Footloose

There is a time for everything,

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance.

—Ecclesiastes 3

Prologue

The pulsating rhythm of the music filled her body right down to her pink Converse high-tops. She'd wanted to wear the strappy leather heels she got on her last trip into Atlanta, but she'd made that mistake before in this muddy pit of a hick town. No matter how good they looked on her, heels were for indoor activities, not wild keggers in the middle of nowhere.

The rubber soles on her sneakers bounced to the beat, stomping on the plywood along with a few dozen other sneakers, boots, and a smattering of already ruined heels. The bodies jumping and shifting on the makeshift dance floor kicked up mud along the edges, splattering the few people dumb enough to stand back and watch rather than join in. Beer sloshed around her half-empty plastic cup with each step. Hoots and hollers filled the air as they all sang along.

“I love this song!” she screamed over the pumping music to whoever was listening. She didn't know if anyone could even hear her. Didn't care, either. The music was all that mattered.

Whoever had set up the spontaneous homecoming party was a genius. It was miles away from her judgmental parents, the school that she'd graduate from at the end of the year, and the town she couldn't wait to leave behind. Only the trees were around to see her having a few sips of beer. To watch her make out with Bobby on the dance floor. To do all kinds of things she'd have to repent for in church on Sunday.

Early admittance into New York University brought the promise of more nights like this. The freedom to celebrate a life built from her own choices, from making her own mistakes. But none of that mattered now. All she wanted was to dance.
Footloose
, like the song said.

Beer spilled out of her cup and onto the plywood as she threw her arms around her best friend and her boyfriend. “I love you guys!”

The moves shifted from the uncoordinated free-for-all to a country line dance. Feet kicked up in coordinated choreography. She knew this one from hours spent in her bedroom learning the steps while her parents screamed for her to stop banging around and turn down the “noise.”

Twist. Kick. Turn. Stomp. “Wahoo!”

“The party's moving!” somebody yelled in her ear. A warm, sweaty hand pulled her along. It was Bobby. Her Bobby.

Leaving him was the only regret she had about getting out of Bomont. She took another gulp of her beer, hoping to push that unhappy thought from her mind. Tonight wasn't about regrets. Tonight was for celebrating.

Bobby had led the team to homecoming victory only a few hours earlier. They'd skipped out of the official post-game party with the “returning” alumni, who had only come back from down the street. Hardly anyone ever left Bomont. None of the seniors wanted to hang out with their parents and neighbors when they could be out having fun instead. This was the unofficial homecoming celebration—the one their parents and teachers knew about, but pretended didn't exist. As if they just ignored what their kids were up to they'd still be little angels in their parents' eyes.

•  •  •  •  •

She took her usual spot riding shotgun in Bobby's car while her best friend, Jenny, squeezed into the backseat with the boys. She was practically in Ronnie's lap. Jenny had been flirting with him for months. Tonight he finally flirted back.

It was way too early to head home. Her curfew had been extended because it was homecoming; her parents let it go on special occasions. She wasn't sure exactly where the group was going now, but wherever Bobby wanted to move the party was okay by her.

The song continued thumping out of Bobby's radio as he started the car. Jenny's brother worked the overnight shift at the local radio station, providing the commercial-free soundtrack for the party. None of the adults listened to the radio this late, so they wouldn't complain that the station had switched from its easy-listening format. Didn't matter that the song was older than she was; she kicked her pink sneakers up on the dashboard and let her toes sway along with the music.

The tires spit dirt behind them as Bobby pulled out of the spot between two sycamore trees. The sudden jolt spilled the rest of her beer in the process. “Party foul!” she hollered over the music.

Bobby only had two beers, and half of hers. She'd seen him pound down four times that watching a Bulldogs game. Not like she could have offered to drive. The beer and a half she drank was more than enough for a lightweight like her. She threw the plastic cup out the window, turned up the music, and screamed along with the lyrics. One more semester was all that was left before she was free.

A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she shifted in the seat. Jenny leaned forward, her hand needlessly pressed against Ronnie's body for support. Her mouth was moving, but her voice couldn't compete with the pounding music. It was too dark back there to even read her friend's lips.

“Can't hear you!” she shouted to Jenny.

