Despite Mercedes' insistence that she didn't care and it wasn't nearly as big of a deal as everyone was making it out to be - "Do you know how many marches there've been? My brother's been to at least six in the past two years without going further than Virginia, and that's nothing compared to how many they have further south!" - and Ricky's insistence that it was all just theatre, she wanted to see it. It was a big deal, she insisted because it was the largest march of its kind and it was in the nation's capital, and it was going to make a difference to people like her father's lover - who was a negro, yes, but just as deserving of rights as her father was. And just like President Truman had changed the law to allow him to serve in the Navy...though he'd served during the war, but away from all the white sailors, but that wasn't the point. Just like President Truman had changed the law to let her father's negro homosexual lover serve in the Navy with all the other sailors, President Kennedy was going to change the law to-

Well, she wasn't sure to do what, exactly. Schools were already desegregated, even if a few schools were still trying to resist the way that McKinley had. And the march was called "The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom," but she wasn't sure exactly how a president - or anyone, really - could give freedom. Jobs she understood, maybe, because at least that could be changed through a law like the military was, but-

She supposed she'd just have to watch to find out, wouldn't she? Whatever it was they were asking for, she was sure she could support. As a minority herself, she understood the call for freedom - she was Jewish, after all, and it wasn't so long ago her people couldn't take jobs even in the US. Even now she couldn't have the jobs she wanted - there were roles on Broadway that might as well hang the same sign that used to hang in the windows of stores across Manhattan: No Jews Need Apply. But with renewed confidence, and a few alterations to her haircut and its colour, she was starting to feel more confident that she would still become a star one day despite her handicap.

She was glad Kurt agreed to watch it so it wasn't just her. She couldn't fathom how Mercedes and Ricky could not be interested - it was about them and their futures and their families. If a hundred thousand Jews marched on Washington, she would be there with them. As it was, she wished she'd known earlier just how many Jewish people were going; there were even a few rabbis as part of the program, she'd seen in the newspaper. If she'd known it wasn't just for negros, she would have gone in a heartbeat to show her support for the cause. When everyone got back from the march, she would have to see what organizations she could join to help prepare for the next march. From the way Mercedes was talking, there should be another one like this in a few months.

She'd never heard of this Joan Baez woman, and while her voice wasn't what Rachel would normally favour - it was too thin and pinched for her liking...there was something really powerful about even such a wavering voice singing over that many people. Standing on the National Mall, they were stretched as far as the camera could see, a sea of people so dense that it didn't look like people anymore - it looked like little cap-topped heads on a sea of cotton fluff, with silhouettes of buildings and tiny flags waving in the background. She'd never known something so quiet and peaceful could sound so emotional before, but the pure hope and longing as thousands and thousands of people sang along to her strumming guitar... Rachel couldn't help but watch, completely transfixed.

We shall overcome
We shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh deep in my heart
I do believe
We shall overcome some day.

Kurt had long since stopped asking why he seemed to care more about these things than Mercedes did. Even when they were little, he had felt more invested in their being able to go places together than she had. Her brother had been- well, as close to a militant as one could get away with being in Ohio, which was to say that he believed strongly that Lima had a tendency to break the law whenever they didn't want to treat people equally, and which had been more than enough to scare most of the town. But Mercedes had taken a far more laid-back approach to it all for as long as he could remember. They didn't talk about it in grander terms than what the two of them wanted to do together but couldn't. They wanted to go to the same school, to sing in the same choir, to be able to go eat at the diner without getting spat at. As much as he hated hearing what people said about her - and her family, and her friends...he knew she had to hate it even more than he did. She just didn't show it the same way her brother did.

But he needed to see this for himself. He needed to see progress. He needed to see things changing, to know that little kids in Lima weren't going to have to worry about the same things they did. To think that maybe, just maybe...more things could change.

We'll walk hand in hand
We'll walk hand in hand
We'll walk hand in hand some day
Oh deep in my heart
I do believe
That we shall overcome some day.

