The sound guy starts our music. Seth is rapt, listening to his own intro. He better snap out of it when it’s time to start dancing. We hold position in two separate groups—backup singers and monsters—while the music samples chase each other in and out of the mix.
On the repeat, the peppy “Bad Girls” remix takes over, and we backup singers come to life. Sandra, Seth and I take turns doing a signature disco move, then freeze in position. When the rap comes in, Dawn and Jill do the same with a monster move each. This way we are establishing the two contrasting groups and their conflict. I glance at the judges’ table. Our drama teacher is making a note on her paper. Our new act, Monster Disco Ball, has begun.
Sandra, Seth and I start with our backup-singer intro. But soon we’re interrupted by Jill and Dawn, stomping across our sight line. We pose, all angry, and turn on our flashlights the way we used to do with Seth. The Franken-monsters perform their electric-zap moves—standing this time—and we click the flashlights off and on. In the strobe effect, their teased-up, Bride of Frankenstein hair wobbles. Their skirts twitch. The music fades back to Donna Summer, and they freeze as Seth slides, twists and moonwalks around them.
Then we work in a bit that Dawn insisted we slave over, back in the rec room. Sandra and I get tangled up in the powered-off monsters, trying to follow Seth as his backup singers. The judges are smiling. Their heads are moving to the music.
Now Jill and Dawn have returned to life, and the five of us square off. Seth catches Jill, and her heavy combat boot rises high, then swings down as she’s pushed to one side. I fall against Dawn, and we do the same move. Pretty soon we’re dancing together, passing the flashlights.
For my routine, I throw my head back and my arms out. Dawn and Jill lift me, moving me forward. At this point in the song there are only keyboards, playing the bass line. So it works that I mimic some of the monster moves with Dawn and Jill before they fall back.
As I’m doing my full spin, a crack of light flashes from the auditorium doors. Someone enters. I see shadowy figures move among the seats. I fling my arms high and smile, as if I’m a star. We have the judges. I can see it in their eyes. The act is working.
Dawn is amazing. She’s always spot on her mark. Jill’s moves are tight, as if she’s channeling Sofia’s dancer spirit. Seth has been holding the beat for the rest of us since the beginning. He’s like a metronome—nobody gets lost watching him. And Sandra, now at the foot of the runway, starts singing for real.
Her powerful voice needs no microphone. It fills the auditorium, all the way to the back row of the balcony. The music ends, but, according to plan, Sandra continues singing for several bars. The rest of us do one last turn, then stop—at the exact moment that Sandra goes quiet. As agreed, we all hold perfectly still in our poses for a four-count to finish.
Clapping and screaming erupt from the seats. The shadowy figures are clear now. There’s Willow, jumping up and down. And Dev—giving us a standing ovation. His ear-splitting whistles bounce off the walls. Sofia’s leaning on him, whooping and shouting, “Bravo! Encore!”
Their swell of appreciation washes toward us, lifting me up. Another swell, coming from my heart, makes me feel like I’ll burst. Like Donna Summer says in the song, I feel love.
The judges are shaking their heads at all the racket, but they’re smiling. “Thanks very much, ah…” Our drama teacher checks her notes. “…Monster Disco Ball. That was terrific.”
I reach out for the others—we’re all reaching. And in one swoop, in perfect unison, we take our bow.
Author’s Note
Adina’s story is inspired by FACE School, located in the heart of downtown Montreal. FACE stands for Fine Arts Core Education (although according to graffiti in the girls’ bathroom, it stands for Fun, Action, Creation, Énergie).
My children have attended the school for years. Like Adina and her friends, the students of FACE dash between classes, carrying bulging backpacks, rushing up and down a coiling, M.C. Escher-style staircase. The medieval-looking basement and the ex-swimming-pool performance space are the same too. Intergrade activities such as reading partners, pen pals and “family” classes help create connections between senior students and little ones.
While less polished than the musical concerts FACE students perform several times a year, the popular student-led Fashion Show offers a unique party buzz. Audiences pack to the back of the balcony—hooting and cheering over a two-hour show of big ensemble numbers.
My thanks go to my children and their friends and teachers, who for all these years—unbeknownst to them and me—have been providing the background and inspiration for Show Mode. My son’s buddy, Matthew Williams, and his violin teacher, Kate Bevan-Baker, allowed me to observe a lesson, answering my foolish questions with grace. Fellow FACE mom—and good friend—Abha Joshi kindly read the story for any egregious errors in South Asian references. Ninaad Kalla, a member of the FACE 2016 graduating class, read the story with an eye toward music-related blunders. I’m grateful to all these kind advisors. Any mistakes in the book are mine.
The author of four books for children, RAQUEL RIVERA has lived and worked in Washington D.C., Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, Barcelona and Toronto (where she was born and raised). She now lives in Montreal, Quebec, with her family. For more information, visit www.raquelriverawashere.com.
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