Chapter Text
“You’re not my type.”
That was the only response that Joanna had for the guy who slid onto the picnic bench across from her. She lifted her gaze from her notebook in confirmation, and she was right. He really wasn’t her ideal: he was flash personified with his bright red Adidas tracksuit and a thick gold chain that glinted brightly in the California sunlight. He carried himself like he wanted to be the big man on the CalArts campus but missed the necessary piece of the package it took to enter the echelon.
This guy was trying too hard to be cool, and it was both kind of amusing and sad to witness.
He spluttered in surprise, but instead of shooting back an insult, which she expected, he just said, “You’re Joanna Norman, right?”
“Who’s asking?” she inquired flatly.
The guy grinned at her from underneath his thick mustache, and she almost found him cute. “The name’s Darryl Steadman.”
She nodded before dragging her eyes back down to her notebook and half-eaten sandwich. She was almost certain that her art and architecture professor would give a pop quiz in an hour, and she didn't want to be caught unawares. “And how can I help you, Darryl?” she finally asked, her mind already going through the major periods of West African pre-colonial architecture.
“How’d you like to make some money?”
“Depends on how much.”
“Say…a thousand?”
She lifted her head and met his determined gaze with a wary one of her own. “Dollars?”
“Of course,” he replied. “What do you take me for?”
“Someone who’s bullshitting,” she shot back.
He rolled his eyes. “No foolin’. Don’t you know who I am?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“My dad is George Steadman. The famous guitarist?”
The name rang a bell, sort of. “Huh. Okay. So?”
“So believe me when I say that I have the money.”
“Daddy’s money,” Joanna said with a quirk of her brow.
“Whatever you wanna believe. God, you might be more trouble than you’re worth,” he grunted under his breath.
“Well, what the fuck do you expect? You plunk your ass right in front of me, no ‘hi’ or ‘how are you’ or nothing, and then just start talking about money. What, do you wanna whore me out?” When he didn’t respond, she slapped her notebook shut, feeling the rage bloom in her chest. “Listen, asshole. I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I don’t put out like that for any amount of money, so fuck off.” As she stood, he reached for her wrist, his grip tight enough to stop her from moving back.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s not like that!” He raised his other hand in defense, the apologetic look on his face almost sincere. “Seriously. It’s not quite like that.”
“Not quite like that? Then what is it?” she bit out.
“I want you to go out with somebody. You don’t have to kiss or screw or none of that, not if you don’t want to. You just…have to make it look believable, that’s all.”
Joanna could feel a headache coming on, but the intrigue outweighed the incoming pain, and she lowered herself back onto the bench. “Explain.”
“So I was a dancer with the Starlight Troupe. Have you heard of it?”
She nodded. “You guys are supposed to be one of the top dance teams in the country.”
“Yeah, well…” Darryl’s demeanor soured as he visibly gritted his teeth. “I got kicked out.”
“Why?”
“That’s not important.” He quickly waved the question away and continued, “What is important is that the co-captain of our troupe is the main guy who did it, and the way he did it was beyond shitty. Just because he’s one of the best dancers on the team doesn’t mean he can just throw his weight around like a prick.”
But he’s the co-captain, Joanna wanted to say, but instead she said, “Go on.”
“So he needs to get taken down a peg or two, which is where you come in. Ask him out, keep him interested, date him for a couple of months, and then break up with him in public where everyone can see.”
“Why don’t you just challenge him to a fight?” she deadpanned. “Wouldn’t that be more straightforward?”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” he replied with an exaggerated wink.
She rolled her eyes. “So, are you gonna tell me the guy’s name or not?”
Darryl leaned forward, his mouth stretching into a wide smirk. “Does the name Michael Jackson ring any bells?” he murmured.
She stared at him with an impassive expression. “Isn’t he one of the most popular guys on campus? How exactly is this supposed to work?”
“You ask him out, of course. He’s ‘Action Jackson’. Don’t you know his reputation? ” She blinked at him, and he said, “He’s a total player. Both of the brothers are, really, but him especially. He’ll go out with any girl who asks, no matter what, even if they don’t make it past the first date. You’re in like Flynn, trust me.”
She took a breath. “So you just expect me to go up to him, ask him out, somehow hold his interest for two months, and then…humiliate him?”
“Exactly,” he replied with a grin.
“So why me?” she asked. “Why not ask any other girl at the school? Why not one of the dance majors?”
“Don’t you think he’s gone through them already?” he countered. “He’s probably gone through most of the music majors, too, but I know you haven’t gone out with him yet. And besides…” He gave her a thorough once-over, and Joanna could feel the uneasiness creep into her bones. “Something tells me you’ll have a lot less trouble than you think.”