He knew it was a long shot. He knew that a hundred homosexuals marching anywhere probably couldn't happen - they'd all be arrested for one thing. Let alone a thousand - a hundred thousand? They were nowhere near that point yet. They couldn't even considering something like this, and even if they could he wasn't sure what exactly they would be asking for. It felt like they needed everything, but at the same time...he wasn't prohibited from school for being the way he was even though everyone had known it since he was five, unlike Mercedes had been. And he still had his job, and so did Don, and John - though was that only because Don and John played it so cool and didn't want anyone to know? Was that why? Because he found it hard to believe that there was anyone at work who didn't know who he was, either. Stu knew, that much was certain because the man had sent him to a bar to set him up for arrest, but he'd kept his job even if he'd lost his dignity. So that was different, too - or it might be. But at the same time, Mercedes had never been arrested just for going to a park or being in the wrong restaurant - could they march one day to demand that the police leave them alone?

So much of what he wanted, no one else could give him no matter how many people marched. But the idea was tantalizing nonetheless: the Mall full of people like himself, Ricky by his side, as they stood up and said they deserved to be just as happy and free as anyone else. An entire community of gay men standing proud...

The country would go into conniptions at that. As it was, he was sure this wasn't going over well in Lima; no, in his town where the chief of police had been called because a group of kids from Mercedes' school had protested by standing outside with placards reading "This is not our school" and "Separate is Unequal - and Unconstitutional" before the first day of classes and those unmoving, silent children represented an apparent hostile takeover of the town...he could imagine what the people he grew up with were saying. How scared they were of what this meant - of what kind of changes it might bring.

Personally he couldn't wait.

We are not afraid
We are not afraid
We are not afraid today
Oh deep in my heart
I do believe
That we shall overcome some day.

Mercedes still wasn't sure she understood the point of all this.

She understood things were a lot worse in the South than they were even in Lima, let alone where she was now - she'd seen it during her ill-fated year at school, for one thing, and her brother faithfully reported back stories of the Freedom Riders and what was being done to organizers throughout Alabama and Mississippi and Georgia, but she guessed...maybe it was because she'd grown up in a place where their community was pretty insulated and separate, but she didn't understand what the march was supposed to do. A bunch of people walking didn't change laws, not unless there was money involved like during the bus boycotts. This wasn't a boycott, this was just a lot of people who were already known to be in support of a change, standing up to once again say they wanted change. And what good was any of that going to do? Congress wasn't even in session, and they'd had a few dozen marches like this covered on the news, so what good did it do anyone to make the trip to DC and walk for miles in the hot sun?

She'd always known her brother was a little crazy, in the way every little sister knew that about her big brother, but this took the cake. It was supposed to be over 90 degrees in Washington today, and he was going to be walking miles in that heat, with probably little or no water, and knowing him he would be standing out there long before the march ever started and helping clean up long after the last speaker was done because he volunteered at all these things.

But seeing the entire crowd file neatly off the Mall and toward the Reflecting Pool, heads and signs held high, watching men and women from her age on up to her grandparents walking proudly side by side to demand that they be given everything - from jobs to dignity - that their white counterparts had...seeing so many people...

It didn't look like Spelman had felt to her. It didn't feel separate from everything else. It didn't feel like blacks who were only friends with blacks and read only back books - for one thing, there were a lot of white faces in the crowd; Kurt could have gone with her there, her brother would have made sure of it.

And there was something about it that felt...powerful.

She remembered the day the court decision had come down, the one declaring that McKinley would be desegregated immediately; she remembered the way the entire neighbourhood felt like it could just explode from happiness - everyone she passed on the street was beaming, was asking each other if they'd heard about the ruling, if they knew what it meant, if they'd seen the look on the superintendent's face when he'd learned he had to follow the law...it was a victory for all of them, not just the plaintiffs, not just the kids who were still school-aged. The whole part of town had won something that day.

That feeling, that power, that joy, was what this looked like. Even from a few hundred miles away, she could feel their energy.

She should have gone, she concluded grimly. Her brother had been right - she should have gone. She should have gotten to be part of this.

Next time. She wouldn't be caught missing the next one. That was for sure.

We shall overcome
We shall overcome
We shall overcome some day
Oh deep in my heart
I do believe
We shall overcome some day.

