Previous Chapter Recap: Mason and Melanie are covering the Homecoming week in the upcoming issue of the Reynold's Gazette.
Kyle and Jenny are going, even if Kyle didn't ask her directly.
Saige, Connie, and Max are ditching the dance to go see Robin's band Bad Apple perform at a bar the same night as the Homecoming dance.
Victoria helps Toni with her thesis but Toni still can't set her mind to it with all her troubles distracting her.
Spencer runs into Tommy at the storage facility and tries to apologize to Tommy for last year, but Tommy is having none of that and leaves.

~*~

They entered the dim hall that had been vandalized with ivory and gold streamers. The balloons soared up in the ceiling, bumping into each other and flying around as the music boomed through the gym in waves. 

There were tables scattered around the floor, arranged in a neat circle to make room for the dance floor. It was still early and not many people had shown up yet, but the dance floor was still a nightmare to venture through with all the people that were dancing to that one upbeat song that always played in clubs.

"I love this song," Jenny said beside him. She was dressed in a knee-length puffy dress that was so neon pink it made her look like a cheap Barbie doll. Not that Kyle would ever tell her that, though. "Dance with me?" 

"Uh, I'll join you later," Kyle lied. His fingers nervously touched the pink bowtie that seemed to strangle his throat. "I'll go get some punch."

"Have fun," she said sarcastically. However, her words had an edge of amusement to them.

Jenny gave Kyle her purse and walked into the mob of dresses and suits. Kyle sighed and threw it on one of the free tables. This would be his third Homecoming, and his second as Jenny's date. It had been fun last year when they danced until they couldn't feel their legs and Ace threw up out by the parking lot, but this time it just felt empty. 

Nearby, Melanie and Mason were sitting by one of the tables observing the scenery. 

"It's no surprise that the school is running dry on money," Mason noted while he flipped through the photos he'd taken with his tiny digital Canon camera. Most of the pictures were blurry, dark, and taken with the flash, but Melanie thought she'd spotted at least one nice picture on there while Mason looked through them. "Last year we had a DJ and a photo booth. I guess the only thing they could afford this time was party decorations." 

"Maybe they're saving it for prom," Melanie suggested as she tapped her fingernails on top of the empty table. There was a vase with a single flower in it in the middle of the round table, but that was it. She gave her nails another glance and realized that she had forgotten to cut them. 

"Yeah, right," Mason scoffed and put down the camera. "They had enough money to rent a freaking photo booth. It was the dumbest idea ever because this one couple got stuck in there or something so the line got really long, but still." 

"Are you saying that more money should go into the school events rather than academics?" Melanie asked him. She'd only been at West Side for a month now, but even she could tell that the school's fund was starting to crumble. 

"No, I didn't say that," Mason explained while he took off his pair of red glasses to rub his temples. It seemed that the loud music had finally caught up with Mason's minor headache that he'd been complaining about all evening. "In my humble opinion, the homecoming dances are an unnecessary waste of the money when it could go to something better. Like more computers for the library or more nutritious cafeteria food." 

"Why are we even writing an article about this, then?" Melanie said. "We could be writing about what you just said or about news around the whole world." 

"I'm writing this article because nobody wants to read about real news," Mason stated. "They can just read that in the New York Times, so there's no need for us to repeat everything. What people want to see is a picture of themselves or their friends and a nice, cute article that they can relate to. That's it." 

"But that's not news," Melanie said. "Besides, it's not like we have any readers anyway–" 

"Look," Mason interrupted her. "I handled the school paper all throughout my freshman year and I decide what we do with it. You can contribute ideas when you're a real journalist." 

Melanie was taken aback and opened her mouth in shock. 

"You think I'll become a real journalist?" she asked, because that was the only thing she had paid attention to. 

"You know what I meant," Mason scoffed and crossed his arms. 

Melanie smiled to herself; happy that at least something had distracted her from the whole Henry dilemma. She hadn't sent the card out yet, but she was going to. She'd decided. At first she'd made up a bunch of excuses in her head – like it was just a good-luck note, or she didn't know his address. But she did, because Melanie had shamefully looked it up online a year ago or so when she first started developing feelings for him. It just spiraled from there.

If she was being honest, Melanie was too scared to send him a text. If Henry hadn't initiated a text conversation, why should she? He'd think she was weird! But she'd already bought a postcard so there was no turning back now. Or maybe there was – it was a pretty cheap card.

