. His head was resting on his claw. His gaze was towards the floor. The dining room was emptier than usual. 'At this rate, how am I gonna keep runnin' this place without cutting paychecks?' He glanced at Squidward's deadpan face and then at SpongeBob, who was swiftly cleaning tables. 'But I can't punish Mr. SquarePants for Mr. Squidward's foolery.' He marched to the front of the boat and snapped his claws.
Squidward looked up.
SpongeBob walked towards Mr. Krabs, humming the tune of a dance song.
Mr. Krabs put his claws on his hips. "As ye can see by all these empty tables, our business hasn't been getting much income recently. Do you mates have any ideas that can bring me customers back?"
A light bulb immediately lit up in SpongeBob's head. "I know!" He raised his hand. "I'll play guitar in front of the Krusty Krab. I'll write the lyrics and melody myself."
Mr. Krabs grinned and patted SpongeBob on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, me boy."
SpongeBob held up his index finger. "But I'll need to be in my house for a few minutes. I don't have my guitar with me right now."
Mr. Krabs waved a claw and turned towards his office. "Go ahead. Just make sure you run as fast as you can."
"Okee-dokee." SpongeBob showed a thumbs-up and then, barging the double door open, dashed in the pineapple's direction.
Squidward returned his gaze to the magazine. He took a deep breath when he felt the urge to clench his teeth. He adjusted the magic paper in his shirt pocket.
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Seven minutes later…
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SpongeBob, while panting, returned to the restaurant with the guitar in hand. He held out the guitar towards Mr. Krabs, who had been standing near the office door waiting for his return. When he thought that enough time had passed for Mr. Krabs to assess the guitar, he ran to the kitchen. He took out a pencil and began writing lyrics and musical notes on spare sticky pads.
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Twenty minutes later…
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SpongeBob was playing the melody he had written down. When he finished playing it, he raised his brow, erased some of the musical notes, and wrote in different ones. By this point, he had experimented with melodies several times.
Mr. Krabs opened the kitchen door leading to his office. He glanced at the office's vault. "Are you almost done? I don't want any of me customers waiting."
SpongeBob nodded. "Just making a few finishing tweaks."
Mr. Krabs folded his arms. "This song better be good. Me money's depending on you."
SpongeBob did a military salute and smiled. "Mr. Krabs, you can keep your mind at ease. I'm sure anybody passing by will like it."
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A few minutes later…
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SpongeBob stepped out of the Krusty Krab while holding the guitar with both hands. He sat on the left exterior windowsill, positioned close to the double door. He held the guitar in the proper position. 'Showtime.' With his tongue slightly sticking out of his mouth, he strummed the guitar with a guitar pick. He then played the rest of the song using his fingers. The lyrics of the song were about Galley Grub items, emphasizing the newest foods added to the menu. How the rhymes were placed in the verses and the chorus made the song ensnare whoever happened to hear it.
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'He thought playing that campfire song while I was on a wheelchair wasn't enough, eh? Showoff.' Squidward narrowed his eyes. "What rubbish. Quite fitting for the quality of this restaurant," he muttered.
Mr. Krabs smirked slightly as he perceived the souring of Squidward's face. He walked up to the employee. "I can tell somethin's on yer mind." He chuckled. "You have the eyes of a crewmate who just spotted an enemy ship."
Squidward tucked the magic paper further into his shirt pocket. His eyes became half-closed in deadpaness. He rested his head on his hand. After several seconds, he sat up again and looked at Mr. Krabs in the eye. "Mr. Krabs, do you honestly think what SpongeBob's playing is good?" He raised one of his eyebrows.
Mr. Krabs pirate-laughed.
The seconds Mr. Krabs spent laughing, for Squidward, felt like an eternity. Squidward groaned faintly and slouched. He remembered the countless times gangs of students had laughed at him. 'What do chumps like him know?' He grabbed the dancing magazine and resumed reading. However, he could not focus on the words of the text.
Mr. Krabs wiped a tear from his eyestalk. "Oh, Mr. Squidward, I didn't know you had a sense of humor."
Squidward furrowed his brows slightly. "That wasn't a joke."
"To answer yer question, of course it's good!" Mr. Krabs, with a grin, raised his claws towards the ceiling. "It's one of the best jingles the Krusty Krab's ever had!"