She rested her head against her open palm, regarding the man in front of her carefully. There was something…off about this whole ordeal, something that Darryl wasn’t telling her. But, if he was truly on the level, then a thousand dollars was a lot of money. It was almost too good to be true.
“Let’s draw up a contract,” she said, “And I’ll think about it.”
Joanna Norman knew exactly what to expect from her last year of undergrad.
She had come off of a very productive summer internship at MOCA, loving the youth culture that had breathed life into the fairly new museum, and she was even happier to have procured a part-time job there that would fill up many of her Saturdays. She completed almost all of the courses needed to finish her degree, and had peppered her semester with electives she was excited about: a class about film music here, one about the history of contemporary dance there, and an intro to audio engineering course that intrigued her from the description alone. She had whittled down her list of master’s and PhD programs to apply for down to a respectable number, and had already sent off requests for applications even though it was only September.
She expected to party a little bit more, enjoy life as a newly-legal adult a bit more. She no longer cared enough to put herself out there for a kiss or a hook-up or a boyfriend, but that was fine by her at the moment. That wasn’t part of her expectations for the year.
What also wasn’t part of her expectations was tentatively agreeing to a “business” deal that seeked to destroy Michael Jackson of all people.
What Darryl didn’t know was that Joanna knew exactly who Michael was. Just as Michael and Marlon Jackson were famous at their small yet prestigious art college, so too were they popular during their days at Hollywood High School. She had been there, too, though she was the very definition of the standoffish art student back then. Even all those years ago, the Jackson brothers were virtually untouchable. Then Marlon enrolled at the same college as Joanna, while she heard that Michael went to USC for something of a business degree. But then he transferred during their second year of undergrad to join Marlon at CalArts, and he became popular almost overnight, ensnaring nearly every young woman in some unknown spell.
What Darryl also didn’t know was the extent to which Joanna knew about Michael. By all accounts and from what she saw of him in high school, he was well-known for being an incredibly nice person: he seemed quick to smile and slow to anger, and by all accounts he treated everyone fairly and respectfully, regardless of school status.
She also knew that Michael had no idea that she even existed, and she was completely okay with that. It wasn’t that she was invisible at school anymore; Charlene Lewis, her best friend since diaper pails, often insisted that Joanna was admired, though from afar. “I mean, you’re so fine, seriously,” she exclaimed once, “But you’re a little intimidating. It’s probably the clothes.” Joanna didn’t know in which world dressing in a daily wardrobe of blacks, whites, and grays translated into being unapproachable. She didn’t get it, but she didn’t really care.
Until Darryl Steadman dropped his bright polyester-covered ass on the bench across from her, she also didn’t care about existing outside of Michael’s social orbit. But now, she had to care, and that meant putting herself in his line of sight.
On Wednesday afternoon, she was sitting at a desk in the middle of a classroom, waiting for her Music in Film class to start, when her own line of sight became obstructed by a familiar hand waving in her face. She turned to meet Charlene’s questioning smile head-on.
“Hiya,” Charlene chirped, flipping her bottle-blonde hair behind her. “Penny for your thoughts.”
Joanna smiled faintly, nudging her shoulder against the other girl’s. “Hi, Charlie,” she replied. “It’s nothing.” Just thinking about a cool grand that happens to be on the line. No big deal.
Charlene gave her a look and almost called her friend out over the obvious lie, but then her eyes cut toward the door. “Ooh, he looks nice today.”
Joanna turned to glance over her shoulder just as Michael walked into her field of vision, all smiles as he quietly conversed with his friend. It was far from the first time that Joanna admitted to herself that he was indeed really good-looking: he was deceptively slim, but as he moved, his sweatpants accentuated the muscles in his thighs. He sat at a desk a few rows ahead, and his jacket pulled against the breadth of his shoulders just so. It made a modicum of sense why so many girls were willing to try for even one shot with him.
She watched as his grin widened a split second before he smothered his mouth with his hand. A horrendously cute giggle mixed with a snort shook his body, and she could feel her stomach roil with discomfort.
“You’re staring mighty hard there, Anna Banana. Have you finally succumbed to his charms like everyone else?”
As she turned to meet Charlene’s knowing look, she had half a mind to tell her about the proposition right then and there. It had barely been twenty-four hours, but Joanna was already feeling a little saddled by a feeling she didn’t expect: guilt. The more she thought about her conversation with Darryl, the more her tongue soured in distaste. Darryl’s issue with Michael was apparently personal, so what was the point of dragging a total stranger into it?
Sure, a thousand dollars was apparently on the table, but Joanna didn’t want to get caught up in any Darcy-Wickham-type bullshit. She couldn’t even be sure that this random dude was good for the money. She needed another perspective, and if she was being totally honest with herself, there was only one person to go to for that.