~*~

On the other side of town, Connie and Saige were standing in line to enter the bar without being too noticeable. 

"Do you think Max got lost somewhere?" Saige wondered out loud. She and Connie were shuddering to death in the freezing cold waiting to get past the bouncer. 

"Whatever," Connie said. "We don't have to worry about him. Max can take care of himself. The important thing is that we're here." 

And by here, she meant outside the bar standing by the piss-smelling sidewalk and the other people in the line who were somehow already drunk. The only connection they had to the inside was the muffled sound of music escaping through the door. 

"I hope we won't miss it," Saige said. They'd been queuing for nearly 10 minutes. 

"I'm sick of this," Connie said and grabbed Saige's hand. "Come on."

Connie slipped out of the line and very bravely walked past all the other people that Saige noted were much taller and mature than they were. However, Connie hadn't paid that any attention and if she did she probably wouldn't care, either. Connie let go of Saige's hand once they came face-to-face with the bouncer. 

"Get back in line," he said to them, sounding tired of having to remind everyone that. The bouncer reminded Saige of her grandfather, who had been as fierce as a lion despite his age.

"No," Connie said. She drilled the gaze into his eyes as Saige carefully hung by the side. "Let us in. Now." 

The bouncer seemed more amused than threatened – which wasn't a surprise, really. Connie was more like a brat than someone who could be taken seriously. 

"If you'll just be nice and obedient you'll get inside in no time," the bouncer continued. 

"We've been waiting for twenty minutes," Connie said, having none of it. Saige wanted to correct her and say that it was actually only ten minutes but she quickly stopped herself. "How much cash do you want?" 

"Connie!" Saige gasped and tried to pull her aside. 

"It's fine," Connie said to Saige before turning back to the bouncer. "Well?" 

"How much you got?" 

Connie gave him a wry smile and indiscreetly pulled out her wallet from her back pocket. Saige turned around to look at the line behind them, and a few heads had shifted to get a glimpse of what was going on in front. She silently prayed for Connie to finish flashing her money about. 

"Twenty?" Connie suggested and dangled the bill in front of his face. He stared back at her coldly, grabbing the bill out of her hand. Connie started making her way inside and Saige was about to follow when he stopped Connie. 

"Thirty," he said as he tucked the twenty dollar bill inside his shirt pocket. 

"Fine," Connie said. She reluctantly handed him a ten and once he had it he looked a whole lot more pleased than he had been before. 

"Can I see your IDs, please?" 

Connie handed him her card without skipping a beat and Saige followed. He checked Connie's first and then moved onto Saige's, but his brows furrowed. 

"Place of birth, Paris?" he read from the card and looked up at Saige. 

"Oui, I was born there," Saige said in her most convincing French accent. He didn't seem to believe her, so she continued: "You see, I sadly had to move away from the city of love when my–" 

"Okay, whatever," the bouncer said and handed back the card. "Get inside." 

"Merci beaucoup!" Saige said to him before she and Connie hurried inside. Once they finally entered the dingy bar, Connie shot Saige a funny look and said: 

"What the hell was that?" 

"I was just doing some improv," Saige explained while the French accent still lingered on her lips. "I can't really stop it now." 

"Never mind, we're inside now!" Connie said as the two of them admired their surroundings. 

The bar wasn't anything special. There was an old miserable-looking bartender scrubbing a few beer glasses in the corner and a few older guys hanging with him, but the real action was by the stage. 

It wasn't an extravagant stage by any means. It seemed more like a platform, but neither of the girls gave that a thought because they were glued to the band that was standing on it. There were four members, all boys, who were singing some old rock song that made the whole bar vibrate with every note. 

"I think that singer is from Central Park!" Saige shouted to Connie. She couldn't see him clearly, but his silver hair was enough distinction. 

"He's a really good singer," Connie shouted back at her. 

Even if he was screaming his lungs out, everyone in the room heard how good he was. He sang with his eyes closed while still playing on the bass guitar slung over his shoulder, and even though Saige swore that she could never hear the bass in any song she could make out every chord that the boy played. They echoed for her; yearned for her – traveled through the dancing and drunk crowd to reach just her. Saige wished that the singer would open his eyes so she could see if they were as mesmerizing as the music was. 

"I'll go get some beer," Connie said to Saige and then walked over to the bar. It took Saige a few seconds to peel her eyes away from the band that was performing and realize that Connie had left. In the dim room, she could make out Connie walking toward the wary bartender that glared at her with a lazy eye. 