Squidward rolled his eyes. "What was the point of even asking? All you care about at the end of the day is how much cash you can stuff into your pockets."
Mr. Krabs turned towards SpongeBob and closed his eyes as he savored the money-reeling song. The sounds of the guitar brought him back to the shanty-singing he had done with his pirate crew. After a minute, he opened his eyestalks. He noticed that Squidward had been maintaining his glare on SpongeBob. With a wider smirk, he raised an eyebrow and put his claws on his hips. "Why can't you be happy for yer fellow crewmate?"
"'Cause most of Bikini Bottom has crappy taste," Squidward droned.
"Feelin' jealous?" Mr. Krabs chuckled again. He glanced at a restaurant across the street. The nearby building consisted of a giant bucket being held in the handle by a giant fake glove. The words 'THE CHUM BUCKET' had been painted above its double door entrance. "You already know what happened to Plankton. Ended up like a fish stranded to the surface world. Dried up and left for the vultures." He shook his head with a smug smile. "I know it's been awhile since you worked with another crewmate, but why do you give the spongy lad such a hard time? He's the most energetic worker I've ever seen. He even lightens up the moods of me patrons."
"If you've had him as a neighbor, you'll understand." Squidward slapped the magazine to his lap and clenched his hands into fists. "He keeps annoying me to no end."
"Ain't that better than having no fellow mates, Squidward?" Mr. Krabs leaned against the metal wall. "I don't remember ye having any friends at all since you started workin' here. The whole crew doesn't have to get along, but a voyage can't be completed without teamwork." Mr. Krabs smiled warmly. "Maybe his pesterin' of you is a sign that he's a true comrade. Lads like him are treasures not even a swindler can put a price on."
Squidward took a deep breath. He clenched his teeth to hide his faintly heavy throat. He blinked his eyes until any betraying sheen of moisture was pushed back. He clung to the magazine and read it so closely that it covered his face. "Just be quiet."
"Why're you actin' so high and mighty? I'm the captain of this ship here." Mr. Krabs folded his arms, revealing the scars he had gained from his overseas adventures. "You aren't that tough."
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Several hours later…
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The workday was over.
Squidward was driving his boatmobile towards his tiki. No music was playing on his vehicle's radio, not even the clarinet music he had created himself. Instead, he took in the sounds of the passing air. He had a slight frown.
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Nine minutes later…
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SpongeBob stepped out his pineapple without his employee hat. He was wearing a blue leotard and purple sweatbands around his head and legs. With a grin, he moved towards Patrick's rock by performing several acrobatic moves.
The rock opened. "Heyya, Sponge." Patrick peeled off the rock's undersurface and landed on the ground face-first. WIth a helping hand from SpongeBob, he stood up. He was wearing a purple leotard and a blue sweatband.
"Ready to go?"
"Yep."
SpongeBob glanced at the tiki and at Squidward's parked boatmobile. A light bulb lit up. He clasped his hands together. "How 'bout we wait for Squid? I don't think we would be good sports by just leaving him behind. We need to cheer each other on."
Patrick scratched his head. "Squid's competing too?"
"Yeah." SpongeBob smiled awkwardly. "I forgot to tell you."
Patrick's eyes widened. He beamed. "Is he gonna be part of our team?"
"Nah. He's going solo."
"Oh." Patrick's gaze slightly fell.
A few minutes later, Squidward exited his tiki. He was wearing a black leotard and an orange headband. With a poker face, he walked towards his boatmobile. He did not dare to take a glimpse at the two pests.
"Hey Squid!" SpongeBob waved.
Squidward walked faster, unlocked his boatmobile, and stepped into the driver's seat.
SpongeBob bit his lip. After several seconds of thought, he could not come up with a reason for Squidward's abnormal behavior. However, another light bulb lit up. "Good luck, Squid!"
"Good luck!" Patrick waved.
The engine of Squidward's boatmobile purred. With his gaze focused directly on the road, Squidward began driving towards his destination.
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Twenty minutes later…
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In front of the entrance to Bikini Bottom's local theatre, there were lines of competitors that stretched for several blocks. They came in a diversity of colors, heights, ages, and species.
