Salsa, Storage Closets, and Something Else

Meanwhile, on the platform, Victims of the American Dream finished their first, painful set.

"Thank God that's over," Matt Zimmerman muttered to Alicia Spinnet.

Alicia groaned. "We are truly the cheesiest band this side of The Knack."

"No," Matt replied thoughtfully, as he emptied the trumpet's spit valve. "No, we aren't. The Knack is better than us. At least they had 'My Sharona'. All we have is 'Band Geek Blues' and 'I Can't Believe He's That Way'."

"Well, who the hell do you think I am, Roger Waters or something?" Alicia retorted. "'Cause I'm not. I write what I know." She placed the trombone on its stand.

Matt snorted. "Well, Miss English Department Darling, can't you come up with anything less trite than 'Yeah, so my socks aren't black and neither are my shoes, don't matter, I'm the drum major, but I've got the band geek blues'?"

"Shut up."

Matt ignored her. "Or, even better: 'Dated him last Friday night, thought it all was going right, then he didn't call me back, I was going to kick him in the-"

"Stop." Alicia rolled her eyes. "You know, I think I've just discovered another downside to living in Suburbia- nothing worthy of a good song happens. I'm restricted to writing about marching rehearsal and my bisexual ex-boyfriend. Talk about pathetic."

"Excuse me." A loud, accented voice broke into their conversation. "I assume you are part of this band?"

Alicia and Matt looked up to find a tall redheaded girl staring at them impatiently. Damn, and I thought my shoes were painful, Alicia thought. The nine-inch shining stilettos this girl was perched upon were Dr. Scholls's absolute worst nightmare.

"Yes, we are," Matt replied. "What's up?"

"Stop trying to be cool, Zimmerman," Alicia muttered.

"Stop trying to be mature, Spinnet," Matt shot back.

The girl sighed. "I've got a small request," she began, but was cut off by Alicia.

"You might want to talk to our manager," she intoned coolly, infusing the last word with sarcasm. "Yo! Kowalzek!"

"Yes?" A harried looking Jeff Kowalzek replied, scurrying over. He was being trailed by the always-hormonal T.J. Martinez. "What seems to be the problem?"

The girl's tone shifted gears immediately.

"Well," she began, in a syrupy sweet voice, "I couldn't help but notice that your last set was a little....."

"Goat-blowy?" T.J. supplied eagerly.

"I was going to use straggly, but yes, I suppose that works, too." She glanced across the room. "See, my friends and I- my name's Gen Waltham, by the way- were discussing that. So, I thought, a young group of kids like that, they should try to work some variety into their music."

"What do you mean?" Jeff inquired suspiciously.

"Well," Gen answered, "what would you think of changing formats? From- ah, that interesting blend of ska and punk you've been playing, to something more conducive to dancing. Like- Latin, or salsa, perhaps?"

Jeff opened his mouth to reply, but the practically-drooling T.J. cut him off.

"Sure, Gen. I think we can whip that up, don't you think, Jeff?"

Jeff shot him a look. "Hmmmmm.....as our tenor saxophonist has already agreed, I don't see why not. We could try it."

Gen beamed. "Wow, that's absolutely great. Hope it works!"

"So do I," Alicia murmured darkly.

With a grin and a playful wave at T.J., Gen's sparkling stilettos walked away.

Matt fixed T.J. with a glare. "What did you go and do that for? Victims of the American Dream is a Mighty-Mighty-Bosstones and Blink-182 rip-off-"

"-not a Ricky Martin rip-off!" Alicia finished. "Is there anything working in your brain, Martinez?"

"His pituitary gland," Jon deCaro volunteered, striding over. "So, we're playing salsa now, huh?"

"Salsa?" Andy Campanara whined, sitting down on the edge of the platform. "I don't know how to do salsa on bass."

Zeke Tartropolis wandered over. "What? Salsa? How the hell am I supposed to do that on the drums?"

"It's easy, Tartar Sauce," Alicia replied, whacking him on the back of the head. "Remember last marching season's halftime show? Crossing the Border? In fact, I think we might know Latin music better than what we're actually playing."