“Hey. Anna?”
She watched him for one more beat before muttering, “Stranger things have happened.”
If the Music in Film class was her favorite elective, then the history of contemporary dance class was a close second. She was always fascinated with movement of the world around her, and the movement of the body was no exception. There was something enthralling about dancers to her, how the best of them could meld and move seamlessly with music. She also loved history, so jumping at the chance to sign up for the class -- and to have a teacher who was once a director for the famed Alvin Ailey Dance Theatre -- was a no-brainer for Joanna.
For three days a week, she had her two favorite classes back-to-back. Because the history class doubled as an interdisciplinary elective class, it was held in the much bigger lecture style room. Joanna didn’t mind it, especially since she could always grab an aisle seat towards the back of the room.
It became apparent to Joanna early on that this was a class very much intended for freshman dance majors. Not only was Joanna obviously one of the oldest ones there -- every student she made eye contact with gave her a wide-eyed, babied look in return -- but everyone was dressed in varying degrees of dance wear, ranging from a mere sweatshirt-tights-leg warmers combination to form-fitting sweatsuits, and all accompanied with high-end duffel bags.
Joanna, in her oversized black dress and paint-stained fingers, did not fit in, but she didn’t have to. It was an elective after all.
“Anybody can take it,” Charlene told her when they had discussed their classes, “The teacher is so revered and cool that I’d think about taking it again if my workshop didn’t conflict.”
So with her one dance major friend out of the picture, she found herself sitting in the lecture auditorium anywhere from five to ten minutes early every class, sketching something random into a corner of her notes. This day was no different: as the professor was gliding toward the lectern, she was finishing up a life-sized sketch of the banana peel that she had discarded on the corner of her desk, filling up the space on top of her lined paper.
Just as she shaded the small shadow on her stem, she felt a featherlight tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me.”
She turned around, and her breath froze in her throat as she looked up at Michael Jackson’s face. He was much more handsome up close, with his almond-shaped eyes and sharp jawline. He regarded her for a second before smiling bashfully. “Sorry, but, um…could I borrow a pen or a pencil? My ink ran out,” he murmured. His voice was softer and higher-toned than Joanna expected, and she felt her stomach clench.
But she forced her expression to remain neutral and nodded. “Sure,” she whispered, and she reached for her bag, rifling through it until she found what she was looking for. “Pencil okay?”
He nodded quickly, reaching forward to take it from her. “Thank you.”
She turned around, swallowing in order to push her heart back to its rightful place in her chest. She never noticed that he was also in this class. He must come in right as the lecture starts and leave right when it ends…what is he even doing here? Isn’t he a dance major? She resisted the urge to turn her head and catch a peek of him once more. That unsettled feeling, one that spurred both the guilt and the desire to talk to him more, rested at the bottom of her gut.
She just wanted to try for some answers, that’s all. If not from the guy paying her then from her potential victim.
She forced herself to focus on the lecture, pen moving in her hand as she took her standard -- copious -- amount of notes. But every so often, she couldn’t help but feel like she was being watched. The class ended eventually, and she took a minute to stand and repack her satchel, already running through the checklist of what she needed to run back to her apartment and get before her studio time began.
“Hey.”
She looked up from her bag, and Michael’s grateful smile was the first thing she saw. It was a simple thing, really: not as goofily big as it was when he was with his dancer friend, nor was it polite and tight-lipped; but it was rather crooked, showing a hint of teeth. His chin was slightly tucked toward his chest as he looked at her through his lashes.
In this light, he seemed almost…shy.
Huh.
“Thanks again,” he said, “For letting me use your pencil. I’m, uh, kind of embarrassed that I didn’t have an extra one. But I normally do though, so…”
Joanna shook her head. “It’s okay,” she assured him. “It happens to the best of us.”
He held out a hand. “I’m Michael Jackson,” he said.
She stared at him for a moment before reaching out to grasp it, and she ignored how big and warm it felt around hers. “Joanna Norman.” She pulled her hand back quickly. “It’s nice to meet you. Anytime you wanna borrow a writing utensil, let me know.” She shook her pencil case at him before tossing it back into her bag.
“Actually…” He took a breath. “I just happened to look at your notebook during class. Just a peek, I promise. It’s just that…you take really thorough notes.”
“Oh?” Joanna felt her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’m not an expert on any of this stuff, so I need all the help I can get. I just find it interesting, that’s all.”
“I see. Not a dance major, huh?” Michael said, his voice warm with a bit of laughter, of teasing.
She huffed out a short chuckle and shook her head. “Not even close. Art with an Art History concentration.”
