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He had walked six blocks and passed by almost as many bus stops when his attempt at an unaffected façade crumbled completely. Once upon a time he could maintain it through the darkest moments. Hell, it was in his darkest moments that he had perfected the act, but it certainly wasn't working for him now. He closed his eyes and all he could see were those big, beautiful brown eyes welling up with tears. His feet shuffled to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk.

Why did he feel such a strong desire to go back there and change his answer? Yes, he thought all the kids should get to dance… that no one had the right to hold another back because of race or appearance or creed… he hadn't ever really thought about it before now – before Tracy; but he did believe that. But… he had also been working for this chance, this shot, for as long as he could remember… He couldn't give it all up now, not when he was finally so close.

Couldn't they fight to get Negro day back…or better yet, all the kids on the show together… after the pageant? Would it be so bad for all of this to wait just two more days?

Trying to rid himself of these conflicting thoughts, he looked up from the toes of his shoes and took note of his location. He was in a part of town he didn't fully recognize and he noticed passersby looked at him as if he were an oddity of some kind. He tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. He glanced around and spotted a bus stop two blocks down and across the street. He hurried toward it, slumping down onto the dilapidated bench with a sigh of unease and defeat.

He closed his eyes to try and calm himself and an image of Tracy's hurt expression - the way she had drawn back from him after he had said those stupid words - flooded his mind and his stomach twisted painfully. His fingers still felt cold from where she had pulled her hand away from his.

A sharp expletive was on the tip of his tongue, an attempt to release some the tension building up inside him, when a little old black woman shuffled up to the bench with a knobby cane clutched in her spidery hand. He bit off the profanity and instead let his head fall back against the bench with a painful thud.

"C'mon now young man, it can't be all that bad?" the woman's voice pried into his thoughts.

Link opened his eyes and found her watching him with what seemed to be genuine concern. Why did that concern feel more like a knife twisting in his heart? Because I am the biggest, most selfish asshole alive that's why. He shoved the thought forcefully away. Looking out for your future was not selfish, it was… intelligent and necessary.

He realized her look had changed to one of wariness, and that he hadn't yet responded to her. Link sighed quietly. "I dunno ma'am, it's pretty… bad."

"Oh well, child, you just remember one thing for Bella, okay?" she seemed to expect his compliance so he nodded. "Don't let yourself get all downcast. Your miracle could be out there right now, waiting for you, and you're missin' it! Don't waste time bangin' yer head, open your eyes instead."

Link stared after her with wide blue eyes, her words bouncing around in his brain like spilled tennis balls. He watched her shuffle onto the bus, still trying to put them all together in his mind. What the hell did that mean? How come everything in his life lately made him feel like he was a stupid fool in way over his head?

It wasn't until he was watching the bus pull away that he realized he had intended to get on it. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He was a mess. He was completely losing his mind. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing at all.

One minute he was so sure, so certain of what he wanted and how he would go about it – and the next it was crumbling at his feet. Why did this have to happen? Why now of all times; with the pageant on the horizon and things with Tracy just beginning to maybe go somewhere. And why did he feel as though he had betrayed her so deeply? Not just with his carelessly chosen words, but by his choice. He'd never made any promises to her. Surely she understood this was what he had to do?

By the time he finally made it home, his mind and his emotions had settled into their usual state of, what he could now only label, numbness. A feeling that had once brought comfort and a sense of control, now felt uneasy and inherently wrong. He wasn't meant to feel this way – it wasn't right; but he had no idea what was right. Certainly not the fierce turmoil he'd been in before?

That night he tossed and turned in his bed, unable even to fall into the quiet comfort of sleep. After hours of lying there staring at the walls, he sat up, thoughts circling his mind in chaos until he couldn't sit still any longer. Giving up on the idea of rest altogether, he pulled on some pants and padded quietly down to the kitchen.

Mrs. Crandall found him there sometime later, staring into a bowl of melting ice cream, with the early morning sun streaming in on him from the kitchen window. He looked up in surprise when she appeared, looking like a naughty child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She stopped in the door way and studied him a moment before walking over to where he sat. "Mm, and it's strawberry too – this must be bad."