"You sure about that?" Jon asked. "Come on, Spinnet. You play piccolo outside, for God's sake."

Alicia grinned. "Trust me. Let's get started."

*

Well, that was easy, Ginny thought to herself. Appeal to their hormones, and they'll do just about anything. Teenage boys- you've got to love them.

"Ginny! Wait up!"

Speaking of hormones..... "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Draco Malfoy hurried to catch up with her. "Um..... listen, kid..... I guess I'm sorry."

Ginny didn't even slow down. "I'm not listening."

"All right, I really am sorry," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

Silently, Ginny continued walking.

"Ginny, didn't you hear me? I'm sorry!" Draco called.

Still, Ginny said nothing.

This is getting ridiculous, Draco mused. I've got to do something fast, or else I don't think I'm getting let back into the apartment tonight.

Suddenly, a voice cut across the din like a knife.

"Drayco? Eest that you, Drayco?"

Draco looked up in alarm. A large blond man was running- well, perhaps not running, maybe waddling- across the room at an alarming rate, on a course set straight for the pale young man.

Draco smacked himself on the forehead, with an uncharacteristic "shit". What to do? Where to go? How to hide?

Ginny turned around. "Hey, Casper, you doin' okay?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco spotted an open doorway. "That's it," he said aloud.

"What's it?" Ginny questioned, confused. "Have you been doing anything funny?"

Wordlessly, Draco plowed into Ginny, sending her hurtling into the room on the other side of the open doorframe. He fell in, pushed himself off the ground, and threw his body against the door.

Ginny looked up from her spot on the chipped tile floor. "Malfoy, what in blazing blue hell was that about?"

Draco didn't answer immediately. "Did you see that guy out there? Tall, blond, and ugly?"

"Yeah? So?"

"That," Draco declared dramatically, "is Schlott Geitzburg."

Ginny's mouth dropped. "The same Schlott Geitzburg-"

"Ginny, think about it. How many Schlott Geitzburgs can there be in the Boston metropolitan area?" Draco asked impatiently.

"Right. So that's why you just shoved me into this- this-" Ginny looked around in disgust- "closet?"

Draco scowled. "You happened to be in my way, Weasley. I could have slammed head-on into a bloody bass tuba and wouldn't have cared."

"So I'm not in here for any particular reason, then?" Ginny inquired.

"Of course not. Why the hell would I want you in here?" Draco answered, sneering. "I despise you, Weasley."

"Same here, Malfoy." Ginny sniffed haughtily, and pulled herself off the floor. "Well then," she said, dusting off her black capris, "there's no cause for me to stay here."

"Leave, then. It might be the first good news I've had from you all day." Draco crossed his arms.

"Fine." Ginny pushed past Draco, and pressed her hand to the doorknob. And stood there.

Draco tapped one Doc Marten on the tile floor. "Well? Why aren't you leaving?"

Ginny turned. "Because, you asshole, the damn door's not opening."

"Weasley, it's a simple concept," Draco sighed, grabbing the doorknob. "You take the knob, and twist it, like this-"

The door didn't budge.

Draco's eyes widened. "Or like this."

Still, the door stood solidly, not moving an inch.

"Get out of the way," Ginny commanded, rattling and shaking the handle. "Open, dammit!"

"It's alohomora, O Intelligent One," Draco supplied.

Ginny glared. "I don't have my wand with me. It's in my purse, which is out there, on the table! Use yours!"

"Fine." Draco reached into his pocket, coming out with nothing.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "And where exactly is your wand?"

"Um, in my other khakis."

"Shit." Ginny pounded on the door. "Hello? Somebody? Anybody out there? Hel-lo?"

"The music's too loud."

"So that means that I am stuck in here, with you?"

Ginny's terrified brown eyes looked into Draco's horrified gray ones.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

*

"Did you hear something?" Ron Weasley asked, munching thoughtfully on a peanut.

Lavender Brown sighed. "I can't hear a bloody thing over this music. It could knock out an eardrum."

"It's better than it was before," Harry Potter commented.