His eyes widened in response, and at that moment she understood why so many people, girls especially, were so attracted to him. Not once had his dark gaze strayed from hers, and she felt like she had his whole undivided attention. For the average college student, this could be a dangerous situation. But Joanna was feeling the embers of guilt spark into a small flame which overtook any instinct she had in her to feel flattered at his consideration.
“So, a future art historian? Or, uh, curator?” he asked with a growing smile.
“Yeah,” she replied, “Something like that.”
“It also explains the drawing.” He paused at her expression then said, “The banana. It’s cute. Real lifelike.”
She huffed a small laugh through her nose. “Thanks. It’s just something to pass the time. No big deal.”
He didn’t press further and instead nodded his head. “Well, I was out of town for a competition last weekend, so I had to miss last Friday’s class, and I was wondering if I could, um, borrow your notes? I mean, it’s cool if you don’t have them or you don’t wanna share them -- “
But Joanna already had her notebook open and was flipping through, ripping out the pages for the corresponding class. “Here. Take them.”
He carefully took the pages with both hands, holding them as if she had just handed him treasured artifacts. “Wow, thank you so much.” He smiled widely, and she could feel that flame lick against the sides of her stomach. “Hey, come by dance studio B tonight. I’ll have the notes copied and everything by then.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just get them from you next class.”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But we have a unit quiz next class.” He shook his head. “No, seriously. Practice ends at eight, so come by if you’re free.” He glanced down at his watch, the first time his attention was turned elsewhere. “Shoot, I’m gonna be late. Eight o’clock at dance studio B, okay?”
Joanna blinked up at him. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Michael’s smile brightened. “Cool. See you then!” With a parting wave, he turned and bounded up the stairs two at a time before he dashed out the door and out of sight.
She hefted her bag onto her shoulder, feeling almost caught off guard. For all of the times she’d seen him over the years, she had never been close enough to properly hear his voice. He spoke in a smooth sotto voce and with an undercurrent of darkness and depth that Joanna didn’t expect.
She remembered when he and his brother had first risen to true prominence at Hollywood High School. They were all tenth graders when it seemed like the girls all went gaga for the two boys. Joanna would have been blind not to notice his looks, and if she hadn’t noticed, Charlene made sure she did. Michael was very cute, sure, but soon he became an afterthought, and then nothing at all. Even when he transferred to CalArts and she began seeing him around more, she shrugged it off. When Charlene would talk about her brief interactions with the brothers, Joanna was obliged to listen but not really react.
But after Darryl slid two hastily handwritten contracts across a picnic table in the middle of campus, snatches of memories filtered back into consciousness, and Michael Jackson’s face floated back into her periphery, features sharp and unexpectedly devastating.
And now, for the first time in years, she had to ingratiate herself with him.
She turned toward the stairs and found herself meeting the curious eyes of two dance students. She gave them a nod and half-smile, and while they nodded back their smiles were nowhere to be found. With every step she took to the exit, she could feel the weight of several pairs of eyes on her, and she couldn’t help but snort quietly.
This is going to be very interesting indeed.
The next few hours found Joanna bouncing from her place to the art section of the library to the art studio, temporarily forgetting anything to do about Michael, Darryl, or an impending scheme. She was focused on concurrent projects that would take up a lot of her time for the rest of the year. Rays of orange filtered through the windows of the studio as she sat in her designated corner, her eyes focused on the sketches propped up on the easel. Charlene had been a great sport about being a subject of her collection, but now Joanna needed a different point of view. “Maybe even a different subject,” she muttered to herself, glancing over at the large, unfinished painting propped up feet away.
“Artist’s block?”
She turned to see Ben Alexander, one of her old TAs. He had been the star of the Art Department for as long as Joanna had been at CalArts, and since he transitioned to the MFA program nothing had changed: Art majors still swooned over him, and he remained the teacher’s pet, even to faculty who hadn’t taught him in years.
She huffed out a laugh. “Sort of,” she admitted. “I think need a new subject.”
“Is this for your ode to movement collection or whatever it’s called?” he asked, stepping around the easel to peer at her sketches.
The provocative smell of his cologne didn’t do much to quell the irritation she felt at the hint of condescension in his tone. “Yeah,” she replied, “Whatever it’s called.”
He glanced at her, his green eyes keen and focused and his mouth prepped on a grin. “C’mon, Jo, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What’s up, Benny?” she asked instead, reaching out to retrace a line with her pencil.
“Just wanted to come over and say hi. I haven’t seen you since before graduation, so I wanted to catch up.”
She failed to keep the smirk off her face. “Catch up? How so?”
“You tell me,” he replied.