Link swallowed and said the first thing that popped into his head. "You know about the strawberry ice cream?"

"Sweetie, who do you think keeps the freezer stocked with that strawberry ice cream?" she asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

Link looked down guiltily into his bowl.

"You want to tell my why you are up so early this mornin', and why it looks like you've been here for awhile? Couldn't sleep again?" He looked up at her surprised for the second time. Mrs. Crandall had been their cook and housekeeper since not long after his mother had died. In fact, every memory of home since that horrible day – when the house had been filled with somber faced people dressed in black, saying deep things in hushed tones and he'd spent the entire time hiding under his parents' bed – had her in it in some way. Yet he couldn't remember ever really talking to her about anything beyond pleasantries and necessities. How did she seem to know him so well?

"Mrs. Crandall, do you think that I'm a coward?" he found himself asking out of the blue, his hands rubbing nervously down his thighs, eyes locked on his bowl.

The woman paused in wrapping her colorful apron around her full form. She looked at him curiously. "Who told you that you were?"

He shook his head slightly and lifted his spoon from the bowl, watching creamy, pink liquid drip from the end of it, then set it down again. "Would you say I'm completely selfish and self centered?"

She walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of milk and a carton of eggs. Link got up and helped her, taking the eggs and grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter and setting them down near the stove in her usual workspace.

"I think," she said, looking at him from the corner of her eye as he leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest and eyes on the floor, "that if you are asking the question then it obviously can't be so."

"That's not really an answer," he said softly. He looked over at her beating eggs and realized he really wanted someone to tell him that he was alright; that he wasn't crazy, or stupid, or completely broken and unworthy. He tried to form words that would explain everything that was going through his head but he couldn't. How could he, when he didn't even understand it himself, or know why he wanted to tell Mrs. Crandall about it in the first place?

"Lincoln?" He grimaced at her use of his full name. "Do you want to be selfish and self centered?" She looked at him intently, her spoon momentarily still.

He looked at her, stunned and then took a moment to look at himself, to really look at himself. It was a bit overwhelming, to see who and what he had become and know that wasn't who he had ever intended to be at all. His heart was pounding a bit, as he looked up once more; but he had an answer. "No," he said with quiet determination. "No I don't."

"Then don't be."

The idea of school was daunting, and the comforting thought of it being Friday was sadly fleeting; because tomorrow was the pageant and that would bring with it plenty of trouble all on its own. He parked his car in his usual spot and sat looking at the familiar gray building with a sense foreboding.

Tracy would be in there and he wanted to find her and tell her he was sorry, make her see that he had not meant that comment as any kind of a statement on her size; tell her he would never purposefully hurt her like that, but there was still the matter of the march. As much as he wanted to make things right with her, he had worked too hard to get to this chance. He couldn't blow his shot, he just couldn't; he might not get another one.

Amber would also be in there, and that was something he had no idea how he would deal with. He'd hardly thought of Amber since he'd left her in history class the previous day. He knew they were over in truth, if not in actual fact. He knew he needed to break up with her, but again that was a problem. If he broke up with Amber today, he more than likely wouldn't be singing tomorrow. Mrs. Von Tussle wouldn't be happy if he dumped her little girl right before what she intended as the most important day of her life so far. In fact, she might even find a way to make sure he was made a fool of; he'd watched her do it plenty of times before.

But if he kept dating Amber for those reasons alone then he was a selfish asshole – and he knew it.

"It's just one day really," he said, trying to find some sense of justification. "A day and a half… Just get through today and the pageant, then you can tell Amber you're sorry but it's over and then do every damn thing you can think of to make it up to Tracy… and," he ran his hands over his face; "and talk to yourself some more, because that's just really cool."

It was immediately obvious that Amber was punishing him for yesterday. She turned up her nose at his arrival, and refused to speak to him throughout the day. He probably would have been relieved during lunch, when she sat at the other end of the table, if he hadn't been obsessed over finding Tracy. His eyes scanned the mass of students for any sign of her, or her friend Penny – or maybe even Seaweed; but no one was in sight.