Hermione Granger nodded. "At least now, they at least look like they know what the hell they're doing."

Lavender pointed at the platform. "Look."

Harry groaned. "If they're going to make them go back to that God-awful whatever it is they played before, I'm leaving."

"Amen to that," Hermione agreed, taking another sip of her Diet Coke. "Wait- I think that one up there's about to say something-"

On the platform, Jeff Kowalzek coughed uneasily into the microphone. "Ah, hello, all. I'm Jeff Kowalzek-"

*

In the present, Linda Potter leapt out of her chair.

"Wait a minute, Ma. Did you just say that the name of the guy was Jeff Kowalzek?"

Hermione Potter looked puzzled. "Yes, Linda. Why?"

Joey Malfoy and Bobby Weasley exchanged looks. "Hoo boy, here we go," Joey muttered.

Linda jumped on to the seat cushion of her lawn chaise. "Jeff Kowalzek just happens to be the saxophone player for Sibby Malone and the Electric Piccolos!"

"Linda, are you supposed to be making sense here?" her father asked.

"Dad," Linda explained, "the Electric Piccolos are only the absolute most incredible contemporary band in the world! Their second album, Victims of the American Dream, went triple platinum!"

Ron Weasley laughed. "If we'd have known that then, we'd have been thought to be insane. When we saw them, they must have been about fifteen or sixteen, and they could barely make it through one fifteen-minute set!"

Linda gasped. "You saw the Original Piccolo Band?"

"I think they were called Victims of the American Dream, Linda. And there weren't any piccolos," Lavender related.

"That's because they started off as a punk-ska band. The piccolos came later, when Alicia Spinnet- that's Sibby Malone- accidentally bid seven hundred dollars on every single piccolo on eBay, and didn't know what to do with them." Bobby rolled his eyes. "It was plastered all over Entertainment Weekly when VAD came out. What an intelligent person she must have been."

"Oh my God, I think I'm going to faint. My parents saw the original Piccolo Band." Linda drew in several deep breaths.

Joey scowled. "I think I'm going to faint, too. You actually stayed and listened to them?"

*

"Hallo up there!" a booming, heavily-accented voice inside the club called. "How are you, dahling?"

The remainder of Victims of the American Dream burst into a cacophony of laughter.

"Hey, Kowalzek, you've got a new fan," Zeke Tartropolis called.

T.J. Martinez snorted. "Yeah, and it's not Tartar Sauce's little sister!"

"DUDE!" Zeke yelled threateningly.

"Well," Jeff continued, oblivious to the fight between Zeke and T.J. that was raging behind him, "we've been asked to change formats. What do y'all think of that?"

"This ain't Kentucky!" Matt Zimmerman called.

Alicia Spinnet groaned. "No, it's Massachusetts. That's worse."

Jeff ignored the comments of his bandmates, and focused on the nodding sea of heads on the dance floor. "You like salsa?"

"Yes, mister, I do," shouted the same reverberating voice.

"Well," Jeff continued, nervously passing a hand over his short blond hair, "what would y'all think of a..... um..... dance contest?"

"Kowalzek's grabbing at straws now," Andy Campanara commented.

Jon deCaro snickered. "Wow, Ken Doll's brain is working."

Andy scowled. "Shut up!"

*

Meanwhile, throughout the club, heads were nodding. Everyone seemed to like the idea of a salsa contest.

Lavender surveyed her tablemates. "Well? What do you think? Should we go for it?"

Hermione laughed. "You can, Lavender. I certainly can't speak for the rest of us."

Harry nudged her with his elbow. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione smiled benevolently. "Well, I'm definitely not entering! No way!"

"Are you saying you don't want to dance with me?"

"Of course not," Hermione replied, laughing at Harry's puppy-dog expression. "I'm saying that I can't dance!"

"Have we made up our minds yet?" Lavender questioned impatiently.

"Lavender, if you want to, go right ahead. No one's stopping you," Harry answered.

Lavender frowned. "But it won't be any fun alone!"

"Well," Hermione started, remembering their conversation earlier that evening, "you know, Ron doesn't look as if he's doing anything at this particular moment."

