Superluminary

by Olivia Rising

  She’d often been told that she had the kind of face which didn’t need to be plastered with makeup, so she just moisturized and added a bit of Vaseline to her eyelids for sheen.

  A quick check in the mirror over Kat’s shoulder let Sarina know she looked okay. She’d braided her hair into an ornamental pattern of convoluted cornrows on one side, allowing the other half to freely spill over her shoulder. It would probably get into her face, but whatever. With her parents missing from the spectators, the chances of anyone looking at her for more than six seconds ranged somewhere between slim to nil.

  Rolling her eyes at Sarina’s intrusion into her mirror space, Kat gathered up her makeup compacts before stepping away from the table. “Here,” she said, holding out a coal-black eyeliner to Sarina. “You need some of this.”

  “Thanks,” Sarina said, trying not to allow the abruptness in Kat’s tone hurt her.

  “It’s an old one. You can keep it.”

  As Kat busied herself with something in the lockers, Sarina leaned into the mirror to outline her almond-shaped green eyes with the heavy black liner. When she was done, she took a step back to gauge the effect. She didn’t like it, but if Kat thought she should wear it, she would.

  ***

  By twenty past five everyone was more or less ready. The D-Style crew was in a warm-up space rehearsing their routine, though nobody except Sarina needed the extra practice. She’d only had a few days to study the routine and learn the moves, an awfully short amount of time to memorize four minutes of choreography.

  Sarina groaned as she bounced left when she should have stomped to the right, swinging her arms as she went. She ran into Sammy and almost took him out.

  “Sorry,” she stammered.

  “No problem, Shorty,” he assured her. “You got this. Let’s try it again.”

  Sarina nodded. Get your act together, she scolded herself. She checked the clock. It was five-thirty. The competition was scheduled to start at six, and D-Style would be the second crew to go on stage. Sarina couldn’t tell how the others felt about it, but she didn't have any illusions about winning or even making it to the top five. Fortunately, hip-hop culture was more about putting up a good fight than taking home the win—something she could relate to even though she hadn’t always been very successful at it.

  They went over the routine three more times without Sarina making a mistake. She was just getting her confidence back when the guys decided to head out for a smoke and let Kat and Sarina go over their fifteen seconds of joint performance. Kat exhaled loudly, conveying just how little she appreciated being left alone with the newbie. Still, she stepped next to Sarina and assumed her stance: arms bent, elbows sticking out to the sides.

  “Now watch,” Kat ordered, even though Sarina had seen her do the move a hundred times.

  Kat cocked one leg, then shifted her weight to build up momentum for a complex body roll. Her limbs unfurled and her hand appeared in front of Sarina’s chest, palm upturned in a gesture of offering. It was a textbook move.

  Kat quickly closed her outstretched hand into a fist. “Got it? Just remember to follow my lead. Catch my move, do your thing with it, then pass it back to me. Straightforward.”

  Yeah, maybe a little too straightforward, Sarina thought. Borderline boring. She’d waited for a chance to get more involved in team decisions, but Kat radiated a certain attitude that made it hard to disagree without coming across as bitchy.

  “I had an idea,” Sarina ventured, mustering her courage. “What if we did a two-girl grind at the end? You never see it done with two girls. It’s always a girl and a guy. If we did it, it would surprise everyone.”

  Kat returned a skeptical look. “You’re joking, right? That would look gay.”

  “So what? It’s not like we’d be smooching.” Sarina took a deep breath and forced herself to go on. If her brother was going to be there—possibly even filming for her parents—she wanted to put on the best possible performance. “I’m just talking about joined body rolls. I think it would totally get everyone’s attention. It would be sexy in a cool way!”

  Kat didn’t respond right away. When she did, her voice had a sharp edge which caught Sarina off guard. “Sara bee, do you have any idea why my boyfriend picked you for the crew?” She contemplated her painted fingernails as she spoke.