They wouldn't have skipped school because of the march would they?

"Man, you better start kissing up to Amber soon or you're gonna be in the dog house permanently," Jessie said leaning over to him. Link looked at him as if surprised he was even there.

"You know, I really couldn't care less," he said after a moment and then winced inwardly. That was cruel. Thankfully the lunch bell rang, rescuing him, and he got up quickly. "I gotta go, see you guys later… at the studio."

"Link, they're airing a taped show this afternoon so they can prepare for the pageant, remember?" Jessie said looking at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

"Right, right – I forgot about that. Just later then I guess," Link answered quickly and made his way toward the school as swiftly as he could without dropping his hip swagger.

He cut through the halls and headed straight for the detention room, opening the door without knocking. He scanned the quiet room, finding only a freshman with large black rimmed glasses sitting in the corner.

"You the only one in here?" he asked pointlessly, realizing a second too late how stupid he sounded. The kid blinked at him then looked around for a moment before answering.

"Um, yeah, there was a whole bunch'a kids in here a few minutes ago, but they all left."

Link wanted to ask if one of them had been Tracy but he stopped himself. Instead he nodded and said, "thanks kid" before slipping back out and closing the door behind him.

Link was watching the time in his last class, staring at the red second hand as it sped its way around the broad clock face, that fast approaching 4 o'clock forefront in his mind.

The march.

He knew that Tracy would go, he had no doubt about it in his mind – that's the kind of person she was. And once Mrs. Von Tussle or Mr. Spritzer knew that she had marched she would be off the show no matter what Corny or anyone else wanted. She was, in essence, boycotting the show itself. She was giving up something she cared deeply about in order to do what she thought was right and that alone amazed him. He hadn't met anyone so devoted to things other than themselves in a long time. Tracy was just …

He didn't think he could imagine… the show… without her now.

The bell rang and he sprang from his seat, hearing Mr. Bolly behind him shout out a reminder of a test on Monday. He barely registered the words at all. He opened his locker and tried to remember which books he needed to bring home but for the life of him, couldn't even remember what classes he had been to that day. He shoved the whole mass into his bag – making it insanely heavy – and then turned to leave, stopping abruptly as he came face to face with Amber.

"Link, sweetie, I'm sorry for ignoring you," she said reaching out to take a hold of his sweater as he started to pull away. She jutted her bottom lip out in a soft pout. "I was mad, but I'm over it. I don't want us to fight."

Link sighed, his eyes roaming her face searchingly. What he was trying to find, he wasn't sure - a reason to stay? Or the reason he had stayed so long? Was he really that shallow, that selfish, that he had dated a girl all this time just because she was pretty and popular and gave him an advantage on the show? Both of them deserved better than that, didn't they?

"Amber, I think we need to talk…" he started reaching out for her hand. She pulled it away and frowned at him for a moment, then her face changed completely, lighting up with one of her specious smiles.

"We'll talk later, right now I'm meeting mother at the hairdressers. I want to look my best for tomorrow. I'm going to get a manicure and a facial, it's simply the most! You're going to have the prettiest girl in Baltimore on your arm tomorrow. Just wait until those agents get a look at us, Link. We're gonna really wow them!" She leaned up quickly and kissed him on the cheek and twirled off down the hallway before he could respond to anything she had said.

"Amber," he called after her retreating back, but she just turned around and blew him a kiss before stepping out into the sunlight.

The house was empty when he arrived home, just as it usually was. He dropped his bag and went into the kitchen out of habit, looking for a snack. On the island there was a plate of cookies and again he realized what a jerk he was for never seeing the things Mrs. Crandall had been doing for him for so many years.

What other things had he been missing, what other small details of life had he over looked completely in his self-centered existence; and where did this new sense of awareness come from anyway? He stilled his rampant thoughts for a moment because he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

He picked up one of the large cookies, but his stomach rebelled at the idea of him eating it so he set it back down and returned to the living room. He pulled his bag over to the sofa and flopped down with his English book in hand.