Squidward was closer to the theatre's front doors than the other competitors. His arms were crossed. He was tapping his foot. He adjusted the magic paper under his leotard. He glanced at the security guards standing in front of the golden entrance. 'When are they going to open those damn doors? They've been taking forever.'
SpongeBob and Patrick stepped to the end of one line.
SpongeBob giggled at the thought of performing his outlandish dances in front of hundreds of people.
While constantly glancing at the wandering eyes of the nearby strangers, Patrick adjusted his headband and the positions of his feet.
After several dull minutes, an employee wearing a blue uniform walked up to the guards and whispered to each of them. The guards then unlocked the double doors.
The employee in the blue uniform stood before all the lines that had formed. "Please enter slowly, one at a time. We don't want our hallways to get packed in too quickly."
The competitors began to file into the theatre.
SpongeBob began hopping up and down. "It's finally starting!" he whispered loudly to Patrick.
Squidward strode into the theatre with his head tilted upward.
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The auditorium was grandiose, a signature touch of the theatre's wealthy sponsor. Crimson-cushioned seats numbered in the hundreds were in front of the stage in an expansive half-circle. The stage was made out of polished wood that originated from selectively bred kelp trees. The stage's curtain had been embroidered with ornately designed unibrows.
From a private area in the auditorium, an orange fish and a mollusk were watching the competitors obtaining their numbers in the registration area and then moving to their assigned seats.
The mollusk had his hands clasped together behind his back. "Wow… I didn't know this many people wanted to be under my wing." He smirked and chuckled. He brushed off the tiny amount of dust that gathered on his lavish velvet coat.
The orange fish leaned in the stage's direction and narrowed his eyes. "Why're you giving your band more work than they need? Shouldn't you focus your efforts on the upcoming concert? Millions of people throughout the seas are gonna be watching us."
The multi-limbed noble waved towards the orange fish. "Fear not. The play is merely practice for the future ceremony. I want to ensure everybody gets the best performance that my wealth can afford."
"Then why're you hunting down unknown talent? Can't you just hire professional dancers? There are already many world-renowned dancers in Polynesia, you know."
The mollusk rolled his eyes. "Because those amateurs don't know how to handle a large audience. I've interviewed them. They're too used to dancing at private parties in mansions. I want our future performance to be like a mini-drama, that's why I wanted dancers in it in the first place. If I manage to catch somebody who can dance in a play, they'll be the perfect fit." The mollusk sat in his seat, leaned towards the railing, put his elbow on it, and rested his head on his hand. His other hand began tapping the railing. "Once the person I pick gets through all the prep for the play and actually performs in it, he'll be ready for whatever else that's coming."
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One competitor that stood out among the rest was a yellow sponge with a square head, lanky body, and black hair that did not look too different from Squilliam's unibrow. Like SpongeBob, he also had buck teeth. He was wearing a loose shirt and yoga pants.
Accompanying him was another yellow sponge. He was wearing squarepants very similar to SpongeBob's. However, it had a red bow tie instead. His nose was a bit larger than that of the average sponge. "Stanley, you really sure about this?" He glanced around and adjusted the wallet in his pocket.
"I'm positive, dad." Stanley grinned. "I practiced a lot, so I'm sure I won't break anything." He stretched his limbs and cracked his knuckles.
The father bit his lip and tightened his bow tie's knot. "Just be careful. You're gonna be performing at a new location, and people will be watching you this time. If you start getting worried, just focus on me, got it?"
"Okay." Stanley nodded.
After a few minutes, the two eventually got past the entrance and were now in the reception room. The room had opened doors that led to different hallways. Each of the doors had a sluggish line of competitors.
The father sucked his teeth. "We waited through all that just to find more lines? Heh. Reminds me of those rumors about that human land in the north." He then noticed that there were a few security guards still standing near the doors. He stepped towards one of them. "Excuse me. Why are there more lines?"
"They're waiting to get their registration confirmed. Although you could've triple or quadruple-checked the info you put on paper or on the website, we won't really know if the registration was legit or not unless we see you in person. Once you get that done, you'll be given an assigned seat number."
"Oh." The father scratched his chin. He glanced at the several lines in front of him, shrugged, and walked to a random line.
Stanley followed him. "When can I get to dance?"
"Not now. They gotta check your info first."