  Sarina was stunned by her crewmate’s use of her adoptive mother’s nickname for her, and hurt that the best thing in her life was being used against her. Kat must have gone through my phone, she realized. “Um … Danny told me he picked me because I was the best fit for the routine. At least that’s what he said after the tryout, remember? You were there.”

  “Oh really?” the older girl cooed. “Because we all thought Valentina was way better than you. Danny must have picked you for—” she looked Sarina’s body up and down with narrowed eyes “—some other reason.”

  Sarina wasn’t sure how to respond to the implied accusation. She’d worked her butt off over the past few days to blend in the best she could, at the expense of sleep and schoolwork. Besides, she’d given a great performance at the audition, maybe even her best ever. The decision had been made fair and square. She had earned her spot in the crew. Did Kat really think she didn’t deserve it? And Sammy and Stefan—they’d always been so nice to her. Did they think she’d stolen her place, too?

  “But I—” she began, but then was abruptly cut off.

  “So I wouldn’t try anything sexy during the performance if I was you. I’m pretty sure it might give the wrong impression.” Kat turned her attention back to her nails dismissively. “Especially since you always try so hard to be so cute about everything. Just once I’d like to hear you use the F-word. Hell, I bet you don’t even think it. Was that part of your rehab or something?”

  Sarina was stunned. Why was Kat being so unfair all of a sudden? There was no time for her to reply even if she was able to find the words. Kat continued her driving offense, it was as if days of suppressed hostility finally leaked through the cracks of the friendly teammate act.

  “So here’s how this is going to go down. You’ve got your six seconds, do what you want with them. No one cares. The body waves you’ve practiced, or some idiotic sexy routine, or whatever. Then you get behind me and stick to the fucking routine. Got it?”

  All semblance of courage she’d felt a minute ago evaporated. Sarina just wanted to roll up in a little ball and lick her wounds. “Sure, no problem…” she appeased with a smaller voice than she would have liked.

  Kat stalked off without a response, putting a premature end to the last-minute practice.

  Sarina walked over to the corner and slumped down until she was crouching on the floor. As she buried her face in her knees, she could feel the crew spirit break inside her like a frail twig. There was no way this could possibly end well, and it was all her fault. She must have accidentally sent out the wrong signals during practice or at one of the meetups afterwards. Her parents had been so proud of her dancing, and she was letting everyone down again.

  Sarina groaned. She wished there was something she could do about the fact that guys always sort of liked her. Not that she understood why. Yeah, she got along with people. But she wasn’t the cool, confident type of girl who guys tended to fall for. And she still had that foster kid stigma hanging around her neck, not to mention the rumors of drug addiction that still followed her—none of which did anything to help her social status. She had no idea why anyone would take a second look at her.

  After a minute of contemplation, Sarina began to calm down. She realized these questions were too big to answer right now. At the moment, what she really needed was to get back to basics: doing her best to not look like an idiot on stage. If she really knocked it out of the park, then maybe even Kat would realize that she’d earned her spot on the crew.

  ***

  Sarina’s anxiety made a comeback five minutes before D-Style’s stage entrance, infecting her with a ripple of heat which caused her fingers to flu
tter against the fabric of her pants. They had just gathered in the antechamber beside the main stage to watch the opening gig, Eleventh Era. D-Style was scheduled to go on next.

  The timing was terrible. The heat coursing through Sarina’s body deepened, transforming her legs to pudding. The rest of the crew turned from Eleventh Era’s performance when Sarina’s legs buckled, bringing her down to her knees, causing her to lose any sense of physical connectivity to her surroundings. The worst headache she’d ever experienced shot through her temples with searing intensity, then disappeared.

  Stefan’s hands caught her arms, controlling her fall before she collapsed sideways. Looking up at his face, she saw his eyes were wide with concern. “Shit, Sarina. Are you okay?”

  “I think so,” she murmured in a feeble voice. “My legs are just kinda … wobbly.”

  Danny’s concerned face appeared just inches from hers. “You’ve had lunch, right?”

  Sarina nodded.

  “Are you nauseous?” Sammy looked down at her with compassion.