“I know that voice,” she said, “And it got me in a little bit of trouble with some of the other girls in the department.”
“But we had a great time, right?” he asked, his chin hovering over her shoulder. “I mean, I know I did, but did you?”
She sighed. “I did.” It was true: the fling had been brief yet electric, something that fell in Joanna’s lap right when she needed it. There were times she thought about his firm hands on her body, about the drag of his dick, when she really needed to ease the ache and tension. But nothing else about him made her want to jump back into that situation again, no matter how good in bed he was or how nice he pretended to be.
“So, the offer’s open,” he murmured. “My new place is pretty nice, and I haven’t had many visitors yet. And I know you still have a roommate.”
“Yep, you’re right about that.”
“So, what do you say? Wanna get out of here?”
She turned and found him even closer than she thought, close enough that he could lean in and kiss her before she had the chance to blink. She cut her eyes up to the clock. 7:50.
“Gotta pass on that,” she said, pressing her palm into the middle of his chest and pushing him out of her space. “I’m meeting someone.”
As she arranged her work and began sliding pieces into her art locker, she could spot Ben’s exaggerated pout. “Who?” he asked.
“Someone,” she repeated.
“Someone I know?”
“I don’t know if you know them or not,” she shot back. “I didn’t know that fucking a handful of times meant that we could keep tabs on each other.” She activated the lock and turned to him. “It was nice to see you again, Benny. I’ll call you if I wanna come over.” With one friendly pat on the shoulder, she scooped up her bag and walked toward the exit.
Two flights of stairs and almost five minutes of wandering the halls led her to the section of the main building where the dance facilities were. When she turned one last corner, she was met with the sight of at least ten dance majors, mostly women, peering through the glass door of what had to be dance studio B. She moved closer, the grip on her bag tightening, and she quietly slid behind the group, raising up a little on her toes to see what was so captivating.
Inside the studio was a group of more than a dozen dancers. They were running through choreography that was quick and hard-hitting, their bare feet squeaking and stomping against the hardwood floor in nearly perfect unison. The group was clearly still in practice mode, but the dancers moved almost as one already, their angles close to identical as they danced.
So this is the Starlight Dance Troupe.
Marlon and Michael were front and center. Marlon was shouting in rhythm over the bass-heavy music as a guide as he danced along. But Michael…Michael was a revelation. Where the dancers around him were working hard, he made every move seem effortless, accenting the hardness and strength of his angles with a smoothness that blended like magic. Joanna felt her body thrum with a warm energy as she watched him, and a part of her wished that she had her camera so that she could take a picture.
The music stopped, and Marlon and Michael each said a few unintelligible words to the dancers before everyone scattered. The glass door opened, and the sounds clashed as the observing dance majors pushed their way into the studio, with a couple dropping their bags and shedding their jackets while the rest made their way to members of the troupe to converse.
Joanna leaned against the doorjamb, just outside the entrance, watching Michael talk and smile with a couple of his troupe members before turning to newcomers with a smile. A few women approached him like a coalescent blob, swaying and giggling together. They would talk, and Michael seemed to focus on them, his countenance polite and engaged. His friends hung off his shoulders, appearing torn between being awed or amused.
One of said friends, a shorter guy with feathered hair and a large jawline, turned his head and met Joanna’s gaze. An eyebrow ticked upward, and then he thumped Michael’s shoulder and murmured a few words in his ear. Michael followed the friend’s line of sight, and his eyes met hers. He froze for a second before his face split into a wide grin that knocked Joanna’s breath out of her chest.
As Michael shrugged his friends off and slipped on an oversized track jacket, Joanna met the force of half a dozen stares in her direction, but she didn’t have time to determine what the looks meant before he was jogging toward her, nearly dragging his small bag along the floor.
“Hey, you made it,” he greeted breathlessly, pressing a hand towel to his forehead. “Sorry, I’m all sweaty.”
“You’re an amazing dancer,” she blurted. “You’re so…expressive, so fluid.”
He startled at the compliment, and his gaze turned shy. “Oh. Uh…thank you.” He twisted the towel with his fingers. “But I’m really not that good. I just…” He shrugged the rest of his statement away.
“You’ve got to be kidding. You’re incredible,” she insisted. “The best I’ve even seen. Seriously.”
If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she’d seen the tips of his ears grow slightly pink. “Well, thanks. Oh!” He nearly dove for his bag, scooping it up and rifling around until a neatly folded wad of paper appeared in this hand. “Here are your notes. Thanks again for letting me borrow them.”
She nodded. “It’s no problem, really.” As she reached forward and grabbed the paper, their hands brushed.