The two were standing in a line that just so happened to be the same line where SpongeBob and Patrick were at. They were only a few paces away from the duo.
SpongeBob glanced behind him and caught a glimpse of his cousin. He turned around, widened his eyes, and dropped his jaw. "Stanley, is that you?"
"You sure bet." Stanley giggled.
"I didn't know you could dance." SpongeBob put both of his hands below his mouth. He beamed.
"Oh, he can now." Stanley's father chuckled. "But he had to break alotta stuff first, including expensive gym equipment."
"Uncle Sherm, you're dancing too?"
Sherm shook his head. "Nope. Just spotting for him."
SpongeBob scratched his head. "You're allowed to do that? I know they allow teams of up to two, but…" His gaze fell towards the floor. He clasped his hands together behind his back and moved one of his feet in circles. He swallowed his lips. "I'm not sure if they'll allow you to go with him. I think what you're doing is part of the judge's role. They're checking to see how good the dancers are, after all."
Sherm looked at the door at the end of the hallway and stopped showing any hint of a smile. His brows knit slightly. "I came with him since the rules on the website were a bit ambiguous. I know they might not allow me to go past the next door, but I'm taking that risk 'cause I really don't want Stanley to wreck any other stuff. A place like this is super-expensive. It'll murder my wallet if something goes wrong." He folded his arms.
Stanley smirked, raised his chest, and put his hands on his hips. "I won't mess up this time. I trained for many hours a day. No matter if it's a win or a loss, I'll be sure nothing'll get broken."
SpongeBob saw a bit of fire in Stanley's eyes, almost completely unlike the timid boy he had seen before. He then glanced at Patrick.
Patrick, with closed eyes and furrowed brows, was squeezing in some last-minute practice by opening and closing the grip strengthening device with his buttcheeks.
SpongeBob gulped. He knew that out of all of the contestants, only one person or a team of two could win.
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Ten minutes later…
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Squidward walked past a hallway's door and stepped into the auditorium. His registered information had been confirmed. After a minute of walking through the maze of chairs, he found his assigned seat and sat in it.
He adjusted the magic paper in his leotard like a pickpocketer would with the money he had stolen. He laid against the seat and allowed his arms to rest on the chair's handles. He glanced at the stage and then at the judges walking over to their specially marked seats. He then looked behind him and noticed that a significant portion of the competitors were quite younger and more feeble than him, a few of them even being of high school age. A sense of unease gradually filled his heart. 'This'll be nothing. The magic will only enhance the truth.' He took a deep breath.
Squidward glanced to his left and saw the two pests sitting a few rows ahead of him. He narrowed his eyes and took another deep breath. Somehow, any disruptive thoughts that were on the cusp of his consciousness were quickly pushed back.
SpongeBob was struggling to remain in his seat. Giggles kept escaping his mouth. His legs were repeatedly swaying. Whenever he thought that a judge was going to speak into one of the microphones, his heartbeat quickened. However, after all of those predictions failed, he turned towards Patrick. "Pat, you ready to go?"
Patrick cracked his neck, hoping it would move more blood to his brain. "I think so."
SpongeBob patted Patrick on the shoulder. "Just try your best. As long as it's a good, clean fight; we can reach the finals in no time."
Patrick picked up his grip strengthening device and gazed at it. After remembering all of the pain that his body had endured, he gripped the device. "You're probably right, Sponge. Maybe my brain doesn't have much juice, but my body does." He flexed his arm muscles and slapped them. The shocks from the slaps intensified the fire burning within him. He then furrowed his brows and wore a fearless glare towards the stage. He imagined his mother and father sitting among the audience. "I'll do it."
After most of the competitors had sat in their seats, one of the judges walked up to the stage and held the central microphone.
SpongeBob covered his mouth with both hands and leaned forward.
"Due to the unexpectedly large amount of contestants, we have decided that several contestants will perform on the stage at a time. As you can see," he pointed at the large width of the stage, "this stage can hold alotta people. Only solo contestants will be put together to perform at the same time. They will dance to the same music and will be judged separately and without being compared to the contestants performing with them. Each registered team of two will perform together without other contestants or teams. If the contestants have been narrowed down to a small enough number, the solo contestants and teams will go one at a time, like in a normal dancing contest." He stepped towards the edge of the stage. "Any questions?"