* * * * *

By the time Ricky got home from work that night, Kurt was the only one still awake. Mercedes had turned in early after a long phone call with her brother, and Rachel was always in bed by now...and Kurt knew he should be, too, but he couldn't. He couldn't turn off his brain, too busy replaying the speeches and songs and images over and over in one euphoric loop. "Hey, Vonny," he whispered brightly as he closed the front door behind himself quietly. Kurt smiled faintly to himself at the care his friend took; they'd learned the hard way that waking Mercedes or Rachel up at 3 in the morning was never a good idea, let alone both of them at once. And one accidentally-slammed door would be more than enough to do it. "What are you still doing up, honey?"

"Thinking," Kurt replied quietly. "I made tea."

Ricky shook his head and went to the fridge, pulling out a glass and a carton of orange juice to pour himself a drink. "How was the rest of the..." he waved his free hand a moment and rolled his eyes.

"Amazing," Kurt stated. "I can't believe you left."

"I can't believe I stayed as long as I did - and any more and I think they would have strangled me with my own shoelaces," Ricky replied. "Rachel asking why I wasn't more excited since it was about 'my people' was my last straw, okay? It's not my people. Mercedes, sure. And you and Rachel are fine already. Every one of those men up there said 'black and white' - brown's a whole different thing, trust me."

"Doesn't everyone win when there's equality?" Kurt pointed out.

Ricky gave him that look he hated, like he thought Kurt was the dumbest - cutest, but most naive - boy he'd ever met. "Just because the police hate everyone doesn't mean it's equal. Let alone getting a job - they think anyone who talks like I do is stupid and barely literate. I can read, okay? Probably better than they can. And in two languages - let's see the pompous ass up there do that, hm?"

"Is that why...?" Kurt asked, and Ricky glared at him sharply. Kurt simply held up a hand in an 'okay - okay' gesture and didn't question further. It was part of their arrangement that just as he wasn't allowed to try to talk Ricky out of his profession, he wasn't allowed to ask too many questions. Ricky said it had something to do with Kurt being unable to not be judgmental, which Kurt of course thought was crazy, but he acquiesced. "Dr. King gave an amazing speech - about a day when children can live in a country where they won't be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character."

Ricky snorted derisively. "That'll be the day. Lemme tell you something, Vonny - I think it's great people wanna march. I do. I think it's even better they're picking a place they won't get firehoses turned on them. But it's gonna take a lot more than a march to change people's minds. And the law doesn't do enough - that young guy was right. What was his name?"

"Which one? Lewis?"

"Yeah," Ricky nodded. "I liked him. The law they want to pass won't help anyone against the police, and that's who's the worst."

"Maybe," Kurt allowed reluctantly, but really he just wanted to be able to believe. To be able to hope that things really would be better because of this. That so many people gathering around the Lincoln Memorial - so many they went beyond the Reflecting Pool! - had made an impact. "...Hey, Ricky?"

"Yeah, baby?" Ricky replied after swallowing a gulp of his juice.

"Do you think there will ever be a march like that for us?" He'd been unable to stop thinking about it all day: a march of a thousand homosexuals demanding the police leave them alone, that they be allowed to live openly. A thousand men like them all in one place.

Ricky scoffed and shook his head. "Not in our lifetime, Vonny." He paused, then added, "...It'd be nice." It was clearly intended to soften his statement, but he followed it with a gentler but nonetheless firm, "But not while we're alive."

* * * * *

Like clockwork, with Labor Day's passage, the wardrobe of the city changed, as though every New Yorker had spent the holiday weekend doing exactly what Kurt had: packing up all of his white trousers and seersucker and short-sleeved shirts into boxes labeled by season and year and pulling out all of his darker wool suit pieces out and hanging them neatly in his tiny closet. Ricky thought he was crazy - "The temperature doesn't drop on September 1, Vonny, it'll still be too hot for those for another month!" - but he did clear out a few of his lighter-weight dresses and pull a few lightweight jackets and pants out of the duffel bag where his not-commonly-used clothes were still residing.

As soon as Kurt stepped onto the subway on Tuesday morning, he could tell the difference - where lightweight shirt dresses and pastels and florals had been on the women on his way home on Friday, now he saw a sea of wools and tweeds in rich reds and browns and emerald greens on the sweltering train car. The men's wardrobes, of course, changed far less obviously; most New York men didn't bother with seersucker or white in the city - they were strictly country-wear and even then only on older gentlemen who remembered the heyday in their youth - but there was still a difference. There was always a difference, a subtle way of marking the seasons before the temperature could be bothered to change.