“Hey, so, you’re in the Music in Film class, too, right?” he asked. At her nod, he continued, “There was actually something the professor said that I wanted to talk to someone about. You know, about the development of music for silent film.”
Joanna felt her head tilt to the side as she looked up at him. “Okay…”
He took a quick breath and said, “So I was wondering if, uh…if you’d like to get a drink with me, if you’re free right now…to…talk about it, if you want.”
She could only stare at him. “Me?”
He nodded. “Yeah! You take such awesome notes for our history class, so I thought you’d be just as into that class, you know?”
“Well, it is my favorite class right now,” she replied, feeling a half-smile curve up her face.
His returning smile was slow growing, almost hopeful. “So what d’you say? There’s a cafe around the corner that’s always pretty quiet…we can talk better there.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Great.” He turned his head. “Hey, Lon, I’m headed out. I’ll be home in a little while.”
Joanna looked back just in time to see his brother’s eyes dart between them. “Okay, bro,” he replied with a curious grin. “See you later!”
Michael turned his smile back to her. “Let’s go.” As they rounded the corner and moved toward the main entrance of the building, he asked, “Were you really busy before this? I hope I’m not taking up too much of your time.”
“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “I was at the studio working on some things.”
“Collection-type things?” he asked. “You’re a senior, too, right?”
“Right, and yeah, collection things.”
They pushed through the double doors and were met by an evening of burgeoning stars and a cool valley breeze. “What’s your collection about?” he asked. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, it’s fine,” Joanna chuckled. “It’s about movement, specifically about how dancers view their own movements versus how spectators view them.”
“So it’s interdisciplinary?”
“Well, if the volunteers make it interdisciplinary, then sure. But no, not really. I just…I’ve always liked watching others move, especially Charlie. You know Charlene Lewis, right?”
Michael nodded. “Yeah, she’s one of the senior ballerinas.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve always watched her dance, and I’ve always been fascinated with movement in general, so I figured…why not capture my love of movement in the medium that I’m best at, which is art?” She hummed to herself, the feeling of silliness washing over her. “It kind of sounds childish when I say it.”
“No!” Michael exclaimed, “No, it sounds wonderful.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s always cool to see yourself in someone else’s eyes, especially if you…admire that person, you know?” He met her eyes briefly, giving her a small smile. “I’ll go to the senior art exhibition just for that.”
She laughed. “Don’t expect too much,” she warned.
“I’ll try not to,” he replied.
The rest of the walk to the cafe was quieter save for other innocent inquiries about their courses of study. To Joanna’s surprise, Michael shook his head no when asked if he was a dance major. “Music Technology, specifically audio engineering,” he said as they entered the cafe. “Dance Performance is my minor.”
“Audio engineering?” Joanna echoed. “So you love music, I assume.”
“I don’t just love it, I breathe it,” he replied. “It comes with the territory.” He pointed out a corner table that was far enough away from the few students who were even there, and they made camp, dropping their bags in empty seats.
“Well, I’m actually taking an intro to AE class this semester,” she said, taking in his surprised reaction. “I’m just now learning the basics, but it all seems so cool.”
“It is,” he assured her. “And if you ever need any help with homework or projects or whatever, just let me know. I have to record, engineer, and master a full-length album for my honors project, so I think I know a thing or two.”
Joanna’s jaw dropped. “A full-length album?”
He nodded. “Yep. Has to be at least thirty minutes in length. I already have most of the tracks I need, so it’s a matter of finishing them up and then playin’ around, seein’ what sounds good and doesn’t. Things like that.”
She grinned at him. “That sounds so interesting.”
He smiled back. “Here, sit. What do you want to drink?”
“Michael, you don’t -- “
He pinned her with a look, and she found herself sighing. “Black coffee, medium roast.”
“Got it.” He smiled at her once more and walked to the counter. Joanna sat back in the wooden chair and dropped her eyes to the table.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to be this friendly with a guy that she had never spoken to before, especially when she was supposed to break his heart for a thousand dollars. Charlene had described him as ‘polite, but impenetrable,’ even allegedly during the many dates he’d been asked out on.
But this Michael wasn’t polite, and he certainly wasn’t impenetrable. He was warm, a bit shy, and already showed the makings of a mean sarcastic bent.
I don’t think I can do it. I should have never talked to him.
A steaming cup of coffee slid into view. “Here you go,” he murmured above her. “Coffee, for whatever reason.”
She managed a small smile. “Not a coffee person?”
He made a face as he sat across from her. “Not even close. It tastes like death to me.” He gestured to the pink and green swirl in front of him. “Now this strawberry and kiwi smoothie? Delicious.”
“If you say so.” They took their sips in silence, and Joanna glanced around at the nearly desolate cafe before coming to a decision. “Hey.”