Nearly a hundred hands rose up, roughly a third of the total number of competitors.
The judge facepalmed.
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Twenty-five minutes later…
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Several contestants were dancing on the stage. Their movements became more and more clumsy as they searched for any sign of validation from the poker-faced judges.
Some of the judges were leaning back in their seats, getting amused by the struggle of the youth like Roman emperors watching gladiator fights.
When the song ended, most of the dancers were in mid-air. Those unfortunate contestants landed on the stage's polished wooden floor with an echoing T-T-THUD. They then flopped like fish in dry land as they attempted to regain their balance.
Each contestant was pointed at by one judge and then given either a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. In that round, all the dancers who had fallen to the floor were given a thumbs-down. The competitors who were victorious smirked as they giddily jogged down the stage. The competitors who lost left the stage with their heads hung low.
One of the judges leaned towards a mini-microphone on her desk. "Next. Numbers 5812, 9401, 3657, and 7395 please come on up. I repeat, numbers 5812, 9401, 3657, and 7395 please come on up. Thank you."
Squidward smirked, shifted his leotard for the final time, and stood up from his seat. The paper taped to his seat had the number '3657' printed on it. He marched to the stage with his head held high. When he stood on the stage and faced the people watching him, his view from above made him feel like he was standing on a pedestal.
One judge stood up and held up three fingers. When he closed all three fingers, he said: "Go!"
A hip hop instrumental began playing from a radio connected to several loudspeakers. It started off with a looped soul sample. After a minute, a layer of snaps could be heard. After another minute, the instrumental reached its peak when a layer of bass came in. The bass vibrated throughout the auditorium. A few of the contestants could not help but nod their heads to the beat.
Squidward closed his eyes as he began a fusion of breakdancing and ballet dancing. He added in twirls and jumps for a touch of elegance. When he was half-a-minute into his dance, he focused his gaze on the floor, allowing him to look at the paper indirectly. With each movement of his limbs, he channeled his thoughts into the paper. The paper then glowed but it could not be perceived by others due to the blackness of Squidward's leotard. Tiny sparkles surrounded Squidward as he twisted his body into more bold positions. His dance moves flowed together like the waves of the ocean.
Some of the judges nodded and smiled at Squidward's performance. When the song was over, Squidward and another contestant were given a thumbs-up.
'That was child's play.' Squidward strolled back to his seat. When he sat down, he closed his eyes again. The coolness of the auditorium allowed him to visualize Squilliam gawking at the shininess of his future mansion.
The female judge leaned towards her desk's mini-microphone again. "Next. Numbers 4958a & 4958b please come on up. I repeat, numbers 4958a & 4958b please come on up. Thank you."
SpongeBob gasped, clapped his hands together, and grinned. He jumped out of his seat and acrobatically flipped to the stage.
Patrick, with his chest puffed up and arms held straight, ran to the stage. 'Watch. I'll prove to 'em I'm not dumb.' He furrowed his brows again. When he stood on the stage, he cracked his knuckles.
The female judge from before held up three fingers. When she closed all three fingers, she said: "Go!"
A modern remix of a traditional Micronesian genre of music began to play from the radio. The bass was so heavy that it caused the stage to rattle as if a mini-earthquake was occurring. Bongos and flutes could be heard within the instrumental.
A light bulb lit up in Patrick's head. 'Better put those workouts to good use.' He turned his back towards the crowd, leaned his butt forward, and began twerking.
SpongeBob widened his eyes but then snapped his fingers and stuck out his tongue. "Good thinking, Pat!" He leaped and landed on the sea star's back, facing the crowd. He held on to the sea star's body as if he was riding a horse. After several seconds, he did a handstand on the starfish's moving back and spun until he became a yellow blur.
Several audience members gasped, dropped their jaws, or widened their eyes.
Squidward cringed, facepalmed, and shook his head. 'There's no way they'll win.'
Stanley was staring at the two dancers in disbelief. "I didn't know Sponge's friend was-"
"Don't assume. It's just a dance." Sherm raised his index finger. He was sitting underneath Stanley's seat. Since he was not a dancer registered with Stanley as a team of two, he could not assist his son. However, the staff had allowed him to accompany his son as solely an audience member.