Which was why, inevitably, the sudden temperature spike the next weekend caught everyone off-guard. After weeks in the low 70s, the Saturday after everyone's warm-weather clothes were packed up hit 90 before noon. Try as they might to cool down the apartment with fans and keeping the lights off, by 1 they had decided that at least fresh air at street level would be better than stagnant humid air five floors up and fled to Central Park along with the rest of the city. The Great Lawn was densely dotted with people in pairs, threes, fours, spread out on blankets, some with picnics, most with books, a few in bathing suits they had somehow managed to avoid packing the weekend before but most in lightweight dresses and short-sleeve shirts.

"How about here?" Kurt suggested as they traipsed across the lawn with their sizable collection of items necessary for a day in the sun.

"I don't know," Rachel replied. "Over there looks sunnier." She adjusted her dress subtly as though no one could see the bright yellow vertical panels of her bathing suit under the white shirtwaist dress, let alone be able to tell from the added bulk of fabric from her chest to her upper thighs that she had layered sunbathing clothes under something acceptable to walk around the city in. Of course, Kurt didn't think any of it was acceptable since both garments should have been packed away already, but he'd long since learned not to talk to Rachel about what her clothes out to do or be; it only ever led to frustration.

"We came out to get out of the heat," Mercedes pointed out, and Kurt was inclined to agree.

"Not all of us want sun," he pointed out, eyebrow arching high under the brim of his light grey fedora. The last thing he wanted was to have to plan his week's wardrobe around vibrant red uncomfortable skin - to say nothing of all the ways it would change his skincare regimen. The idea of getting a sunburn was as exhausting as it was counterproductive: what was the point in working to make sure his skin was the perfect texture only to dry it out in one afternoon?

"Over there-" Ricky started to suggest, only to roll his eyes as a young couple swooped in to snag the spot.

"We could try that way to see-" Rachel tried, but she trailed off as they all started to look for a space that would fit all four of them.

Mercedes shook her head and set down the picnic basket she was carrying. "Here it is then," she stated, and this time there was no opposition. It took only a few minutes for her and Kurt to spread out the blanket, and Rachel looked around nervously for a moment as though trying to be sure she wouldn't be the only one who thought sunbathing in September followed the same rules as sunbathing any other time.

"There's at least twenty other girls here in a lot less," Ricky pointed out as he stooped to unpack the sandwiches.

"You think so?"

"Look around - there's plenty even just where we can see."

Rachel glanced around a moment, then concluded, "You're right," as she began to unbutton her dress. "You should have brought yours, Mercedes."

"Sunbathing? How much darker do you think I can get?" she pointed out with an easy teasing tone as she settled in on the blanket, snagging one of the sandwiches. "Kurt's got room to go though."

Kurt shot her a playful glare. "Not on your life."

"Aw, c'mon. Unless you think you'd blind us all."

"My skin will remain its natural pigment, thank you," he replied.

"What fun is that?" Ricky teased, unbuttoning his garishly bright Aloha shirt. Kurt had no idea where he'd gotten it, but it had emerged from the duffel bag sometime midsummer and become a staple around the apartment even if he couldn't stand the thing. He swore Ricky wore it just to tease him judging from the wicked smirk he would get whenever he caught Kurt staring at the lack of discernible pattern and ugly yellow amidst the bright blues and lime greens and purples, but it did look comfortable. Even if it also looked like something not even Rachel at 15 would have been caught dead in because it was too loud.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the one perk I get of being a boy," he joked. "It's too hot out here for extra clothes, Vonny." He slipped the shirt off his shoulders, balling it up and laying back on the blanket. After a moment, he reached down to roll up the hems of his already-short shorts until they clung to his slender thighs, then he laid back again and let out a long, contented sigh. "I don't know how you do it, all covered up all the time. Especially since you put away all your lightweight clothes - I told you that was dumb, baby, the weather doesn't know we've hit some magical date that means it's fall now."

Kurt wasn't sure he would ever get used to how young and vulnerable Ricky looked when he relaxed. In the beginning it had just been fleeting moments, usually before bed, but now it was out in the open, even with Rachel and Mercedes around... the more time went on, the more he was certain the boy was younger than he was, but he had no idea by how much - and no way of knowing without asking outright, which seemed rude.