The aforementioned Weasley glanced up from his Pepsi. "Excuse me?"

"Hermione," Harry whispered almost inaudibly, "what exactly are you doing?"

Hermione leaned her mouth close to his ear. "Trust me on this. Just follow my lead." She turned back to Ron and Lavender.

"Ron, I seem to recall you being a pretty good dancer," Hermione started. "And Lavender does need a partner....."

"Yes, Ron, you always were good at the, um..... tango," Harry added, catching on.

"If you two were to enter together, you'd certainly win," Hermione coaxed.

Lavender and Ron gazed at each other uneasily. "If you want to-" Ron began.

Lavender nodded. "But only if those two enter along with us," she announced, with a look at Harry and Hermione. "I'm not going in there alone."

"Lavender, you won't be going in alone," Hermione started, but Harry cut her off.

"Sure!" he replied heartily, ignoring his girlfriend's shocked countenance. "Sounds smashing."

"Then it's settled," Ron declared, with an expression of relief on his face. "Although I do wonder about Ginny and Malfoy....."

"Don't worry," Lavender reassured him. "I'm sure that Draco's off chasing skirts, and Ginny's probably chatting up some chap with oddly-colored hair."

"If you're sure-" Ron began, but stopped as Lavender pulled him out of his seat by his arm.

"Come along, let's get a pair of those fabulous numbers to wear. I've always wanted to enter one of these!"

The semi-reconciled couple soon disappeared from sight, leaving Harry with a very irritated Hermione.

"What exactly was going through your mind when you agreed to that?" hissed Hermione, tapping her fingernails on the tabletop.

Harry grinned as he stood up. "Hermione."

"What?"

"I'm going to tell you the same thing you said to me, just a few moments ago." He bent over, wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her out of her seat.

"And what," Hermione responded, adjusting her skirt, "is that?"

He leaned forward, and rested his forehead against hers.

"What?" pressed Hermione. "I'm getting awfully impatient."

He kissed her quickly. "You aren't as bad of a dancer as you think. All you have to do is trust me, and follow my lead."

Hermione grinned in spite of herself. "Took the words right out of my mouth."

"Oh really? And how did I do that?"

"I think I might have an inkling....." she pulled herself up to her full height of five foot two, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his.

"All right, all right," he said, after they'd kissed for a while, "we've got to get a move on. I can't go around repeating everything you say all night, you know."

"Why say anything at all?" Hermione asked slyly.

"Because we both talk far too much than should be allowed, and there's only one way we could manage not saying anything. And I think we'd get thrown out for an excessive public display of affection."

"It's a dark nightclub. I don't think anyone would notice if we slipped away for a quick make-out session."

Harry pondered this for a moment. "You know, I think you might be right."

"I know that I'm-" Hermione started, but quickly found that she could say no more, as his lips were in the way of her own.

An extraordinarily unfamiliar feeling washed over the both of them as they lost themselves in the moment. Usually, their kisses were similar to their conversations; friendly, bantering, even witty, if you could have a witty kiss. This time, however, the two were caught up in something neither had experienced before- a raw emotional tidal wave of urgency mixed with passion, in almost desperate doses. Deeper and deeper they sank, closer and closer they pushed, until not an inch of space existed between them.

They remained like that for several minutes, ignoring the scattered stares of those that passed by. Nothing in the universe existed except for each other, and they just couldn't get enough.

Suddenly, Hermione pulled away. "Um....."

"Wow." Harry shook his head dazedly. "That was....."

"Different." They stood there, arms entwined around each other, until-

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Harry asked breathlessly.

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "I think so....."

"Let's get out of here," they said simultaneously.

"I guess we are thinking the same thing," Harry laughed.

Hermione placed a finger to his lips. "Shut up. You're spoiling the moment."

"Sorry."

Hermione giggled, kissing him. "Come on. Let's go."

Harry smiled, as they walked quickly to the door. "Sounds fine to me. Are you sure about this?"

Hermione intertwined her fingers with his as they pushed through the swinging double doors. "Positive. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

*Finis Part 2*