Chapter 1: Drag Me Into Trouble
The backstage air was thick enough to chew. It tasted of sweat, cheap glitter, and the sour tang of pre-show panic. A single flickering work light threw long, dancing shadows over a landscape of chaos: half-empty coffee cups sweating on top of speaker boxes, a crumpled flyer for the Philosophy Club’s bake sale, a lone, forlorn popcorn kernel stuck to the tape marking their position.
Lisa was pressed against the cinderblock wall like she hoped it might swallow her whole. Her breaths came in short, sharp gusts. “I can’t feel my fingers. Is that normal? I think I’m having a coronary event at twenty-two.”
“It’s adrenaline, you drama queen.” Rose didn’t look up from blotting her lip gloss with a tissue. “And yes, it’s normal. For people who do cool, fun things.”
“Signing us up for the Spring Fling Talent Show without asking me is not a cool, fun thing. It’s a war crime. My girlfriend is out there. My professor for Bio 202 is probably out there.”
“Somi’s your biggest fan, and Professor Griggs is like eighty. He’ll think it’s a nice hootenanny.” Rose tossed the tissue, caught Lisa’s panicked reflection in her compact mirror, and snapped it shut. “Look. We’ve practiced this a hundred times. It’s two minutes and thirty-seven seconds of pure, uncut joy. We’re gonna kill it.”
Lisa slid down the wall an inch, the muscles in her taut stomach fluttering under the black crop top. “I’m gonna vomit on the front row.”
“You will not.” Rose stepped forward, grabbing Lisa’s wrists. They were damp and cold. “You are Lisa-freaking-Manoban. You can backflip into a split while reciting the periodic table. This is just dancing. With me. To a song we both love.”
From the other side of the heavy velvet curtain, the muffled sound of polite applause faded. The emcee’s voice, a bright, plastic chirp, followed. “And now, giving us a little classic swing with a modern twist, please welcome to the stage… Rose and Lisa!”
Lisa’s eyes went wide and liquid with pure terror. “Rose.”
“No time. We’re on.” Rose’s grin was all teeth and promise. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the backstage din. “You owe me so fucking much for this.”
Then she yanked.
Lisa stumbled forward, propelled by Rose’s iron grip on her wrist, through the gap in the curtain and into the blistering white heat of the stage lights. The world dissolved into a roaring, formless void beyond the glare. Lisa’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. She was aware of a dark, shapeless mass out there—the audience—and a single, piercing whistle she was sure, sure, came from Somi.
Then the opening piano notes of ‘L-O-V-E’ tinkled out, crisp and bright.
Rose dropped her wrist. She turned to face the void, her posture shifting, a slow smile spreading as the bass kicked in. This was her element. She tossed her blonde hair, snapped her fingers once, twice, and found the beat as if it were a physical thing she could grab.
Lisa stood frozen, a statue of shame.
Rose turned back to her, still moving, and mouthed a single, clear word. Move.
Something in the command, the sheer audacity of it, cracked the ice. Lisa’s training took over. Her feet shifted. Her shoulders loosened. She found the one-two-three-four in her bones and let it in. She was still terrified, but her body knew this. It was just another routine.
They fell into the first simple box step, mirroring each other. Rose was all confident, playful winks to the crowd. Lisa kept her eyes locked on Rose, a lifeline. As they swiveled, Rose’s hand landed on Lisa’s hip, guiding her into the first turn. The touch was electric, a direct current that jolted Lisa out of her head.
The lyrics started. L is for the way you look at me…
Rose looked, all right. She looked with a mischievous, dominating glee that dared Lisa to keep up. During the next pass, their hips brushed, swaying a beat too close. Lisa’s embarrassed flush, visible even under the lights, began to morph. It wasn’t just heat anymore. It was a spark.
O is for the only one I see…
Rose spun her, a quick, clean rotation that made Lisa’s dark hair fan out. When she snapped back into Rose’s hold, closer this time, she wasn’t just following. She was answering. A hint of a smirk touched Lisa’s lips. Her own hand came up, bold, to Rose’s shoulder, her grip firm.
They were supposed to be cute. Choreographed cheek-to-cheek for a half-beat. But as Rose dipped her back, just slightly, their faces were inches apart in the blinding light. Rose’s playful dominance met Lisa’s newfound, reluctant fire. For that suspended moment, it wasn’t just a bit. The energy between them crackled, real and dense, feeding off the crowd’s growing whoops and cheers.
The song raced toward its finale. They broke apart for the final jazzy steps, doing their practiced, goofy heel-kicks and shimmies. Lisa wasn’t thinking about the crowd anymore. She was lost in the pure, stupid joy of the rhythm, of matching Rose step-for-step, of the laughter bubbling up in her own throat. She threw her head back and genuinely laughed as they struck the final pose, Rose pointing at her, Lisa pointing back, both breathing hard.
The applause was instant and loud, a wave of sound that finally broke the spell of the lights. The void had a voice, and it was cheering. For them.
Rose grabbed her hand, not the wrist this time, and they took a quick, ragged bow. The curtain swung shut, cutting off the noise like a switch.
Back in the semidarkness, the silence rang. Lisa slumped against a rolled-up backdrop, her chest heaving. She could feel the grin stretching her face, unstoppable.
“See?” Rose gasped, nudging her shoulder. “Coronary event avoided. You were amazing.”
“We didn’t forget anything,” Lisa breathed, amazed.
“I told you. Now come on.” Rose tugged her toward the dark corridor that led back to the dressing rooms. “I need water. And I need to find my girlfriend so she can tell me how hot I looked.”
Lisa followed, the adrenaline still singing in her veins. Her body felt loose, alive. As they pushed through the fire door into the cooler, quieter hallway, the reality settled over her. They’d done it. It was over.
And she’d actually, against every fiber of her being, enjoyed it.
Rose was already texting, walking backward. “Somi says we brought ‘queer joy’ and that she’s taking us for burgers. You in?”
Lisa just nodded, running a hand through her damp hair. From a side hallway, a stagehand wheeling a large amp gave them a thumbs up. “Great job, you two. Real crowd-pleaser.”
“Thanks!” Rose chirped, never breaking stride.
Lisa kept quiet, soaking it in. The compliment, the afterglow, the way her muscles hummed with pleasant fatigue. She caught up to Rose and bumped her hip lightly.
“Okay,” Lisa said, her voice quiet but clear in the empty hallway. “Maybe it was a little bit fun.”
Rose’s answering laugh echoed off the linoleum. “Just a little? I saw you out there. You were a goddess. A terrified, clumsy goddess, but still.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
They hit the dressing room door, still laughing, the tension of the stage now a buzzing, shared secret between them. The night, it turned out, was just getting started.