"Besides, you break fashion rules all the time," he added as Kurt reached over to grab a bag of grapes from the basket. "This is the only one you follow?"

It was a valid point, he had to admit, and he popped a grape into his mouth to buy himself some time to answer before replying simply, "It's a way to mark time."

Ricky opened one eye and snorted derisively. "That's gotta be one of the silliest ways of marking time I've ever heard. I'd ask if it's something that people do on farms out there where the skyscrapers are four stories tall because you all live in ranch houses, but don't you just mark it by crops and the first frost or something?"

Kurt wasn't sure if he was kidding or not, and in truth it was only partly a joke. In Lima, planting season mattered - and so did harvest, and so did the annual week of the county fair, but here...maybe here in the city, without school to mark the end of one year and the beginning of the next, with no summer vacation to come to a close, the only way to keep track of the year really was the progression of clothes, from seersucker into light wool, to tan trench coats to woolen overcoats in dark shades, to light wool to seersucker again. "Here - have a crop," he joked, popping a grape in Ricky's mouth.

After he chewed and swallowed, Ricky gave him a dirty look. "I may not know much about that other part of the country," he said, as though New York were at least equal to everything else in America, "but I do know you don't have grapes in Ohio."

Rachel looked up from her paperback to counter, "That's not true. There's a winery up near Lake Erie-"

"All of six grapes grown in the entire state," he replied with a deadpan expression. "That doesn't count. That means we grown things in New York, too, with that rooftop garden up at 128th and Lexington."

Rachel's eyes lit up. "We should try one of those," she stated. "Fresh produce is so expensive here, and it wouldn't be hard-"

"You're not doing any of it," Kurt replied firmly. "I saw what happened to our plant when we moved in."

"What?" she asked innocently.

"It was dead within a week! It had been in my room in Ohio forever, it spends one week on a window sill with you watering it and it's dead."

"Maybe it was just its time," she suggested.

"Wait, the purple-ish one you used to have?" Mercedes asked. "The one my mom helped you plant?"

Kurt nodded gravely. "The bergenia. It even survived Carole trying to transplant it into the garden at the new house before I rescued it. I thought it could survive anything - until Rachel," he added.

"I didn't do anything to it, I swear-"

"What's going on over here?" A new voice booming from above caught them offguard, and they fell silent, staring up at the man above them. He was imposingly large, seeming even more impossibly tall from their position on the ground, and from the way he was backlit it was difficult to make out any distinguishing features besides his broad shoulders, hat that flared to a wide trapezoidal shape atop his head, and dull glint of his badge against a field of what otherwise looked black but Kurt knew was dark blue.

He swallowed hard, an icy weight settling in his stomach and a flutteriness in his limbs telling him to run - he'd done nothing wrong, he knew that, but a year of built-up instincts and too short a distance from the sight of his first arrest left him ready to flee, to ensure it wouldn't happen for a third time. He looked over at Ricky, whose posture had resumed its stiffness that Kurt had gotten too used to over the course of several months, even if everything about his friend seemed cool and collected; Ricky rolled down the hems of his shorts until they were a more normal length with a forced casualness, then looked up and tilted his head slightly as if to ask 'anything else?'

"Same thing that's going on across the whole park?" Mercedes replied, not understanding what the officer's question even referred to, and Kurt had to admit he wasn't sure either. There weren't any men lurking around, he wasn't touching anyone, no one was kissing or trying to make a pass at anyone else-

"Little uncovered, aren't you?" he asked, and Kurt could hear the sneer in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Officer - I saw other girls, I thought-" Rachel started, but he held up his hand, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where the policeman's eyes were trained, even in shadow like he was. Ricky's eyes narrowed in a challenging glare, but he wordlessly plucked his shirt from behind him on the blanket, shrugging into it and buttoning exactly two buttons, lips pursed. He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, then leaned back on his hands; his shirt slipped half-open across his chest, but he didn't move to cover up any more, clearly challenging.

The officer shifted his gaze to Kurt, who swallowed hard and sat up a little straighter. "What's your story?" he asked, glancing between Kurt and Ricky for a moment as though trying to figure out whether they were a couple, or maybe if they were 'working' together, Kurt didn't know.

"Just enjoying the day," he replied cooly, back stiff, mouth tight.

