Save Steve

by Jenni Hendriks

  Steve leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. “Did you actually think I was going to post that lame-ass honey stunt? Something that was clearly engineered to be painless and only mildly humiliating, but would still let you raise money to impress my girlfriend? Oh, sweet, stupid Cam.” He gave a short, fake laugh. “But it did give me a great idea.”

  I leaned in closer to read. “Sorry I totally failed Steve as a friend and bailed on the tattoo thing. To make it up to him and everyone, I’m taking over Steve’s spot in the lip sync contest next week. I will be performing his—and my—favorite song ever, ‘Money,’ by the goddess of music, Cardi B. And if you want to see me do it in this costume, donate now.”

  I scrolled down to reveal a picture of Cardi B in a very bright . . . very minimal . . . piece of clothing, then looked up in horror, but Steve wasn’t at his desk any longer. He was rummaging through his closet. He emerged seconds later with the costume from the picture. It was very, very small. The only part that really covered anything were the thigh-high boots.

  “I already bought the outfit before I got cancer. I’ve ruled the lip sync battle for two years. I have the confidence and charisma to pull off a scrap of spandex. But not you, Cam. Not with your fifth-grade pecs and your sad partially S-marked ass. Whenever Kaia thinks of you after this, she’s not going to see Cam, the nice do-gooder activist with a heart of gold. No, she’s going to think of Cardi Cam with his droopy package slapping all over the stage.” He leaned closer to me and whispered in my ear. “Oh yeah. That’s happening. I tried it on, Cam. It leaves zero to the imagination. There is—no—support.” He pulled back. “But that doesn’t matter, right? Because it’s all for me.” He practically sang the last word.

  My phone buzzed.

  Kaia: Cam, I’m not so sure this is a great idea . . .

  Steve leaned over and looked at the message on my phone. He smiled. It wasn’t the delighted smile he’d worn when he’d been decorating me with glitter. It was cold, triumphant, and evil. “I can’t wait to see you twerk.” I gripped the phone in my hand and tried not to react. But Steve knew he had me. He knew I hated Cardi. He knew I’d look ridiculous in that outfit. He knew Kaia would never look at me the same way again. There was only one thing he didn’t know . . .

  13

  . . . I’d had seven years of dance lessons.

  “Thank you, Abby Rosendale, for that medley from Cats,” the announcer, our drama teacher, Mrs. Buyikian, boomed. I waited in a dark corner of the auditorium. The lip sync contest was a highlight of the year and pretty much everyone showed up. The room was packed. “Before we get to our next routine,” Mrs. Buyikian continued, “I’d like to welcome back, for one night, Steve Stevenson!” There was a huge roar from the crowd.

  In the front row next to Kaia, Steve stood, bowing to the audience. I could see his smug smile all the way from where I stood, hidden in the shadows. He’d been texting me the whole week about how he couldn’t wait for this moment. Neither could I. For once, Steve had no idea what was coming.

  “Next up. Cam Webber performing Cardi B’s radio-safe version of ‘Money’!”

  The lights dimmed. There was a rustle of anticipation from the audience. I could see Steve’s silhouette as he leaned over to whisper something in Kaia’s ear. The soft hiss of a fog machine caused everyone to still. Steve cocked his head, confused.

  Nine years ago, my newly divorced mom was determined that I would be a well-rounded young man with an expansive and progressive sense of masculinity. It translated into lessons at Ms. Bea’s Dance Academy three times a week. I studied ballet, hip-hop, jazz, modern, and tap. All of it. I performed in the Ventura County Nutcracker for six Christmases. So when Steve shook that flimsy costume at me, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to grin. Like I hadn’t worn a leotard before.

  The first thumping beats of the song shook the room. Onstage, four lights snapped on, illuminating four dancers in matching patent leather corsets, tight buns, and black lace thigh-highs, chins tucked and eyes on the ground. Fog swirled around their ankles. As one, their arms shot into the air. The intake of breath from the audience was practically audible. In the front, I saw Steve stiffen.

  The first thing I’d done after Steve posted the challenge was to return to Ms. Bea’s and ask a favor. Soon, I had four of my old classmates and studio space. Other than for school, we hadn’t left that room for a week. Yes, I objected to Cardi’s music, but the idea of a white guy performing a woman of color’s art for laughs was far, far more offensive. So I made certain no one would laugh at this routine. I was going to use every ounce of my dance training to fucking nail it.