The sudden extra light helped. Jenny was saying something about Bobby until her mouth froze and her eyes went wide.

She turned in time to see that the light came from the truck heading straight for them.

“BOBBY!”

She grabbed the wheel, but it was too late. Metal struck metal. Her body slammed against the passenger door. The car went spinning. The singing turned into screams. Her voice was still the loudest.

The car struck the guardrail with a bone-jarring jolt—then a snap. The metal rail wasn't enough to stop them. Her head hit the roof. She saw stars. Her body bounced around the passenger seat as more screams drowned out the music.

Her forehead smashed into the dashboard as the car came to a sudden stop.

But it was cold. So, so cold.

Bobby?

He didn't answer. Did she even say his name out loud? It was getting colder.

Where did the water come from?

They were in the lake. That's right. They'd been on Crosby Bridge. The water was rising. She had to get out. The music still played, but the voices had stopped singing along. Stopped screaming.

The door didn't budge. The electric windows wouldn't open. She pressed her hand against the cracked window, trying to break out.

Pain shot up her wrist. Something in her was broken like the glass.

The water continued to rise.

She was getting tired. So tired. But the night was still young.

The water was so high.

The cold enveloped her body. It made the pain hurt less. It made the world around her quieter. Everything was quieter in the cold.

And the darkness.

The song was gone, but she could still feel the pulsing beat of the music in the water. Until she didn't feel anything anymore.

Chapter 1

Ren McCormack ran down the wide Boston street, the bags he carried banging against his body with each step. His books were on one shoulder, his gymnastics gear on the other, and the paper bag with his mom's prescription was still in his hand. There wasn't time to put it away as he dashed out of the drugstore to catch the bus. The next one wouldn't come for another half hour, and he was in no mood to wait. He hated to keep his mom waiting for him.

Mom had the car today. She needed it more than he did. All he would have used it for was to drive to and from school, leaving it parked in the lot all day while he was in class. Ren was the only freshman in his high school with a driver's license. His friends were all jealous, but he'd trade his right to drive in a heartbeat if his mom would only get better.

The bus pulled up to the stop as he got there.
Made it!
With a relieved sigh, he boarded after the other passengers, flashed his pass, and was lucky to find a lone empty seat near the middle. It was his first chance to sit since geography class.

Joining the gymnastics team was his mom's idea. She insisted on it, really. Kept pushing him to be a normal teen. Like he had any idea what normal was. But he had always liked gymnastics when he was younger.

His dad had signed him up for basketball at the local Y when he was in grade school, back when Dad was still around. Basketball lasted about a week. Ren wasn't big on organized team sports like that, even as a kid. He preferred teams that let him do his own thing. The gymnastics class met at the same time in the gym beside the basketball court. It was mostly girls, but Ren didn't care. He switched over to that class on his own. His dad hadn't even noticed.

An older woman got on the bus a few stops later and Ren gave up his seat to her. She almost refused when she saw all the stuff he carried, but Ren wouldn't let her. It wasn't right for him to sit there while she had to stand. Of course, the kids in the seats two rows back acted like they didn't notice any of it.

It was only a few more blocks home, anyway. He could have walked, but he was too tired from practice. Mom was right. It was fun. He'd already made some friends he probably never would have spoken to in school otherwise. Coach even talked about a trip abroad next year, but Ren knew he'd never go. He couldn't leave his mom for that long.

Ren maneuvered his bags so that he could take his iPod out of the backpack and queue up his favorite playlist. Music always relaxed him. Between school and doctors and now gymnastics, his mind was always running. But when he had the earbuds in and the music cranked up, he could zone out for a while and let it all go.

Before he knew it, the bus was at his stop. He almost missed it, actually. If it hadn't been for the group of kids shoving past him on their way out he would have daydreamed his way to the next stop, or maybe farther. He'd done that a few times before and had to walk back home. Usually it happened when a good song came up on shuffle.

Ren hopped off the bus and hurried up the stairs to his apartment. “Mom?” he called out.

No answer.

That was odd. Even on the days she ran errands after her part-time job in the morning, she was usually home when he got there. Stranger still, there was no note on the fridge telling him where she was. He made a quick search of the apartment to make sure everything was okay. It didn't take long—it was only a one-bedroom. Ren slept on the pullout couch in the living room. They called it the “Master Suite” to make it seem like he got the better end of the deal, since his room was twice the size of his mom's.