"Not out prowling? Tryin'a cruise on some unsuspecting family men?"

From the tone, he was pretty sure there was no answer he could give that would satisfy the officer, and his mind raced to come up with something other than the obvious "No sir" - because he wasn't, and he never would, and he certainly wouldn't in public like this, but he didn't think that was going to be a very convincing-

And suddenly came saving grace from an unexpected source.

Rachel slipped closer to him, placing her hand on his arm and wrapping her other arm around his back. "Of course not," she stated firmly. "My boyfriend and I are just trying to enjoy a day out in the park, like every other couple out here." She had on her 'I'm acting now' voice, her words just a little too clipped and exaggerated as though she were defending his honour from a stage in front of a few thousand people, but the officer didn't know her like Kurt did. To other people, she could just be eccentric and deliberate-of-speech.

"Your boyfriend," he repeated skeptically.

"Of course," she replied. "We've been together for - how long is it now, honey?" she asked sweetly.

Kurt forced a smile, though it was a little nervous, and replied, "Almost four years, dear."

"We moved here from Ohio together. High school sweethearts." She leaned her head against Kurt's shoulder with an exaggerated contented sigh. Kurt ran his hand over her back, looking up at the officer to see whether their charade was working. When the man's posture hadn't changed, he knew what he needed to do to convince him. With as little awkwardness as he could muster, he tilted his head a little and leaned in to kiss her gently. He'd done it before - but in anger, in revenge. This time he was grateful - for her, at least, if not for the need to do this.

After a few moments, he heard the policeman grumble above them, "Okay, okay. Just make your friend keep his damn shirt on. Don't want him attracting the wrong crowd, nice kids like you."

As soon as he was gone, Rachel settled back a little bit, smoothing Kurt's shirt and shaking her head. "I can't believe someone would do that to you here. In Ohio, sure, but here..." She rolled her eyes, and Kurt was struck by the sudden, nearly overwhelming need to tell her it wasn't the first time. That as terrifying as this was, it was only because of what he'd witnessed and experienced before - that a shadowy figure wasn't nearly as scary during the day as he was at 2 in the morning a few blocks away deep in the Ramble. That police weren't as troublesome when he actually wasn't doing anything suspect.

He couldn't, not like this, but...soon maybe. If he could start to find the words...he wanted to. Even if she might not understand right away, she would support him; he knew that beyond a doubt. And if she made the conversation about her...that was just her, and he found it almost endearing.

She might understand more than he thought, he realized. She jumped in to defend him in a way that a person didn't just fall into; maybe she understood it more than he would have expected.

"You wear too many clothes, they want to make you count them to be sure they're the right clothes. You don't wear enough, they want to make you put them back on," Ricky mumbled, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off again. "You hear how he acted like I wasn't even here - or couldn't speak English?"

"I'm just glad he didn't want to know what our story was," Mercedes replied. "With the two of them acting all coupley..."

"Oh no," Ricky laughed, shaking his head. "He'd believe me as your girlfriend before he'd ever believe me as your boyfriend, and that wouldn't help me any. Vonny can get away with being Rachel's boyfriend, but I-"

"Boyfriend?" Rachel looked up quickly at the familiar voice. Bobby stood over them, hands in his pockets, confused expression on his face. "I didn't know you had-"

"I don't," she replied, laughing. "He meant Kurt - it's a long story," she added. Bobby knew about Kurt, of course, even if they hadn't met- "Speaking of which. Kurt, this is Bobby. Bobby, this is my best friend Kurt."

"Nice to finally meet you," he smiled, looking relieved though Rachel couldn't understand why. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," Kurt replied, shading his eyes beyond the brim of his hat as he looked up.

"Rachel, can I...talk to you a minute?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed a little in confusion, but she stood. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to ask you something." He glanced beyond her to the rest of the group, and she nodded, understanding that he meant he wanted privacy.

"Of course," she replied. As he led her through the picnickers, she realized she'd left her dress back at the blanket and started to turn back for a moment but kept following, hands clasped in front of her as though they could cover up...well, anything really. It felt so immodest - though he had seen her in her dance clothes which didn't leave any more to the imagination than her one-piece swimsuit, she supposed.