  I did my research. I posted to r/thatsracist to make sure I wasn’t crossing any lines. My mom and I made some modifications to Steve’s costume. I’d watched every performance of Cardi’s I could find. I became even more motivated when I discovered that she and Michelle Obama had teamed up to get young people to vote. I worked my ass off. All for this moment.

  “Who are these dancers? I want to see my man Cam,” Steve called from the front row. From the back of the auditorium, I smiled and mentally counted . . . five, six, seven, eight.

  The spotlight hit me. There was a wave of creaks as everyone in the audience turned to look. I flung my arms high, letting the satin of the dress my mom had sewn catch the light. It was a riff off the Thierry Mugler one Cardi had worn to the Emmys, where architectural folds sprang up in a semicircle from just below her hips all the way to her neckline and made her look like a pearl in the center of an oyster. I strode forward, the center aisle of the auditorium my runway, a swivel to my hips, the dress swaying around me like a peacock’s tail.

  Cardi started to rap, her voice echoing through the auditorium. I lip-synched along about fat checks, big bills, and tall heels. And I was wearing heels, the platform thigh-high boots Steve had given me. They flashed through the slit in the front of my dress with every step.

  The audience was dead quiet. My heart stuttered and I felt a film of sweat break out on my back. But I had to keep going. Stopping now would be worse. I kept my chin up, refusing to let the doubt show on my face. I was doing this. I stomped toward the risers leading up to the stage. Two of my backup dancers hurried down them in unison.

  As we crossed each other on the stairs, the girls reached out, gripped the edges of my dress, and tugged. With a rip of Velcro, the dress tore away and billowed to the ground, revealing the leotard Steve had given me. I’d covered it in a mosaic of diamonds. The lights bounced off my body in blinding flashes, sending rainbows dancing around the auditorium. I stepped onto the stage. Finally, the audience found their voice. They screamed.

  But I was just getting started. On the word cartwheels, I thrust out my launching leg, took a small hop with my back foot, pushed my front leg into the ground and, keeping my arms wide, flung myself into an aerial cartwheel. My head perpendicular to the floor, I swore I could see Steve mouth “HOOOOLY SHIIIIIIITTT” in slow motion. My heels slammed into the ground, landing me perfectly so I was facing the crowd. The roar from the audience was so loud it temporarily blocked the music, but I didn’t stop. I crouched down, the patent leather boots creaking, looked into Steve’s stupid, stunned face, and kept going.

  Behind me my backup dancers twisted, contorting their bodies, and beat out a counter rhythm to the song with their sharp, precise steps. I reached the chorus.

  “Diamonds on my neck . . .” I dropped my hands behind me, pointed my chest to the ceiling, and bent one leg. I sliiiiiiiiiiid the other one forward, pointing it, and began to thrust my hips.

  Pandemonium.

  “. . . But nothing in this world . . .” I flipped over again and writhed along the floor, feeling the grit of the stage cut into my hands and thighs. Steve’s mouth hung open. Kaia’s eyes were wide and unblinking. I didn’t allow myself a smile, keeping my expression fierce as the song picked up.

  “. . . That I like more than checks.” I spun to my feet, falling back into formation
with my dancers. Together we splayed our thighs open and closed. We rolled our heads. Popped our shoulders. Swiveled our asses. All in perfect synchronization. I couldn’t even hear the crowd or the music now. I was just dancing.

  Steve was the furthest thought from my mind.

  Finally, the girls ran to the back of the stage, leaving me alone as my routine reached its crescendo. This was the part that had given me trouble all week, but not tonight. Faster and faster I pounded out the steps, twisting, dipping, and spinning, the crowd screaming, then with a final burst of speed, I dropped to my knees and slid to the edge of the stage, turning as I did so I landed with my ass facing the crowd. Arching my back, and looking over my shoulder with coy tilt of my lips, I reached behind me and yanked the edge of the leotard up to reveal . . .