She wasn't in the “Guest Room” or the bathroom, either. Probably just running late on one of her errands, but Ren couldn't help feeling a nagging worry. He felt that way a lot, usually for no reason. Mom always made fun of him for it. Called him a worrywart. But he knew she hated that he worried about her so much.

While on his search of the place, he noticed that the bathroom hadn't had a good cleaning in a while. He needed to get on that. It wasn't good when things got all germy around the apartment. There were health issues to consider.

He pulled his headphones out of the iPod and attached the small portable speakers so he could fill the apartment with music. Mom liked coming home to music. Not just stuff from her generation—she'd listen to Ren's favorite bands as well. They always had music playing when they were home. He even made her a special playlist to relax her while she was on dialysis.

Ren was elbow-deep in the toilet bowl, singing along to the music, when the front door burst open.

“Ren? Ren!”

“In the bathroom!”

“Well, get out here, I've got news!”

“Be right there.”

Ren went to the sink to wash his hands. He barely had them soaped up when his mom called for him again.

“I'm coming!” he shouted back. He didn't know why she kept calling him. The door was open—she could just walk down the hall.

He dried his hands and went out to the living room. His mom was dancing to the song on the iPod when he came out. When she saw him, she struck a pose like she was showing off a new outfit, but everything she was wearing was the same as when he'd left for school. Not even her hair had changed. “Guess what?” she asked.

“What?”

“The doctor said my condition is stabilizing. I might even be able to stop dialysis soon!”

The music still played, but Ren couldn't hear anything but the pounding of his own heartbeat. Did Mom say what he thought she said? Was there finally a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel? Some hope that she could really get better? He could scarcely believe it. “Seriously?” he asked.

She smiled. “You're not getting rid of me yet.”

Ren ran up and hugged his mom with the most delicate squeeze his excitement would allow. Once she was stronger he'd be able to hug her with all his might, but until then he had to be careful with her.

When they broke free, his mom started moving to the beat. “This calls for a celebration,” she said. “Turn up the music.”

Ren did as she said, then took his mom's hand and they danced.

•  •  •  •  •

Ariel Moore grasped her mother's hand as the tears flowed down her face. It had been a couple weeks since Bobby's death. Her big brother was already in the ground. In the dark, cold ground. Alone.

The pile of flowers and candles left in tribute outside the chain-link fence surrounding Bomont High School had been refreshed a few times. The collection of photos and cards somehow kept growing, as if every memento in the town was on display.

Bobby and his friends were gone. Ariel even missed his girlfriend, whom she never really liked. It didn't stop Ariel from blaming the girl, though. She'd been so pushy about leaving the official homecoming party at school. Sure, the party was lame, but Ariel was there. Bobby wouldn't have left her if his girlfriend hadn't made him.

These were the horrible thoughts filling Ariel's head. She shouldn't have them. Not now, not ever again. Her father would be so disappointed.

None of the seniors stayed for the party—it was mainly just freshmen and their parents. But everyone in town blamed Bobby for the accident, because he was the driver. It was only fair that someone else share the guilt, at least as far as Ariel was concerned.

“He is testing us,” Ariel's daddy said to everyone gathered. The reverend was preaching to his congregation, but they weren't in church. It was an official city council meeting, one where nobody would protest the mix of church and state if the councilman/reverend/grieving father wanted to say a few words.

“Our Lord is testing us,” Reverend Shaw Moore continued. “Especially now, when despair consumes us. When we ask our God, ‘Why? Why has this happened?' ”

That was just one of the questions Ariel wanted answered. The other big one was, Why were all these people around her so angry? Why did they have to blame Bobby? It was an accident. A horrible accident. What was the point of blaming
anyone
?

“No parent should ever know the horror of burying their own child,” Daddy said from his council seat. “And yet, five of Bomont's brightest have lost their lives. When it comes to Bomont's most precious export, we're not talking about cotton or corn. Our most precious export is our children.”

