Marshall Canning waited in the backseat.
His father opened the car door, and escorted his son to the front entrance, his mother trailing behind them with gentle sobs. Numb, Marshall looked up, and took in the domineering, black letters above the double-door.
***** Institution for the Social Unrest
He scoffed, a minimal sign of life, and followed his parents inside.
____________________
God, everybody's here.
"You ain't gettin' nervous?"
"No man, I'm cool. But keep a bucket handy." Marshall did not look at his friend when he answered. He kept his eyes on the clustered audience beyond the small crack in the curtain. So many people, and he was so new...
"You better not throw chunks on me. My sister would kill me if I trashed these clothes."
Marshall tore his eyes away from the source of his anxiety and turned to his friend Frankie. Looking at his friend's apparel up and down, he grimaced. "God forbid we improve anything."
Laughing, Frankie took his place, waiting for the curtain to rise.
____________________
"Sit down! Sit down! If everyone could just - please - find a seat and sit down!
Sally Burnstein shuffled to an available seat far off to the right end of the stage, notebook held to her chest.
Everyone else went on their merry way, having no qualms about pushing past her to get their own seats. This didn't bother her; it was all part of the status quo.
"Boys and girls, if you could just please hurry and find your seats, we can get started!"
Principal Marsters held the microphone close to his face, keeping his temper in check, but only in the voice. His face had turned puce.
After all had seated and had gone quiet, the principal hurried backstage, addressing the performers to get in place, and everyone else to finish with makeup. Satisfied, he cued the young man in a golden suit and tie, looking rather sharp.
A pretty well dressed kid Sally had hereby dubbed as Golden Boy approached the mic, and practically sang to the audience.
"Good evening West High! You are doing us a great favor by coming!"
Wink.
Cue laughter.
"Without further ado, guys and gals, I give you the first performance of the night! You might remember these guys for being pretty new to our town. So let's extend a welcoming hand for... Orsino!"
A moment of hesitation before the applause. Orsino? No one at this school went by the name Orsino.
The curtain rose.
And no one felt sure of what they saw.
A rather thin girl with long black hair dressed in an extravagant black ball dress with a wide skirt stood at the mic. She was accompanied by three other girls wearing simple pink dresses. They all looked bony and lack female slenderness.
Each of the three girls had an instrument: a guitar, bass, and drums. Strange and hard to believe.
The leader started to sing:
Now come one come all to this tragic affair
Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot
You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not
Confusion spread thickly. No one could piece together their sight with their hearing. Finally, a jock that lacked enough intelligence for deep thinking, saw the bare bones of the performance onstage.
"That's a guy!"
That exclamation caused a sigh of recognition, followed by a more stunned confusion.
The music picked up a little, Marshall's smile becoming a smirk as he watched his precious audience.
If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see
You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me
So gather 'round piggies and kiss this goodbye
I'd encourage your smiles
I'll expect you won't cry
As the guitar played an unfamiliar riff, Marshall sauntered across the stage, bopping his head in time with the music. The notes filled him, and he gave them back to his people.
For that was who they were for the now.