  From over Danny’s shoulder, Sarina caught a glimpse of Kat, rolling her eyes. “No,” she answered Sammy’s question. “My stomach is fine, I think. Yeah, I’m good. I’m fine.” She thought about her adoptive brother David, waiting for her in the crowd. She wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his buddies. She had to be fine.

  After Danny and Stefan helped her to her feet, she realized she could keep herself upright by leaning against the wall. But once she stood, one of her knees suddenly jerked sideways as if someone had pushed a button on a remote control for her body.

  “Unbelievable,” Kat muttered as if Sarina was doing it on purpose.

  “Think we have time to get her a bottle of water?” Sammy’s eyes flicked back to the main stage.

  Just then the music came to a halt, and Eleventh Era wrapped up their performance with a smug group pose. The thundering sound of applause from the audience washed over them, punctuated by a chorus of whoops and whistles.

  “I’ll be okay,” Sarina murmured, sounding anything but. She tried to forget the sheer number of people waiting outside. If she dwelled on it for too long, she just might throw up after all. “I’ll be okay,” she repeated as loud as she could, making an effort to be heard over the announcer’s voice.

  Sarina knew her crew would be called up within moments, and her crewmates were all watching her expectantly. She lowered her hand from the wall, standing without support. “I’m much better now. Really,” Sarina assured her crew, doing her best to sound reassuring.

  The members of Eleventh Era jostled past them into the antechamber, bouncing around and high-fiving each other as they gloated over their flawless performance.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Danny asked her. “Because we don’t have to—”

  Sarina didn’t let him finish. What he was proposing wasn’t an option. “Let’s do this!”

  The announcer wasted no time in moving the event along. “Up next is a crew based out of Bern. Please welcome D-Style: Daniel Herzog, Katrina Duvnjak, Samuel Hänni, Stefan Gisler, and Sarina Baumann!”

  Danny exchanged a glance with Stefan and Sammy. “Okay, guys. Let’s show them what we’ve got!”

  The crew swept out of the antechamber in choreographed order, with Danny taking the lead and Kat following him seconds later. They came to a stop at the center front of the stage, back to back, leaning against one another. Now it was time for the others to follow. Sammy looked at Sarina for confirmation, and Sarina nodded. It was now or never.

  Fortunately, Sarina’s legs decided to cooperate and carried her into the blinding spotlights on cue. She, Sammy, and Stefan swept onto the rear of the stage, taking their positions: Stefan to the left, Sarina at the center, and Sammy to the right. The bright white lights filtered to softer blues and purples before diffusing into bright patterns across the stage as they held their pose for a count of five.

  Is David here? What if he couldn’t make it, either?

  Sarina craned her neck to scan the crowd, then regretted the move almost immediately. She lowered her eyes to her white sneakers so her head wouldn’t explode with the sheer number of faces looking back at her. Maybe she was going to throw up after all.

  You’ve got your six seconds. Do what you want with them. No one cares.

  Sarina drew in a deep breath, bracing herself for the pounding intro beats that would come from the oversized speakers above her at any second, determined to make the most of her opportunity to shine. She owed her new family at least that much.

  The music began with a powerful, booming staccato. Danny and Kat separated, prancing sideways to join the others for the group routine. Almost on its own accord, Sarina’s body responded to the beats. Her insecurity melted away with the pulse of the music. Celebration of the moment was the magic of hip-hop.

  You’ll fly like a dove.

  A minute passed, then two. Sarina perfectly executed every step. D-Style was in perfect sync. Then came the freestyle segment: the group formed a small semicircle and clapped their hands in unison to support each team member who’d step forward for their solo. The audience joined in, and the entire hall was pulsing with the beat of the music.

  Sammy stepped forward first, and the robotic speech overlay they’d added to their track introduced him as Synthesize. His specialty was popping, and the crowd roared as his body jerked and flowed, his muscles contracting and relaxing in swift succession. He took his place outside the semicircle once his solo finished. His six seconds flew by in an instant. Next it was Sarina's turn. All inhibition lifted from her shoulders as another voice overlay merged with the track, introducing Sarina as B-Fly. Her six seconds had arrived.