Saige turned her head back to the band as the song suddenly ended and the band started packing up. The silence was met with applause and Saige quickly joined them while she stood on her tip-toes to get a better look at the singer. His eyes were open now, but there was no way for Saige to see what color they were in the darkness. 

Further down the crowd, Robin and his band were prepping for their first performance of the evening. Tommy, eager as he was, had already walked up on the platform to grab the electric guitar with a cheeky grin. The others followed him but Spencer stood frozen in the crowd. Robin stopped and he noticed how pale Spencer had suddenly gotten. 

"Spencer? You okay?" Robin asked him as the uneasiness began rubbing off on him. 

"I can't," Spencer said. His eyes nervously flickered around from side to side. 

"Sure you can," Robin encouraged him and tried to drag him up on the platform. The other band members looked at them, trying to figure out what the delay was. "Come on." 

"That was the same guy from the subway," Spencer said. It was all squished together into one hasty sentence and Robin had no idea was Spencer was blabbering about. "I can't sing like him. I can't sing at all." 

"Spencer, you are a good singer," Robin urged him and tried again to pull him toward the platform. Spencer wouldn't budge. "It's fine, come on." 

"No," he said and started backing away. "I'm sorry." 

Spencer turned around to hurry to the restroom and Robin watched him push between the crowd that had already grown impatient. They were shouting for them to start and Robin had no choice but to lean towards Tommy and whisper into his ear: "You do the solo." 

Tommy nodded at him with his smile becoming more apparent. Of course Tommy would be happy that he got to do the solo – he'd been complaining about it ever since Robin announced that Spencer would do it. When Tommy had finished tuning the guitar, he looked at the hungry crowd with a confident stance. 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlefucks!" Tommy screamed into the microphone. The feedback traveled into their ears like a noisy bug and the crowd instinctively covered their ears and booed, to which Tommy replied to with: "Alright, alright. You lot are shite." 

After that failed introduction to hype up the crowd, Spike shrugged and tapped his drumsticks together in the air to count down. Tommy played the opening melody and Spike joined in with the drums after a few seconds. 

Tommy started singing and to his pleasure the crowd had stopped booing and switched to dancing like they did before when that Indigo Essence band performed. Tommy thought that they were really overrated except the singer, who had been the only one to impress him with his rendition of Sweet Child O' Mine. When the singer had got up on the stage, Robin had leaned over to him and Spencer to tell them that the singer of Indigo Essence was Floyd, the same guy that had left Bad Apple a few weeks prior. Spencer had seemed very intimidated by him, but Tommy couldn't help but grin over how effortlessly he sang the song. 

As Tommy was singing that AC/DC song that he had grown tired of already, he tried to search out Floyd in the crowd. Once he did, he locked his eyes against Floyd's blue ones without looking away. Floyd seemed a little confused, sitting by the bar and sipping on the beer. He tried to avoid the eye contact but Tommy would have none of that, so he kept drilling the song lyrics into Floyd's eyes. Tommy almost thought that he had won, but then Floyd wouldn't move his eyes. He drank up the last drops of his beer without breaking the odd contact that was forming between them and Tommy thought that he could almost spot a smile stretching across Floyd's pale complexion. It wiped away Tommy's own grin completely.

~*~

Back at Edward A. Reynolds', Kyle had slid into the bathrooms so he could get some fresh air. That was his excuse, at least, because nobody in their right mind would call the restroom at West Side a fresh one. 

Even though he had ventured quite far away from the gym to get some peace and quiet, he could still make out the music of the Kelly Clarkson country song escaping from the gym. 

Kyle washed his face and looked at his reflection in the cracked mirror with both his hands resting on the edges of the sink. A few droplets wet his shirt as Kyle ripped a piece of paper from the dispenser. The front of it has been destroyed with marks of messy graffiti. 

"Hey, it's Kyle!" someone exclaimed behind him. The voice was slow and irritated him immediately – Kyle knew exactly who it was. 

"Ace," he said and threw the scrunched-up paper towel in the trash. Ace was sitting by the open window smoking a reefer like always. He blew the smoke out into the cold night. "Having fun?" 

"You know it!" Ace said and looked at him with his bloodshot eyes. "This is so much more fun than the dance." 

"True," Kyle said. He even had to admit that the picnic they'd had in Central Park yesterday had been more entertaining. They'd found some desolate spot in the grass and gobbled up Jenny's sandwiches in less than two minutes, and then they had even drunk up the whole wine bottle that Jenny had sneakily put inside the basket. "Where's Darryl?" 