Michael lifted his head and focused on her. “Yeah?”
She took a breath. “I know you wanted to talk about our class,” she started, “But…actually…” She watched him straighten in his seat. “There is something that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” He watched her closely, leaning on his elbows. “What is it?”
“Before I tell you,” she started, “I wanted to ask you some questions, and please, be totally honest.” At his nod, she asked, “What’s the first word that comes to mind when you think of Darryl Steadman?”
His eyes twitched. “Asshole,” he immediately replied. “Sorry if you...like him, but you wanted me to be honest.”
“I don’t even know him like that, much less like him,” she countered. “No, it’s just that…he came to me yesterday, and…”
“And?”
“And he made me an…offer, so to speak.”
His eyes never left hers, but his face did shift into an expression of slight confusion. “An offer? What kind of offer?”
She sighed and reached for her bag, pulling out the crinkled paper that had been sitting shoved into the side pocket for the last thirty hours. “He, uh, he wants me to humiliate you.”
“How?” he asked, voice lower and a bit robotic.
“By convincing you to date me for two months and then break up with you. Publicly.”
When she looked up, he was staring blankly at her, his body unmoving for long enough that she didn’t know whether to squirm in her seat or wave a hand in front of his face. She pressed her lips together instead as her stomach churned in both discomfort and remorse for the guy in front of her. “Michael,” she murmured. “I -- “
“How much?”
She blinked at him. “Huh?”
His mouth flattened and he hunched in on himself slightly. “How much did he offer?”
“A grand.” His jaw clenched as his eyes drifted down to the table, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Honestly? For a few reasons.”
“Like?”
“Like I didn’t like the way he approached me. Like I’d just automatically do his bidding, no questions asked.” She shifted her gaze down to her own drink. “It also felt like he was lying to me from the very beginning…he told me that you kicked him out of the troupe but he wouldn’t tell me why.”
“He’d been hazing the newbies, badly,” Michael hissed. “More than just harassment. More like taking them to these places without our permission and making them drink to the point of passing out. Making them hurt each other. And all under the idea that we were okay with it, and he wasn’t even a captain. Hell, he wasn’t even the best dancer on our team.” He turned frustrated eyes up to Joanna. “Marlon and I are the captains, and we didn’t even know what was going on until a few of them threatened to quit. And yeah, I could’ve been a bit better about the whole thing, a bit more…diplomatic. But he deserved it, and I’m not sorry.”
She breathed out, knowing that she didn’t have to look at his eyes in order to believe him. She’d already seen how he and Marlon treated the other troupe members, and none of the rumors about him ever painted him as an asshole or even obnoxious. Looking at him now -- seeing how pinched his forehead was and how he was on the verge of grinding his teeth -- told her all she needed to know.
It also gave her a very plausible, though horrible, idea.
“I have one more question.” When he looked up at her, she asked, “Do you think he’s good for the money?”
His eyebrows furrowed even more. “What do you mean?”
“I mean does he actually have money lying around like that?”
“I don’t know about ‘lying around,’ but yeah, he does have pretty easy access to that kind of money.” His mouth turned down with displeasure. “I’ve seen how he spends it and what he spends it on. It might not be his, but he has it.”
She nodded to herself. “So,” she drawled, “Then what do you think about taking it from him?”
His eyes widened. “What?”
She could feel the smirk inch its way across her face. “Let’s give him what he asked for. I ask you out, we date for eight weeks, then break up in a public place. He gives me the money, and then you and I split it fifty-fifty. I don’t know about you, but even five-hundred will go a good way towards my graduate studies. And if I’m going to do this, I’d rather do it with you than having to trick you.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why?” she echoed.
“You could’ve just gone through with it and I wouldn’t have known,” he clarified. “So…why?” The look he gave her was so intense that she fought the urge to fidget.
“Because,” she began, “The Michael Jackson I remember, the one from Hollywood High, seemed like a pretty nice guy…and he still does.”
His face went slack in disbelief as he straightened in his chair. “You remember me?”
“Sure I do. Same graduating class and all,” she replied. “And who could forget about the pair of brothers all the girls loved?”
Michael’s mouth twisted into something not unlike a smile, and he relaxed for the first time in minutes. “Except for you, I bet,” he said lightly.
“Yep,” she said, “Except for me.” She held out her hand. “So. Michael Jackson. Would you like to unofficially be my fake boyfriend?”
He stared at her hand for a long moment before opening his mouth. “On two conditions.”
She lowered her arm to the table. “Which are..?”
“One: I get to tell my brother,” he said. “I can’t leave him in the dark about something like this.”