  I am here.

  Struck by a sudden inspiration for how to make the best of her time, Sarina abandoned the body waves she planned. Instead, she dashed in front of the group and dropped to her knees, sliding the last few meters towards the edge of the stage. The group of teenage hipsters in the front row went wild. Half her time was already up. She decided to pop to her feet and attempt a body roll to finish off her solo.

  But the instant her knees lost contact with the stage, her physical feedback changed completely. Her senses expanded with the force of a tidal wave, making her aware of the exact position of every hair, every skin cell, and every drop of blood that made up her body. Each beat of her pounding heart felt like an earthquake inside her veins as the rhythm merged with the booming bass from the speakers. Her mind flooded with confidence and an overwhelming sense of superiority as if a trap door had suddenly opened, and she was falling through another person’s reality. A stronger person’s reality. A better person’s reality. She could have crushed Kat then if she’d wanted to. She could have windmill kicked her right in her smug face. Heck, she could have thrown her halfway across Zürich.

  Sarah Bee has a message for you.

  The argument they’d had in the practice space became as insignificant as everything—and everyone—else that had ever bothered her. They were nothing to her now. Nothing but dead weight that was holding her down, and she was not going to be held down any longer.

  I. Am. Here.

  The sensation of control extended out of herself. Sarina felt herself radiate a sense of power which made contact with every single object and person in the hall. Because of that, they couldn’t affect her anymore. Right this moment, she was in charge.

  Her mind brimmed with possibilities of how she could change things around her as the sensation expanded with a surge of power, knocking out every coherent thought from her mind. Her aura lashed out, expanding beyond the event hall and out into the streets. She sensed it coursing down the Limmat River and through Josefswiese Park, and surging everywhere in between. She felt it swirling around her parents as they drove south towards Thurgauerstrasse after leaving the airport.

  She was aware of every person, every house cat, every blade of grass in the center of the city. Walls, rooftops, and bicycles … she sensed them all. Her awareness fl
ared at every molecule, every organism, like they made up an immeasurable sea of reality—and her mind encapsulated every single surging drop. And she’d be damned if it didn’t feel amazing. Even if she’d combined every drug high she’d ever experienced, the feeling still wouldn’t have come close to this.

  I AM HERE.

  All of this awareness coursed through her body in the fraction of the second it took for her to land on her feet from her kneeling position near the edge of the stage. She jerked her chin up to glare at the loudspeakers above her head. Something wasn’t right about the music. It wasn’t her music. The speakers thundered with synthesizer beats and the opening rhythm of Kya’s “Mesmerize” replaced that shitty crew performance track.

  Six seconds? Fuck you, bitch. This one’s three-and-a-half minutes long. She wasn’t holding back. Not even the F-word.

  Sarina brought her arms out in perfect symmetry, bending her knees to lower her stance. The fingers of one hand folded in, pointing to her body, invoking an undulating motion that rippled along the length of her right arm to her shoulder. The shoulder rolled as the movement traversed through her, causing her chest to heave up and down. The motion passed through her hips all the way down to her knees.

  As she bent her neck, the fingers of one hand came up to her face while the other hand jutted out in the opposite direction. Her legs performed a perfect butterfly move, knees alternating between in and out moves as she swept to the right, followed by wheeling around and using her momentum to dive into a partial somersault. The instant she completed the roll, she pressed one hand flat to the stage floor and lifted her body in a one-armed handstand, feet above her head, her legs spreading out to either side. She did a reverse airbaby—a move she nailed even though she’d never even attempted it before—freezing the move for at least five seconds.

  In fact, every one of her past attempts at breakdancing had been amusing at best. But now, despite the fact that she was among the least experienced dancers in this competition, the stage was hers. Her body eased into every shape her imagination mustered with superhuman accuracy. The rest of her crew, frozen in place in their semicircle formation, watched her with gaping mouths.