Kevin was standing at the bus stop, thinking about the day ahead of him. Today was his audition for Performing Arts High School, and he was very far away from his home in Iowa, which didn't help his nervousness much. If he screwed up, he would have to go all the way back home and face his father's disappointment and his mother's pity, two things he wanted to avoid at all costs; it was a lot of pressure.

For the thousandth time that morning, he reminded himself to relax, took a deep breath, and started pacing the bus stop to take his mind off the audition. There weren't many people there, surprisingly enough, so Kevin was nearly alone at the bus stop, and the people that were present paid no attention to him. And that was okay with him.

By the time he had stopped pacing and was relatively calm once more, two boys about his age had arrived and were standing away from the group, talking and laughing together. They both had black hair and were wearing black shirts, and the taller boy was wearing blue jeans, but the slightly shorter, thinner boy had a backpack and was wearing neon green, legging-like pants.

The bus finally arrived, and Kevin hung back to let passengers get off, watching the thin boy out of the corner of his eye. He was glancing between his friend and the bus, looking regretful, then his friend said something to make him smile, and he put his hands on the taller boy's sides and kissed him square on the mouth. Kevin wanted to stop watching them-he was blushing profusely-but he couldn't help but keep looking while they kissed, eyes closed in ecstacy. The other people at the stop didn't ignore the pair as they had Kevin, but instead shook their heads or made disapproving sounds, or purposely turned their backs.

Kevin boarded the vehicle and watched out the window as the bus driver honked the horn, separating the boys, and the one in leggings dashed inside as well, thanking the driver. The driver, a middle-aged black woman, said, "Don't thank me, kid, just sit down. I've got better things to do than wait around for you."

The boy smirked, then headed for the closest empty seat, beside Kevin. To keep from staring at him, Kevin bent down and checked his bag to make sure nothing had fallen out.

"You're a dancer, too?"

Kevin straightened, and the black-haired boy was looking at him, pointing to the ballet shoes in Kevin's bag. Nodding mutely, Kevin watched as his companion reached into his own bag and pulled out a pair of very beat-up black toe shoes; Kevin's eyes widened. He said, "You dance pointe?"

"Believe it or not, I've been doing it for three years." he admitted. "How about you?"

Kevin shook his head. "I'm not very good at pointe yet. I just started last year. How long have you been dancing?"

The boy chewed his lip and thought for a long moment before answering, "I think I was around seven when I started. So. . . about half my life now. And you?"

"Pretty much my whole life." Kevin said, then stuck out his hand. "I'm Kevin, by the way."

"Jiri." Jiri responded, shaking Kevin's hand. "So, I take it you're trying out for PA?" Kevin nodded, and Jiri smiled. "Well, let's hope we both get in, huh? Like to talk with you some more about dancing. Maybe we could hang out sometime?"

"That'd be fun."