"I thought he was with you," Ace said and shrugged. "Probably off dancing with Natalie or something. She should be with me." 

Ace slurred his words but it wasn't the first time Kyle heard them. Of course Ace kept the whole crush on Natalie away from Darryl, but that made Kyle the one that had to listen to all of Ace's drunken rants about the subject. It was a sad and unfortunate love story. 

Ace hadn't exactly been gifted with good looks – he insisted that his long blond ponytail looked good and Kyle wasn't going to be the one to tell him otherwise. Then there was the acne. Ace had been the unluckiest out of all of them in that regard. 

"Well, you can have Jenny if you want," Kyle said. It was meant to be a joke, but he wasn't sure if it actually was. 

"Nobody wants to be my girlfriend anyway," Ace sulked in the corner. "It's not fair." 

"I know." 

"You really don't," Ace accused him and blew another puff of smoke out the window. "Why do you get a girlfriend when you don't even want one?" 

"I–" Kyle began. He couldn't come up with anything to say. 

"It's not fair," Ace continued. "You even look like a movie star. Don't tell anyone I said that, but it's true." 

Kyle had almost fallen asleep involuntarily where he stood because he couldn't move a single muscle. He never really thought about how things seemed from Ace's point of view. Kyle wouldn't really call himself a self-deprecating person and he was well aware of his victory in the genetic lottery, but he never thought that Ace would be jealous of a petty thing like that. 

"Um...," Kyle stuttered out. What was he supposed to say? "I'm just born that way." 

"So you don't get it," Ace spat out and crossed his arms. "Forget I said anything." 

"Sorry," Kyle said and walked out the restroom without saying anything else. When he got out into the empty hallways he couldn't help but listen to that voice in his head that whispered, that was pathetic. You're pathetic, Kyle. 

Kyle walked toward the gym. He had to force his legs to move in the direction even though he was sick of this boring Homecoming dance. When he made it inside, he'd forgotten how loud the music was and a sad Fort Minor song filled his ears. People had started slow dancing to the tune and it didn't take long before Jenny spotted Kyle and ran up to him. 

"Hey, there you are!" she said and smiled. It would probably be gone soon. "Dance with me." 

"Oh, uh..." Kyle had no time to protest before Jenny had dragged him onto the dance floor to join the other slow-dancing couples. Jenny grabbed his left hand with her right and placed the other on Kyle's shoulder, leaning in to rest her head on his chest. Kyle tried to slow down his heartbeat but that only made him panic more so that it nearly thudded out of his chest. 

"Where'd you go? I miss you so. Seems like it's been forever that you've been gone," the song echoed throughout the hall. Kyle looked at the other happy couples that surrounded them until it all became a blur of gold and ivory. He looked up at all the balloons that were floating in the ceiling. 

"They're pretty," Jenny noted as Kyle stared at them. 

"Yeah," he replied quietly. 

"Are you going to tell me I'm pretty?" Jenny asked. 

"Yeah," Kyle said again. "You are. Pretty, I mean." 

"Good," Jenny said and leaned her head against Kyle's chest again. They swayed together for a minute, listening to the music and getting lost in it. Kyle couldn't take it anymore, though. He was starting to feel sick in all the blurriness. 

"Jenny?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Are you happy?" he asked her. 

"I am," Jenny said with an eager nod. "Aren't you?" 

A 'no' slipped out of Kyle's mouth and his feet froze. He hadn't meant to say that, but now that it was out in the open Jenny lifted her head to face him and her eyebrows were wrinkled above her perplexed eyes. 

"Why?" she said. They had both stopped swaying. 

"I mean, I am happy," Kyle tried to clarify. He looked around trying to find anything, anyone that could help him but it was impossible in the blur around them. "Just..." 

"What?" Jenny said. 

"Okay, look," Kyle said and dropped his voice to a silent murmur that Jenny had to lean closer to hear. He was doing this and he was doing it now. "I... You're beautiful, Jenny. But I can't..." 

As Kyle had predicted, Jenny's charming smile had vanished in the blink of an eye. He regretted that he hadn't appreciated it more because that was probably the last time he would see it in a long time. 

"I can't do this anymore." Jenny let go of Kyle's shoulder awkwardly and for a second she just stood there on the dance floor while the music played in the background. "I have to sort myself out," Kyle explained. "I'm sorry. It's not you." 