"How progressive…" A male judge was scratching his chin. A smile slowly formed across his face.
"Very unique!" A female judge began clapping.
When the song ended, nearly all of the judges and even some audience members began clapping. The judges gave SpongeBob and Patrick a thumbs-up.
SpongeBob and Patrick bowed and returned to their seats.
"I guess I underestimated my own smartness." Patrick sat in his seat with a smirk. He leaned back until his body sank comfortably into the chair's cushions.
SpongeBob was grinning. "You did great, Pat! Just trust your guts. Dancing's all about moves. You don't have to analyze yourself too much."
Patrick scratched his head. "Is guts kinda like smartness?"
SpongeBob nodded and rested his arms on his seat's handles. "Yeah, it's your intuition."
Patrick leaned his head towards one side.
SpongeBob smiled awkwardly. "It's your ability to think up stuff on the spot."
Patrick gazed at the stage. "Maybe there's more types of smart than I thought."
Squidward was gawking at the judges. "How can they consider modern trash like that good dancing?!" he loudly muttered. He glanced at the magic paper within his leotard and then at the two pests. He vividly remembered how SpongeBob took the reed out of his throat. 'I shouldn't use the paper on 'em yet. If I use magic on them too early, they might get suspicious.'
The female judge spoke towards the mini-microphone. "Next. Numbers 1340, 2190, 4503, and 6587 please come up. I repeat, numbers 1340, 2190, 4503, and 6587 please come up. Thank you."
Stanley took out a comb and straightened his black hair. "Alright, here I go." As an assurance of success, he licked his buck teeth and flicked his nose. He then jogged towards the stage.
"Good luck, son." Sherm waved pleadingly towards Stanley, like a parent seeing their child off to a battlefield.
SpongeBob's mouth dropped slightly as he constantly switched his glancing between the height of Stanley and the height of the stage. He perceived how much taller Stanley had become since his last family visit. He whistled shrilly towards Stanley and then clapped. "May Neptune bless you!" He grinned. He felt like he was watching a graduation.
Stanley held out a thumbs-up towards Sherm and SpongeBob before stepping on to the stage. When all of the other participants gathered on the stage, he licked his lips and stood straight with hands closed into fists. He furrowed his brows and stared into space, hoping that the Muse would lend him the perfect music to dance to.
The female judge held up three fingers. She then closed all of them in the countdown of three seconds. "Go!"
A funk instrumental began playing. It had a strong emphasis on the guitar. The beats of the drums resounded throughout the auditorium.
Stanley began an attempt at a free-form dance. He used his lanky body to his advantage by allowing his long limbs to gracefully intertwine his dance moves together. His eyes widened as he saw his hands and feet fall on and soar from the stage with ease. "I-I'm actually doing it…" He smiled goofily as his body moved as gracefully as the nymphs that would perform at the Pantheon's balls. Near the end of the song, he landed in a handstand on one plank...
T-TINK
The plank's nails flew off as fast as darts.
CRASH
THUD
Stanley tumbled into the hole left behind by the fallen plank. He attempted to grip one of the hole's edges with a shaky hand but slipped back into the darkness.
The audience gasped. Some of them groaned in disappointment.
Sherm sighed and covered his face with both hands. Countless memories of Stanley's failures flooded into his mind.
SpongeBob, with moistened eyes, leaped out of his seat and dashed towards the stage. He slipped into the hole before the security guards even noticed him. He then attempted to lift Stanley towards the brightness peeking through the stage's insides. However, when Stanley's body was close to overcoming the hole, SpongeBob's feeble limbs gave way.
Stanley fell back and landed on the dusty woodwork head-first.
SpongeBob gasped and jumped. His head ended up hitting the stage's planks. He landed on his rear. When he saw the stillness in Stanley's limbs and his disheveled black hair, he sniffed as tears began to cover his eyes. He stared at his sore hands. A weight as heavy as stone formed in his throat.
Several staff members peeked into the hole and saw the two sponges. They lifted SpongeBob out of the hole first. They then gently carried Stanley out of the hole, taking care not to let his square head or long limbs touched the sharp edges of the broken planks.
SpongeBob, with his head drooped, walked back to his seat. When he sat down, he did not dare to look into Patrick's eyes. He placed his palms together. He prayed, with all of his might, that he could take the stead of the black-haired sponge who had sacrificed his body in valor.
