Page 54 of Flint

ou sure about this?” I ask for like the seventh time in the last five minutes.

’Cause I sure as hell am not. They all assured me I would rock this, but I’m totally questioning their sanity. I’ve been told this is like a monthly routine thing for us. So routine that I know the steps to the dance in my sleep. Even if I did lose my memory.

Yup, that’s right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m dancing. Not just body-shaking dancing. We’re talking full-on production and choreography. Even got a few costume changes involved.

What started out as a little practice turned into me learning I was kind of a badass in the dance department. Apparently clumsiness only comes in the walking form for me. You put music on, and I rock it. Okay, not every song, but the ones I’m told I practiced three times a day solo at for six months. This was my cross training, according to Bailey. The marathon was important to me, but I never wanted to give this up, so I just pushed myself harder to do both. Guess it worked out, as I’m now about to go on in front of God knows how many people.

The movie marathon of fairy tales that Bailey wanted to show me never happened. A bit bummed out by that, but I’ve also been running on this endorphin high all day. Once Bailey saw I knew the steps, she basically called everyone—there are like fifteen people in this dance crew—and as miracles would have it, they were all able to come by. Tonight was meant to be a big show, I guess like a tribute to me doing the race. Which I didn’t do. But instead of canceling it like they’d planned, since I’m in like every number, they’re now all in: makeup on, glitter bomb went off, mascara in my eye stinging like crazy, ready to go.

“Girl, you danced the entire routine the first time I put the music on, and I didn’t say a damn thing to you then. You got this. And even if you freeze, well, hell, we’ve done that before too,” Bailey says offhandedly as she swipes once more at her lashes with the death wand of mascara.

“We have?”

Jordan pushes me over to see himself in the mirror once more. “Oh God, don’t even get me started. I had nightmares for a month, and I swore I would never talk to you guys again or do this, and here I am. We freeze, we get pushed off the stage by someone, and then we cry ourselves to sleep for a week. Not a total loss, though. I think I lost five pounds last time.”

“And I’m glad as fuck you found it again.” Ahh, that’s so sweet. I just love the way Jordan and Meekail act. It’s uber cuteness overload. “I like my man with a bit more junk in the truck.”

“Honey, we all know I could never lose this ass. No matter how hard you pound into it, there is nothing that will get this gone. But I appreciate your words, and heck, you trying nightly.” Jordan winks at Meekail, who just rolls his eyes and walks away, a smile on his lips.

Okay, I can do this. I think. What’s the worst that could happen? I forget what I’m doing and walk off the stage? No biggie. I won’t know these people, so who cares? Even if they know me, I doubt I’ll remember them. And even if I do, well, hey, I’ll have my memory back and probably do a freak-out onstage, adding to the dramatics of the night. Just need to try and not fall off the stage; anything else will be a success.

“Okay, movie’s rolling. Places, everyone.”

Yes, you heard that right. It’s a movie. No, I’m not in the movie, sort of like the chorus but live and onstage, and we don’t sing. I didn’t get it at first when Bailey explained it to me, but after the last rehearsal we just did, it totally makes sense now. A movie, Rock of Ages, is playing on a very large projector in this warehouse that’s like a floating bar. You never know where it’ll pop up till the night of the event. I guess we set this up—the misfits, that is. Our love for musical numbers got the best of us, apparently, and we somehow grew a small following. At least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t know how giving anyone five hours’ notice before we go live would cause a crowd, but they swear by it.

Every few months, we pop up at random places. Cover charge is like seven bucks, but it comes with a small popcorn. They got to pay for drinks, along with refills or candy. They put up a front, making it look like a movie theater as the entry point, but when you get inside, it’s a bar tabletop style, and a huge-ass stage with a giant projector behind that. The movie plays, and when a song comes on—not all of them but most—we go and do a little dance.