  . . . a completed “Save Steve” tattoo. I’d gone back to Mario last week, determined to fight through my low pain threshold and redeem myself. As the audience took it in, a giant banner with SaveSteve.org on it unfurled at the back of the stage and fake one-hundred-dollar bills rained down around me, the word money echoing over the last beats of the song.

  The entire room completely lost their minds. Everyone leaped to their feet, hugging, screaming, fists pumping the air. I panted, sweat dripping into my eyes, making my vision sparkle as applause crashed over me. It kept coming. Wave after wave, never seeming to end. There was only one person in the whole place who wasn’t standing: Steve.

  I locked eyes with him and grinned.

  Backstage, I changed into sweats and an old T-shirt, carefully hanging my costume back on its hanger. I scrubbed at my face with a washcloth, trying to remove my makeup, though I’d forgotten how hard it was to get off and was probably just smearing around eyeliner and glitter. The one thing that definitely wasn’t coming off was my smile. I was pretty sure it was stuck there permanently. I was flying. I could do anything right now. I could walk into Channel Islands Aqua Park and free that shark myself. Giving up on the eyeliner as a lost cause, I tossed the washcloth aside and stepped out of the makeshift dressing room they’d set up for the performers.

  I was immediately mobbed. Every theater tech kid in the vicinity dropped what they were doing and for a moment all I could do was high-five, fist-bump, and hug my way through the crowd. Then, through the press of black-clad bodies, I saw Kaia and Steve approaching through the shadowed clutter of backstage. My smile got even bigger. With apologies to the tech nerds, I started to push my way toward them.

  “. . . and then he did that thing with his hips and . . . wow.” Kaia excitedly waved her arms for emphasis. Overhearing her praise made my insides feel like a half-baked chocolate chip cookie. I had to stop and collect myself behind a plywood apple tree as she continued, “You have to admit it was incredible.”

  “So incredible. It was basically his coming out performance, right?” Steve snorted.

  Kaia’s arms dropped. “Wow. You really can’t handle anything but twentieth-century gender norms, can you?”

  “What? Come on, Kaia, it was a little gay.”

  Kaia stiffened. “I’m sorry. Are you using the word ‘gay’ like it’s a bad thing?”

  “Uh . . . no?” Steve floundered. I felt a stab of pity for him and stepped back into the shadows. But I was still a little excited to hear Kaia tear into him.

  “Because I’m really not sure what you’re trying to say here.” Kaia crossed her arms, waiting.

  “Oh, don’t act like that was normal.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Not that being gay isn’t normal . . . I mean . . . um. Come on, he was in a dress!” Steve said this last bit as if it was proof of something, though he was obviously no longer sure what. Kaia shook her head in disgust.

  “You know what? Why don’t you go home? You look really tired from being so threatened.”

  “Whatever. If that’s what you want. God. You’re being—”

  “What?” Kaia stepped close, her eyes ice, her voice low. “What am I being, Steve? Does it start with a ‘B’?”

  The moment seemed to stretch.

  “Fine.” Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and slunk away. Something clattered as he kicked it on his way out.

  I turned and bent down to fiddle with my shoelace. I needed a second to process what had just happened. Because it seemed like Kaia and Steve just had a fight . . . about me.

  Through the cutout branches of the fake tree, I saw Kaia ask the stage manager if he’d seen me. Not wanting to be caught hiding, I stood up.

  “Kaia?”

  Kaia’s eyes lit and she bounded toward me. “Cam!” I took a bracing step back as she threw herself against me, squeezing me tight. “Holy shit! I mean . . . holy shit, Cam! That was . . . sexy!”

  All the feelings I’d had since I stepped offstage rushed back. I was flying again. I could do anything. And Kaia Gonzales was hugging me. I wrapped my arms around her and twirled us once before releasing her. I stepped back, breathless. “I was so unfair to Cardi. I get it now. I mean, as long as stripping is by choice and not as a last resort due to systemic financial inequality—never mind. Screw it. That was insane.” Something occurred to me, and I grinned. “Wait. Did you just call me sexy?”

  Kaia blushed and knocked me on the shoulder. “Shut up. You know that was hot.” Waggling my eyebrows, I popped my shoulder and rolled my hip like I had in the dance. A few stagehands hooted, and Kaia pretended to fan herself and laughed.

  “Well, it was all for Steve.”