He opened to the marked page and read the title, A Retrieved Reformation, three times before it actually registered. He flipped to the essay questions at the back, hoping that with them in mind he might focus better.

"What event causes Jimmy Valentine to change his life?"

He looked up at the clock on the wall and tapped his pencil on his leg. 4:30 – they were already marching. He wondered what route they'd take and how many people had shown up. He wondered where Tracy was standing. Probably right up front if he knew her at all. The thought made him smile a little, and then chew his lip in worry. He looked back down at his homework.

"Do you believe a person can really change their life in such a way? Explain."

All he could see in his mind was Tracy. All he could hear was her voice saying, "but it's what's right."

He snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the coffee table. He couldn't study. He couldn't even think straight.

He stood up and started pacing the floor; but no matter how many steps he took across the well worn Oriental rug he couldn't stop his imagination from conjuring up countless scenarios in which Tracy was hurt, arrested, attacked, or any number of other things that could go wrong. He turned on the radio to try and distract himself with music, but even the gleeful vocalizations of Chubby Checker did nothing to distract him.

He didn't know how much time passed as he listened and worried, trying to engage his mind with new dance moves and song lyrics. He knew Mrs. Crandall had called him into dinner but he had told her he wasn't hungry. He knew he tried to watch the television which was still on, displaying images that went unnoticed; and he knew that he hadn't stopped thinking about Tracy once since he had left her at Maybelle's the night before, with tears in her eyes and hurt etched on her sweet face.

As he threw himself on the couch, letting his head fall back against the soft cushions, he felt frustration join the insentient worry that had been plaguing his subconscious.

This was crazy! She was just marching – everything would be fine. Yes, he had messed up; he'd been a selfish jerk – but that was going to change. He'd make it up to her as soon as he saw her again. He'd show her that he could be the kind of guy she thought he was and then… and then… and then what?

He liked her; he could admit that. It wasn't as if liking her was a hard thing to do. She was sweet and smiling, always so enthusiastic and kind – what was there not to like? She was like joy wrapped up in human form. Of course, so were Noreen and Doreen. They were twin bundles of constant happiness really; but he had never wanted to kiss either of them… and he knew he wanted to kiss Tracy – the thought caused a small smile to steal over his features. He'd wanted to kiss her ever since… since…

He tried to remember the first time he'd wanted to – thinking of her mouth, sweetly bowed or curved up in a grin; but every moment he recalled, he knew there was one before. This train of thought continued until, mentally, he was standing in the detention room and looking down at her stunned, nervous face, her full lips parted softly in surprise, providing a glimpse of pink tongue inside.

He sat up on the sofa again, completely thunderstruck.

Had he really wanted to kiss her all this time?

He stood up and started to pace again. He thought about Tracy; about holding her hand and watching her dance. About all the times thoughts of her had invaded his mind, almost against his will. He thought about dark eyes that looked inside of him and soft lips that called to him. Since the moment he had first seen her, stealing a glance at the new recruits on audition day, that girl had never been far from his mind. He thought about her in class and at home; looked forward to everyday that he would get to see her or spend time with her…

He had thought about her all day today – worrying over her to the point that he had almost forgotten that tomorrow was his big break, his shot, the shot he'd been working toward since he was fifteen years old. This was more than like, this was way more than attraction; this thing was so insane, so big…

Why, anyone would think…

A person might get the idea that he…

That he was…

That he was in love with her or some… thing…

Link stopped pacing, almost frozen in mid step. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking; and he wasn't entirely certain that he was even breathing.

Tracy…

"That's right – Tracy Turnblad - a star dancer on the Corny Collins Show, was caught on camera earlier this evening, fleeing the scene after she savagely bludgeoned Mike Morris; decorated officer and celebrated Eagle Scout. Miss Turnblad and a large group of Negro rabble-rousers stormed the WYZT television station…" Link whipped around at the mention of her name, his gaze locking immediately on the image of her on the black and white screen, looking beautiful and brave next to Maybelle Stubbs; and for a moment, he was sure his heart stopped completely.

He stood staring at the television in complete shock for several minutes before he grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

He was a fool and he had to find her.