Lies We Tell ✔

The Twenty-sixth Dance

With only a week until the election for freshman representatives, Chris was busier than ever. Which meant that I, who had somehow gotten roped into the role of his campaign manager, was also busier than ever. Between handing out piles of flyers to unsuspecting, innocent freshmen and making time for dance rehearsal, I'd begun to fall behind on my homework.

Add in the fact that Parker had given me an overwhelming go-ahead for my idea, and the planning I had to do sucked up the last of my free time. But I didn't mind. This was more important than free time, or even sleep.

Parker and I stopped by the auditorium where the Dance 'N' Beats held their rehearsals three times a week. We waited until the music died down, the volume of chatter rose, and the blonde, beautiful members began filing out of the auditorium doors.

"Michelle," I called, spotting the president, who was the last to leave. She stopped in the middle of placing her beats around her head, giving me a quizzical look that morphed into one of recognition. "Hey."

"Oh, hey." Michelle's lips curled upward into an uncertain smile, her gaze siding from me to Parker.

I nearly lost my nerve when I thought of the way she'd dismissed the Dance Sensasians, the way she must be dismissing us now. Parker placed his hand on my shoulder, as if he sensed what I was thinking. I got his message. I couldn't falter. Not now.

"So, the Dance Sensasians have an idea for a special performance," I said, trying to ignore the insincerity in Michelle's smile. "A sort of volunteer event that'll make the participating dance groups look really good. And we just know the Dance 'N' Beats would make this event spectacular." I was laying it on so thick it was a wonder Michelle hadn't started sweating.

I held my breath as she considered my words. Her eyebrows rose. Lips pursed. I prepared myself for the inevitable go-away-you-K-pop-nerds.

"I'm listening," Michelle said finally, taking off her beats and stuffing them into her backpack.

Once I got Dance 'N' Beats on board, it was easy spreading the message to the rest of the dance groups. Michelle was scarily good at recruiting. Two days later, all sixteen organizations were on board to show off one song they'd been working on for free. The university approved funding for the first-ever multicultural dance performance: Dancerush.

"You did this," Parker told me proudly after relaying the news to me. We were walking to rehearsal together, shoes squeaking against the floor. He looked like he was staring at me through a whole new light, and sighed. "Man. It's like looking like a female freshman version of me. Except less better-looking."

"Shut up, Parker." But even the dance leader's digs couldn't pull me off the cloud on which I was floating. I'd helped coordinate a campus-wide dance event. Little old freshman me.

Parker leaned closer with his arms out. I put mine out, too, expecting a hug. He grabbed my hand instead and shook it firmly. Still as affectionate as ever.

The thought of Dancerush gave me something to look forward to as the days dragged by with bleak news. It wasn't rare now to find racist graffiti in the bathrooms. Whispered taunts of "slit-eyes" and "gook" and "chink" and "go back to China" followed me in crowds. The culprits melted into faces of innocent-looking students as soon as I tried to pinpoint them.

The quad, which had once been full of students throwing frisbees and eating food after class, was empty now except for students speed-walking to class. I found myself spending even more time holed up in my room or at the gym, dancing away my fear.

It felt like we were all living in a bad dystopian novel. Except this wasn't fiction. This was reality. A reality in which hatred was crawling out of the woodwork. Like worms. Like silent, deadly snakes. Staking their claim on what was supposed to be a liberal campus. Crumbling the flimsy, rotting surface of diversity and inclusion.