We don’t advertise who we are, even put on enough costumes and makeup so it’s difficult to recognize us, unless we don’t care. Like Jordan. He isn’t hiding the tattoos on his body, and damn, they’re nice. Not as nice as Flint’s are, but I still appreciate good art.

I was a virgin. How fucking funny, and a bit pathetic, is that? I asked Bailey if she knew, and she just shook her head before she flooded me with a million questions about why I’m asking and was I interested in anyone. I think I broke her for a second when I explained how I found out. Then she laughed, like full-on manic, crazy laughter. I guess it’s kind of funny if you hear about it afterward. Girl thinks she’s a sex goddess ’cause she looks up porn on the regular only to realize she probably never even had a proper orgasm before being fucked to death all night. Okay, I didn’t die, but what a way to go if I had.

Only damper on the whole thing was Flint leaving in the morning. Not even a goodbye kiss before he was out the door, throwing his clothes on as he went. I don’t even think he had his shirt on or one of his boots before he started his bike up and sped off.

I would have called and checked on him. Not that I was going to be that girl who needed the guy she just slept with to call her all the time or anything. Just wanted to make sure he didn’t crash or something. And if you believe that, you should also believe that I hate Diet Coke and gave it up last night.

Anyhow, I’m in a bit of frump that I had sex with a guy I like, my first, and he just ran out after it was over. Okay, we screwed all night, so he couldn’t be classified as the type who just wanted in my pants, right? I mean, if he was going to be that kind of guy, don’t they leave like right after the deed is done?

Oh, fun fact: apparently it’s not normal to go at it all night like rabbits. Bailey almost died from choking on a carrot when I told her that part. Well, if I had to pick how my first time would go, memory or not, got to say, it was awesome. Of course, now I’m going to compare everyone to that. If you can’t go a solid six hours, then there’s no future for us.

But I can’t call him. See, somewhere between me getting run over, the bar, and fucking each other’s brains out, we never exchanged numbers. Bailey swears that’s a sign, but what do I know about signs? I fell into his lap—okay, his club. If we’re reading signs, doesn’t that count as a good one?

Whatever, it’s too complicated for me to think about right now. I got, what, thirty people to impress in this place? Fifteen are part of this, and the others are how many I’m guessing are here, including the staff Jordan hired for the night. So we’re talking five people, max. Even so, I’m determined to give them one hell of a show. Mostly I just don’t want to fall on my ass. If I don’t do that, then I’m calling tonight a win.

I know I still got a guy on me. Kind of used to them by now. It was easy to spot him when we left the dance hall we used for our practice round before we came here for the dress rehearsal. I feel bad for the guys constantly on me, mostly ’cause I know it can’t be fun watching me all day. So instead of making life hard for them, I try to tell them what’s going on and where I’m going so they know in case something comes up and we get separated or something. Not that that’s ever happened, or that they would allow it to, but I’m just trying to be nice. Okay, I also am not a superfan about eyes on me all the time, so if I pretend I’m talking to a friend and not just a random person, it makes life a bit easier on me.

“Damn, we got a packed house out there. Remember your cues, people, and if anyone freezes, just push them off. Try to aim for the curtain and not the front of the stage. Don’t need another mishap like the one that landed Michael on crutches for two months.”

Ouch. Poor Michael, whoever the hell he is.

Wait, what did Jordan just say?

“Packed house? We’re talking like ten people, right?” My voice comes out a bit panicked even to my own ears.

“Um, try standing room only, and this place is slotted to hold three hundred. We definitely pushed that limit. Hopefully the fire marshal doesn’t stop by again. Nothing kills the mood like a closed-down show mid-go,” Jordan says as if it’s not the first time it’s happened.

Well, shit.

I don’t even have time to look out and see before I’m lining up for the first number. And then the lights dim, the spotlights go on, and I’m pushed forward. Then I’m kicking, spinning, and God knows what these moves are called. All I know is I’m super happy we’re not a lip-syncing group, ’cause that would suck right now.

---