“I was going to tell my best friend, so that’s not an issue,” she replied. “It’s just important that we tell people we know we can trust.” She leaned forward, pressing her chest to the table. “Condition number two?”
“No fifty-fifty,” he said. “Eighty-twenty. You take the eighty, I take the twenty.”
Joanna felt her jaw drop. “Michael, that’s not -- “
“That’s plenty fair,” he cut in. “I don’t need the money like that, so two hundred is more than enough to make it worth my while. The idea of screwing with him makes up for the rest.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied with a serene smile.
“Okay, if you say so.”
He nodded one last time. “Okay. Then yes.” His grin was wide, shy, and more than a little bit lovely, and he stretched his hand out over the table. “I would love to be your fake boyfriend.”
They shook hands for the second time that day, and Joanna wondered if she truly knew what she was getting into.
Fifteen hours later, she found herself standing at the steps of the main building’s back entrance, hands smoothing down her black shift dress and eyes squinting against the sunlight as she surveyed the scene. It was lunchtime, and large swaths of students littered the expanse of CalArt Lawn, most splayed out on the grass but some gathered around large picnic tables. Charlene was right where she said she’d be, her back pressed to a nearby buckeye tree as she read a book.
Michael was also where he said he’d be, huddled with Marlon and a few of their dancer friends around a picnic table close to the epicenter of the lawn.
“Yo.”
She glanced over to see Darryl Steadman standing on the steps with her, so close that their shoulders were almost touching. “Yo,” she returned.
“So have you thought about my offer?”
She nodded. “I have.” She shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out the signed contracts. “You have eight weeks to get my money ready.” She slapped one against the center of his chest, snorting at his look of surprise. Then she turned and ambled down the stairs, taking long strides toward the buckeye as she pulled out one last item from her bag.
Charlene glanced up at her and grinned. “Anna-Banana,” she greeted. “How was class?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Joanna said, and she barely stopped long enough to drop her bag next to her unsuspecting friend before she kept walking. Her eyes were set on one person, and he was now her ticket to hundreds of dollars of easy money.
All she had to do was make it through eight weeks with no issues.
Michael’s broad back was turned to her as he conversed with his friends. It was perfect: it was better to take him by surprise than for him to see her coming. She kept walking until she stopped only a couple of feet behind him.
“Hey. Michael Jackson.”
He turned and looked up at her, his smile obliging but his eyebrow raised. “Joanna, hi,” he greeted evenly. “How may I help you?”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
Now both of his eyebrows lifted. “About what?”
“About you.”
Now the entire picnic table of young men fell silent, as did a few of the students within hearing range. Joanna didn’t dare look away from Michael yet, and instead took in his confused expression. “So,” she continued, “I’m here to announce my intentions.”
His expression remained frozen in its skepticism. “Which are?”
She took a breath and a leap before unwinding her arm from behind her back. She made sure the picture-perfect purple rose was in his eyeline. “To win you over.”
Michael’s placid smile dropped as his eyes fell to the rose in front of him. He didn’t move from his seat, didn’t move to take the rose, and his eyes didn’t stray from its dark petals. His hesitation was exactly like what they discussed, even though Joanna had refused to tell him just how she would ask him out.
“You’re supposed to be taken by surprise,” she told him. “And you can’t be surprised if you know every single little detail.”
This Michael in front of her looked genuinely shocked, which is exactly how he needed to look for the gossip crowd at CalArts. She shook the flower in front of him a little. “Aw, come on,” she teased, “I heard you haven’t said ‘no’ to a girl yet. Please don’t tell me I’m gonna be the first.” His eyes rose up to meet hers again, and she held up the index finger of her free hand. “One date is all I’m asking for.”
The surprise in his eyes shifted to something deeper, something darker, but vanished too quickly for Joanna to try and analyze it. “When?” he asked quietly.
She grinned. “Depends on what time your dance practice ends on Friday.”
“Six-thirty,” he replied immediately.
“Then meet me on the main lawn of Artisan Oaks at eight, and please be punctual.” She shook the rose again, and he finally took it between his fingertips, nodding all the while. “Cool.”
She finally glanced over at the guys at his table. She immediately recognized Marlon, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression of his own. The rest of the group shot knowing glances between the two of them. She nodded at them in greeting before taking one last look at the man in front of her. “‘Bye,” she murmured before spinning on her heel and sauntering off. She walked back to where Charlene was waiting, scooped up her bag, and gave her gobsmacked best friend a kiss on the cheek. “Gotta put in studio time,” she declared, and she kept moving, ignoring Charlene’s ensuing squeal. As she hopped up the steps to the entrance, she met Darryl’s gaze once more and winked.
In sixty days, he’ll be a thousand dollars poorer.