That was such a cliché thing to say in a situation like this – it's not you, it's me. But Kyle had no energy to make this break-up into something unique with eloquent words. Jenny lowered her head as the beating of Kyle's heart increased. 

Why wasn't she saying anything? It was suffocating, standing right in the middle of the dance floor and looking at that blur of shadows and of dresses that made him dizzy when they twirled and flopped around. The song faded out with a "please come back home" and Jenny still hadn't moved. 

Natalie, who was dancing with her boyfriend Darryl, noticed them and she rushed over when the song ended to check up on Jenny. 

"Jenny?" Natalie said and tried to shake her back to life. "What happened?" 

"Uh...," Kyle stuttered. He wasn't so sure himself. 

"Dude, what did you do?" Darryl asked him once he saw how Jenny looked. The others around them had started turning their heads too, and slowly but surely the blur cleared away to reveal the judging faces of his classmates. 

They had all stopped dancing to stare at Kyle. Nobody said anything as the next slow song started blaring through the speaker system, but Kyle could hear their thoughts clearly. Pathetic. Natalie walked away with Jenny. 

If Kyle wasn't suffocating in the warm room before, he was definitely doing so now.

~*~

Saige was sitting at the bar, currently on her third wine glass of the evening. It was a comfort to look deep down into the red Bordeaux liquid and whirl it around in slow circles. 

Connie had left to go play a game of pool with Robin and the rest of his band. She'd asked Saige to come with, but she'd already started feeling a little sick from that beer before. 

Max had actually shown up soon after, completely out of breath and gasping between every word while he told Saige all about how he had snuck in through the back entrance because "that bonehead bouncer" hadn't let him in without an ID. Then he'd rushed off to join the others by the pool table.

Saige sat alone by the bar. It was just her and the bartender, who she'd thought looked really threatening but was actually as sweet as pie once he offered Saige a free drink on the house. The prices at the bar were dirt cheap anyway so she only saved a dollar or so, but it still warmed her heart. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone sliding up on the bar stool next to her. She turned around and came to face the silver-haired singer from before. Saige felt something twist in her chest but she kept her cool, picking up the wine glass as classy as she could manage. 

"What's a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?" Floyd asked her cheekily. 

"Admiring this fancy wine, of course," Saige told him and lifted the glass up slightly to demonstrate. Unfortunately, her fake French accent from before had accidentally slipped out. 

"French, are you?" Floyd asked her, amused. Saige couldn't really tell if he genuinely believed her or if he was just playing along. She hoped for the former. 

"Yes I am," Saige said. It didn't sound French enough, so she quickly added: "Mon petit chéri." 

"Did you just call me little?" Floyd asked through his entertained smile. Saige hadn't really noticed it before, but Floyd was quite short. Like 5'2" short. Saige didn't exactly tower over him, but she was definitely a few inches taller. 

"Anything but," Saige said and clinked her wine glass against Floyd's half full beer. "Santé, my friend." 

"What's France like, then?" he asked and drunk the beer. 

"Well, you see...," Saige continued on in her accent, looking down into her wine with a somber mood. "I left when I was six. I don't remember much but Paris was beautiful at night." 

"Go on," Floyd urged her. His eyes were sparkling with interest. 

"I used to sneak out at night to look at the stars and the Eiffel tower," Saige said. It was, of course, a flat-out lie. Saige had never been to Paris, but in her head she imagined it like New York except more romantic. "They were, shall we say, incroyable." 

"Huh. That sounds–" 

"Hey Floyd, we're leaving!" a group shouted at them from behind. "You coming?" 

Floyd quickly grabbed a napkin from the bar and got out a ballpoint pen. He began to write down a bunch of figures, and Saige had to turn her head an awkward amount of degrees before realizing he was giving her his number. 

"Here," he said and slid the paper over to her. Then he got up from the bar stool and left. Saige watched him go and then lifted the paper up to look at it. His handwriting was definitely not as astounding as his singing or his bass playing, but she was at least able to read the numbers. She tucked the napkin into her pocket and finished the wine glass. 

Floyd didn't even know what her name was yet.

Song: Fort Minor – Where'd You Go (2005)

A/N -  Now that I've posted seven chapters in a month (seven! that's the most productive I've ever been) I'm going to take a short break to do some school work. I'll still try to post the chapters in real-time so there'll be a break in the Class of Losers universe too. In the meantime, here's a sketch of Victoria and Toni by @Movi_48 on Instagram. Ignore all the random text lol.