you.” You use the principal’s name ’cause you know for a fact he’s not here. You remember he skipped this prom when he got sick right beforehand, but no one realized this until afterward. You figured you better mention his name so one of the teachers or chaperones doesn’t escort you out of here. “But I’m gonna need some help. You guys interested in learning a dance?”
Two kids say yes, but the rest of the room is quiet.
“Okay, come on —I swear you’re gonna love this song.” You peer into the cluster of students. “Is John Luke in the building? John Luke, you here?”
You see John Luke come out of the crowd.
“You gotta help me, okay?” you whisper to him.
“Help you do what? We gotta get out of here.”
You return the mike to your mouth. “Okay, boys and girls. I’m going to introduce you to a song you’re gonna love.”
You motion for Hippie DJ to start the music. The zany electronic beat begins.
“‘Oppa Gangnam Style,’” Psy starts to sing. The stream of Korean lyrics continues. You can tell everybody in the room is completely perplexed and wondering what’sgoing on. They’ve obviously never heard K-pop —Korean pop —before.
“Here you go. Watch me now,” you shout as you start doing the moves.
For the first minute, nobody is dancing. But you and John Luke keep showing everybody how it’s done, and a few brave souls start trying. Then more. Then you have a whole wave of kids trying out the motions. John Luke rejoins the crowd as the steps catch on.
“Come on; let’s go!” you shout as the chorus nears and the signature moves begin.
You make the motions of riding a horse. Soon the whole room is doing the same thing.
“You’re getting it. That’s right.”
You glance toward John Luke and see Korie dancing at his side. Dancing as if she knows him.
Uh-oh.
John Luke is staring at you like, Dad, let’s get out of here.
You just laugh and make the lasso motion again.
As the song nears its end, you decide to get a little fancy with your footwork, hoping to move around John Luke and Korie. But your boots get tangled and you trip and fall.
You don’t just fall. You fall hard .
Hard enough to black out.
When you awake, you’re in a hospital bed. You can feel the bandages on your head and the IV in your arm. You feel woozy, and all you can hear are the whirring sounds of “Gangnam Style.” The door opens, and you expect John Luke to enter the room. Maybe he’ll be able to help you get out of here. But instead a man in a black suit comes in and shuts the door behind him. He comes and sits right by you.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Robertson?”
“Fine,” you say. “And it’s Willie.”
“Having fun at high school proms?” the man in the suit asks.
He’s maybe in his thirties and has sharp, cutting eyes that don’t wander.
“Yeah, it was a good time.”
“You do know there are penalties for doing what you did tonight.”
You don’t quite understand him. “Penalties? What do you mean? For hitting my head?”
“For sharing music the way you did.”
This guy is coming down on you for file sharing?
“What are you talking about? All I did was play a song —”
“The world is not supposed to hear ‘Gangnam Style.’”
You laugh. “Uh-oh. Did I tilt the earth’s axis by playing it too soon? What are you, the pop music police?”
The man reaches into his suit coat and pulls out his wallet. He opens it to reveal his badge. “My name is Conan Skywalker Rambo. Of course, that’s not my real name.”
“Oh, really?” you ask without any humor.
You just want to get out of here and stop talking to this guy.
“I’m Member 004 of the PCP.”
“A secret agent?” you ask.
“It’s called the Pop Culture Police. We monitor the well-being and structure of pop culture, and have done so since the 1960s.”
This guy is acting serious, as if this isn’t some big joke.
“Are you for real?”
He nods.
“So what’d I
Two kids say yes, but the rest of the room is quiet.
“Okay, come on —I swear you’re gonna love this song.” You peer into the cluster of students. “Is John Luke in the building? John Luke, you here?”
You see John Luke come out of the crowd.
“You gotta help me, okay?” you whisper to him.
“Help you do what? We gotta get out of here.”
You return the mike to your mouth. “Okay, boys and girls. I’m going to introduce you to a song you’re gonna love.”
You motion for Hippie DJ to start the music. The zany electronic beat begins.
“‘Oppa Gangnam Style,’” Psy starts to sing. The stream of Korean lyrics continues. You can tell everybody in the room is completely perplexed and wondering what’sgoing on. They’ve obviously never heard K-pop —Korean pop —before.
“Here you go. Watch me now,” you shout as you start doing the moves.
For the first minute, nobody is dancing. But you and John Luke keep showing everybody how it’s done, and a few brave souls start trying. Then more. Then you have a whole wave of kids trying out the motions. John Luke rejoins the crowd as the steps catch on.
“Come on; let’s go!” you shout as the chorus nears and the signature moves begin.
You make the motions of riding a horse. Soon the whole room is doing the same thing.
“You’re getting it. That’s right.”
You glance toward John Luke and see Korie dancing at his side. Dancing as if she knows him.
Uh-oh.
John Luke is staring at you like, Dad, let’s get out of here.
You just laugh and make the lasso motion again.
As the song nears its end, you decide to get a little fancy with your footwork, hoping to move around John Luke and Korie. But your boots get tangled and you trip and fall.
You don’t just fall. You fall hard .
Hard enough to black out.
When you awake, you’re in a hospital bed. You can feel the bandages on your head and the IV in your arm. You feel woozy, and all you can hear are the whirring sounds of “Gangnam Style.” The door opens, and you expect John Luke to enter the room. Maybe he’ll be able to help you get out of here. But instead a man in a black suit comes in and shuts the door behind him. He comes and sits right by you.
“How are you feeling, Mr. Robertson?”
“Fine,” you say. “And it’s Willie.”
“Having fun at high school proms?” the man in the suit asks.
He’s maybe in his thirties and has sharp, cutting eyes that don’t wander.
“Yeah, it was a good time.”
“You do know there are penalties for doing what you did tonight.”
You don’t quite understand him. “Penalties? What do you mean? For hitting my head?”
“For sharing music the way you did.”
This guy is coming down on you for file sharing?
“What are you talking about? All I did was play a song —”
“The world is not supposed to hear ‘Gangnam Style.’”
You laugh. “Uh-oh. Did I tilt the earth’s axis by playing it too soon? What are you, the pop music police?”
The man reaches into his suit coat and pulls out his wallet. He opens it to reveal his badge. “My name is Conan Skywalker Rambo. Of course, that’s not my real name.”
“Oh, really?” you ask without any humor.
You just want to get out of here and stop talking to this guy.
“I’m Member 004 of the PCP.”
“A secret agent?” you ask.
“It’s called the Pop Culture Police. We monitor the well-being and structure of pop culture, and have done so since the 1960s.”
This guy is acting serious, as if this isn’t some big joke.
“Are you for real?”
He nods.
“So what’d I
Similar Books
![MINE! [New World Book 8]](https://fs.ageofbook.com/503196/thumbs/152x264/mine-new-world-book-8.jpg)