  Kaia’s face fell and I inwardly cursed. Way to ruin the moment. “Yeah. Um, he had to go. He wasn’t feeling well.”

  Now it was awkward. Great. “Oh. That’s okay.” I searched for something else to say and then came up empty. She’d probably leave.

  “Um, anyway, what are you doing now?”

  Hold on. Was that . . . Did she want me to . . . “I was going to take the dancers to Denny’s as a thank-you.”

  “Oh. That’s nice of you.” She looked down at her feet.

  I was still flying. I could do anything.

  “Do you want to come?”

  Twenty minutes later, we were all crammed in a booth, piles of food spread on the table: chocolate chip pancakes, fries, mozzarella sticks, a huge banana split. Our spoons clashed as we fought for the best bits. Kaia was pressed up beside me. Everyone was talking over each other. Our shrieks of laughter filled the dining room. The other customers stared at our glitter-smudged faces. We didn’t care.

  “And then when you threw your arms out—” Mei shouted.

  “And everyone got super quiet—” Tamara said.

  “But then we pulled off the dress—” Alyssa continued.

  “And the whole place just went—” Lainey mimicked the roar of the crowd. The girls burst into delighted laughter. Kaia’s eyes caught mine and she smiled.

  “So how long have you guys been friends with Cam?” she asked when the laughter subsided.

  “Oh, um, we aren’t friends. I mean, we all danced together, but we didn’t hang out outside of class.” I realized how bad that sounded as soon as I said it. It wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted to be friends. Or that I didn’t like them.

  “Cam was a mystery to all of us,” Alyssa said, popping a mozzarella stick into her mouth.

  “We called him Disappearing Webber because he was gone as soon as class was over,” Mei added. It was true. I’d always see them walking off together after class to get ice cream and I’d wanted to go. But every time I tried to ask if I could tag along, my stomach clenched.

  “Poof! Like a magician.” Mei wiggled her fingers.

  “I was intimidated!” I attempted to defend myself from their laughing eyes. “You were all super good and my voice was cracking.”

  The girls laughed. “Whatever,” Lainey said. “Just ’cause we didn’t do sleepovers didn’t mean we weren’t friends.”

  “Wait, we were friends?” I was confused.

  The girls dissolved into giggles again. “Oh my lord, Cam.” Tamara s
puttered. “You are so hopeless.”

  Mei placed a hand on my shoulder and explained it to me like I was a child. “We spent hours together every week, Cam. Yes. We were your friends.” I blinked a few times, taking this in.

  “Yeah,” Alyssa added, “did you think we’d spend a week in that studio for just anyone? Did you see my blisters?”

  “Oh no, mine were way worse,” Lainey said.

  Beside me, Kaia’s phone buzzed. She picked it up and rolled her eyes.

  “Your mom?” I asked.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just Steve. He said something stupid earlier and has been apologizing all night.”

  Mei perked up. “Ooh. Mute that shit. Make him suffer.”

  “Nah. I already told him it was fine, but he still feels bad.” Kaia glanced at me, then looked away.

  Alyssa shrugged and dug into the banana split. “Well, he is hot.”

  Lainey shoved her, sending ice cream splattering onto the table. “Alyssa! He’s sick.”

  “So? He can’t be hot?”

  Tamara leaned back in her seat. “I’m with Alyssa on this one. Eleven out of ten. Would ride.”

  “Guys, stop. We’re making our new friend blush,” Mei said with a laugh. Then she dropped her fry. “Ooh! Idea! Who wants to go to the beach?”

  There was an answering squeal from the table and suddenly money was being grabbed from wallets and thrown on the table. I turned to Kaia.

  “You coming?”

  Kaia slumped a bit. “I’ve got some yearbook pages to work on—”

  “It’s okay. You’re busy.” I wasn’t surprised. In fact, I was still kind of in shock that she’d had the time to go to Denny’s.

  Kaia threw a wad of money onto the table. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

  We sprawled on an unlit stretch of sand. Behind us, the highway provided the occasional flash of light as cars passed and the drone of traffic mixed with the crash of the waves. In front of us, the ocean was almost invisible in the darkness. Only the occasional froth of white foam as the waves broke hinted that we weren’t staring into an endless sky.