Patrick swallowed his lips.
Squidward gazed at the two neighbors from the corner of his eye. For once, the two looked like innocent children instead of goblins. The memory of the jellyfish from the party stinging him for his clarinet music flashed by. The sense of unease pierced his heart again. He then tucked the magic paper further into his leotard, snuffing out the flare that had been on the verge of erupting from his mental fog.
Stanley slowly opened his eyes. When his dizziness waned, he realized that a few staff members were carrying him towards the theatre's entrance. Sherm was following him. The whirring of an ambulance siren could be heard in the distance.
One of the judges walked to the stage and held the central microphone. "We apologize for the technical difficulties. The contest will resume shortly."
S-S-S-S-S
Forty minutes later…
S-S-S-S-S
SpongeBob was sitting upright with slightly knit brows, swallowed lips, and twiddling fingers. The rounds of the contestants going before his turn were seemingly stretching for days. He visualized how Stanley's body would look like on a hospital bed. 'I gotta win this for Stanley...' He glanced at the exit numerous chair rows behind him. He began tapping his foot.
Patrick was leaning against his chair with his head resting on the chair's top. His heavy eyes were half-closed. "Y'know, Sponge, didn't we came here just to have fun?"
SpongeBob blinked and rested his chin on his hand. He noticed how some of the younger contestants on the stage were giggling as they performed their outlandish moves, unfazed by the judges' scrutinizing gazes. "You're right, Pat. But it's become more than that now. Stanley worked really hard before the contest but got hurt anyway. I can't just leave him with nothing. We have to win now. Plus," he smiled crookedly, "Squid's participating too and he looks pretty serious."
Squidward still had a pensive face. His head was resting on his two hands as his gaze remained towards the floor. He was shearing the unwanted thoughts sprouting from his mind, maintaining his focus on a single mental point. He glanced at the pests again and the weight in his throat was quickly pushed back up.
The female judge droned to the mini-microphone: "Next. Numbers 4958a & 4958b please come up. I repeat, numbers 4958a & 4958b please come up. Thank you."
SpongeBob took a deep breath, stood up, and stretched his limbs. He bit his tongue as he walked up the stage.
Patrick followed SpongeBob. He kept his hands in his pockets and glanced at the judges, making sure not to seem above his yellow partner.
When the duo stood on the stage and faced the audience, a judge stood up. She held three fingers and brought them down in a countdown of three seconds. "Go!"
A merengue tipico song began playing. Unlike the other songs that had been put in the radio for the contest, it was not a instrumental. The male singing voice was nearly overshadowed by the frenetic beat of the tambora and the guira. The sharp sounds of the accordion and the smoothness of the saxophone combined to give the song a booming effect across the theatre.
Patrick's eyes widened as flashbacks of an old black-and-white movie in a language he did not understand passed through his mind. Clinging to the hazy images of a dance scene, he put his right hand on SpongeBob's waist and held SpongeBob's right hand with his left hand. With his right elbow, he nudged SpongeBob's right arm towards his right shoulder.
SpongeBob scratched his chin for a second before a light bulb lit up. The sounds of the accordion and the guira sounded somewhat familiar. "I kinda get it." He grinned and put his right hand on Patrick's right shoulder.
SpongeBob's keenness, molded by Patrick's guidance, exploded into a passionate performance. They smoothly alternated between walking sideways and circling each other. Whenever they reached an edge of the stage, they twirled to regain their rhythm.
Nearly all of the judges widened their eyes. Two of them began clapping before the song was even over.
Squidward's face, with knit brows, melted into a scowl. He inhaled deeply and then shut his eyes as he channeled his frustration into a mental image of the glowing paper. After several agonizing seconds, he opened his eyes.
SpongeBob and Patrick's bodies flashed for less than half-a-second. Their dancing gradually lost its fluidity. They began taking steps forward with the wrong feet and stopped shaking their hips. After a minute, they moved like two drunk people waddling in the same direction.
After a thought abruptly escaped from his subconscious, Squidward could not help but gulp.
When the song was over, SpongeBob and Patrick were given a thumbs-down.