Ariel's momma squeezed her hand tighter as her daddy's eyes locked onto her. Both her parents hovered around her more since the night of Bobby's death. That horrible night. Nobody even thought to wake her. They wanted her to sleep—like a child. Like a baby too young to hear the news. She got up the next morning and had to ask why everyone was in the house. Why they were crying. Why Daddy was off on town business already.

Her parents had been watching her ever since, their eyes never going too far from her … making sure she didn't leave the house. That they always knew where she was. It was nice to have them near, but suffocating at the same time.

“One day they will no longer be in our embrace, or in our care,” Daddy continued. She could sense that he wanted to get out of his chair. He usually gave his sermons standing behind his lectern, not sitting in his council seat. “They will belong to the world—a world filled with evils and temptation and danger. But until that day, they are ours to protect.” Momma held on even tighter. “
This
is the lesson to take from this tragedy. This is our test. We cannot be missing from our children's lives.”

Ariel didn't get that last part. Her parents weren't missing. If anything, they were too smothering. It made sense, considering, but it was also hard on her. Sometimes she just wanted to be alone. To grieve on her own. In her own way.

Principal Dunbar took over the proceedings. He was holding together better than Ariel's father, but that wasn't a surprise. He never got emotional when there were students around. He suffered a loss, too, but she never expected him to show it in public.

“The following measures will be read and voted on accordingly,” Principal Dunbar read from the sheet in front of him. Ariel had seen a copy of that paper on the desk in her daddy's study, so she knew what was about to happen. Everyone had heard the talk, but she was one of the few that knew for certain.

“A curfew for minors under the age of eighteen will take effect immediately,” Principal Dunbar said. “Minors will be expected to be home by ten p.m. on weeknights and eleven p.m. on the weekends. All in favor, say ‘aye.' ”

The council responded quickly with their unanimous “Ayes.” Principal Dunbar slammed the gavel onto the desk to mark the vote. Ariel didn't much mind the curfew; that was already the rule for her, anyway. It was Bobby's curfew when he was her age, but her parents would let it slide occasionally. Now that it was a law, that flexibility was gone.

Principal Dunbar continued to read from the list of new rules. “Punitive measures will be taken against any individual, group, or property owner who organizes a public gathering where minors engage in inappropriate activities.” The gavel smacked down on the desk again. “Such activities include the consumption of alcohol or unlawful drugs, inappropriate sexual activity, listening to vulgar or demeaning amplified music, or participating in lewd or lascivious dancing. All in favor, say ‘aye.' ”

“Aye,” the council echoed.

This rule made less sense to Ariel, even after she'd seen it for herself and had time to think about it. “Inappropriate” was such a vague word. Who was going to determine what was inappropriate? She got the part about drinking and drugs. But what made dancing “lewd”? Her parents grew up in the seventies. There was a lot of lewd dancing going on back then, even in Bomont.

Ariel flinched with the bang of the gavel, as if the
crack
of the wood was the sound of her freedom disappearing.

“A dress code will take effect at the beginning of the next school year,” the principal said, with an even faster drop of the gavel. This one was the easiest rule to make, she'd heard Daddy say. It was also the one that in no way would have stopped what happened to Bobby. She had wanted to point that out, but she held her tongue. This wasn't the time to argue.

They were coming up on the last new law. It was the one her friend, Rusty, had been asking her about since the funeral. She couldn't believe it was true. But Ariel knew it was. She'd seen it in black and white.

“There will be no public displays of dancing unless supervised as part of a school, civic, or church-related function,” the principal read. There was surprisingly little reaction to this announcement from anyone. All she heard were the muffled sobs that had been running throughout the meeting. “Outside of these authorized institutions, public dancing among Bomont's minors will be in violation of the law. All in favor, say ‘aye.' ”

The council was a little slower to vote on this one. Ariel could understand why. It wasn't like Bomont had a hopping club scene, but it meant no more dancing at barbecues or parties or any random event. It meant no more fun just for the sake of having fun.

One by one, the council members announced their support of the law. Ariel should have said something when she saw the list on her daddy's desk—at least asked him about it, but that was not the time. It was clear enough that her daddy knew she didn't like the laws. She could see it when their eyes locked as the vote came to him.

“Reverend?” Principal Dunbar said. “Your vote, please.”

Don't do it, Daddy.

With his eyes still on his daughter, Reverend Moore cast the last “aye” vote, making it a law.