SpongeBob sighed and returned to his seat with a lump in his throat. He glanced at his watch. His mind once again became filled with the images of sterile white hallways and the beeps of blinking monitors. "At least we tried our best." He showed a forced smile and put a hand on Patrick's shoulder.
"Yeah." Patrick put both hands behind his head, leaned back, and swallowed his lips.
SpongeBob exhaled as he tried to preserve his quivering smile. "We went out with a bang, didn't we?"
"You said it." Patrick smiled contently. He watched the contestants dance to the instrumental and noticed that most of them were struggling to keep up with the music's rhythm. "How did you learn that salsa dance so fast?"
SpongeBob shrugged. "I just used my intuition. By the way, I don't think what they played was salsa. It sounded too 'sharp', if you know what I mean."
S-S-S-S-S
Thirty minutes later…
S-S-S-S-S
Squidward's eyes remained closed as he visualized his face on newspapers and TV screens. He imagined the glorious day where he would proclaim to Mr. Krabs that he would no longer be toiling in his fields. All the ordeals he had endured to ensure his victory flashed by and then faded away. With a smirk, he opened his eyes.
A judge stood on the stage and took the microphone. "We have now reached the final round. Out of the five contestants that are going to come up this stage, only one of them will be chosen." The judge then walked back to her seat.
Squidward beamed.
A male judge leaned towards his mini-microphone. "Numbers 3657, 1181, 2975, 0750, and 4108 please come up. I repeat, numbers 3657, 1181, 2975, 0750, and 4108 please come up. Thank you."
Squidward stood up and briskly walked to the stage.
When all of the final contestants faced the audience, a judge stood up. He held five fingers and brought one finger down at a time in a countdown of five seconds. "Go!"
A Hawaiian folk song began playing on the radio. The chanting combined with the tapping of the sharkskin-covered drums made it sound like the hymns played at temples.
Squidward, while continuously glancing at the magical paper, performed a stylized variant of the dances he had witnessed at temple sermons. His legs twirled and his arms curved like hooks. When the magic paper began glowing, he seamlessly fused together the traditional form and the modern form of the hula dance. The transitions between moves were so swift that he almost looking a blur gliding across the stage.
When the song ended, Squidward was the one to receive the thumbs-up of the judges.
Squidward put his hands on his hips and grinned with an upward-tilted head as he received the thundering applause of the audience. However, no matter how much he tried to stare into the sea of people staring back at him, euphoria seemed just out of his reach. He let out a sigh of a relief that one would feel after waiting through a very long line.
"Congratulations, Squidward Tentacles! You are the dancer chosen to be in the starring role for the play led by Squilliam Fancyson's band!"
The audience clapped even louder. Some of them shouted when they heard Squilliam's name.
"What?!" Squidward's eyes widened. 'This has gotta be a joke. Maybe Neptune is punishing me.' He shifted the magic paper underneath his leotard.
One of the judges handed him a golden trophy. It had a mini-sculpture of a ballet dancer on top of a pedestal.
Squilliam appeared from behind the curtains. His eyes were widened in just as much disbelief as Squidward's were.
The two octopuses stared at each other awkwardly for several seconds.
Squilliam then used the smile he had always used whenever he tormented Squidward during his younger years. He folded his arms. He adjusted his velvet suit. "Squid, you look just as wimpy as when I last saw you. You haven't changed at all." He chuckled. "Well, I hope you enjoy being my little underling. Once you get rid of that ego of yours, I'll mold you to be my star." He put his hands on his hips. "The only way you're gonna get far in the arts is if you learn from refined gentlemen such as myself."
Squidward clenched his teeth and scowled. He closed his hands into fists and stepped back. He gave the trophy a mere glance and then shook his head. "Heh! You'll think I'll follow your whims?! You're the real wimp here." He marched to the microphone and grabbed it with one hand. He held the trophy up with his other hand and straightened his posture. "I, Squidward Tentacles, hereby declare that I will not accept my role as starring actor in this snob's play! I also reject this trophy as-"
"Hey, is that Squidward?!"
"Oh Jupiter, it's him!"
A certain portion of the audience, all of them young adults, began guffawing. The laughter soon spread to some other contestants.
Squidward threw the microphone to the floor and placed the trophy before Squilliam. He then stomped down the steps of one side of the stage and marched his way out of the theatre.