Bobby led her up the wooded path toward Central Park West, which was significantly less crowded than the lawn - a few people with blankets coming or going, an odd bicyclist every so often, but at least the illusion of privacy as he stepped off the path beside a rock large enough to sit on. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Okay," she replied. "A few callbacks, so far no luck - but I think it's going much better. I have four auditions next week, and I think I'm really close to getting something. I don't know how to explain it, but I just know." He smiled broadly, and she asked, "How's your show?"

"We're almost entirely choreographed," he stated, his grin turning weary but still happy. She understood exactly why; she couldn't wait to be exhausted from a long rehearsal and know she was putting together a show and learning the things she would perform onstage to a crowd of enthusiastic theatre-goers. "Jerome Robbins is amazing. He just sees things in a way I could never imagine."

"The Jerome Robbins?"

"Is there another?" he joked. "You would love working with him. It's tough, but I feel like I've learned so much already..."

"I can't believe it - you're on your way," she offered, grinning even though it wasn't her own success. He really did deserve it, he was so good-

"Yeah...about that..." He trailed off, the nervous look returning. She studied him carefully, not sure what he could possibly say that would have him so nervous. It wasn't as though he had watched her audition and had to be the bearer of bad news that they wanted something other than her for this show...maybe he still felt bad about the fight they'd had. They hadn't been able to see each other very much since then, and even though she had reluctantly acknowledged he'd been right about Fred all along - though without the gritty details of course. But that seemed like such a minor altercation to need to talk about so many months later- "There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"I know," she stated, nodding. "And I'm sorry for the fight we had. You were right, and you were trying to warn me for my own good, so I don't-"

"What?" He looked at her, confused, then his eyes lit up slightly with recognition. He shook his head. "Not about that. Ancient history, as far as I'm concerned. No, I wanted to...well, ask if you would want to-"

"What?"

He looked like he was going to start to say something, but the words fell into a grin and he shook his head slightly. "You really never do let me just speak, do you?" he joked, and she wanted to defend herself but there was something about his tone that sounded so darn fond of her that she wasn't entirely sure it was intended as a criticism. "You have to jump in and ask because you're so desperate to know, and that's...adorable." She blinked, sure she'd misunderstood, and he sighed softly. "I've missed you lately, Rachel. I've been busy, you've been working so hard to land the shows because that's how ambitious you are, and it occurred to me...I missed not running into you. And maybe instead of just waiting on the fate of the Great White Way to get to see you, we could set something up instead."

"You mean more rehearsal for auditions?" she asked. "You hardly need it now that you have a steady job, but I would love to-"

"No." She blinked as he cut her off. "That's not what I meant. Not rehearsal. Not scouring audition notices for roles we'd be perfect for. I meant...would you go out with me?" Her eyes widened as she didn't know what in the world to say, and he continued. "Look, I know I'm not the big star or the powerful director you probably want, I- well. I can't get you roles, I can't advance your career, and maybe you think I'm just a good scene partner and friend, but...I like you, Rachel. I like the way you look when you sing - like the entire world goes away except what you're feeling and the notes pouring out of you? And the way your face kind of scrunches up when you stretch before you dance. And I like the way you always sing an A flat just the tiniest bit sharp no matter how many times we work on it - you can tell when I'm off even a little, but somehow that note always..." he trailed off, grinning. "I don't know what you did with your hair, but it suits you, or it could, and I like the way you walk, when you're so excited and determined to get somewhere, with your arms out a little-" he demonstrated, arms angled down and out, hands in fists, and she wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or awed or to laugh because it looked like such a ridiculous gesture on him. "You just look like such a force of nature - and you're going to be a star one day. And when it happens, I want to be onstage beside you, or cheering you on from the front row. And in the meantime, I want to take you to dinner next Friday. My show doesn't pay much yet, but I know waiters at a lot of restaurants who can get us a great table at-"

"Really?" she asked, her head spinning. A gorgeous, talented boy liked her and wanted to go out with her and somehow made it sound like he was getting the better end of the bargain? A boy with that smile and that voice-

"Really," he murmured, beaming shyly, taking her hand.

"Of course," she beamed, looking up at him. Then slowly - just like in the movies - he leaned down and kissed her. It lasted only a few moments, and maybe it was just her overly theatrical imagination but she swore she could hear music swelling behind them and the rest of the world melting away. His lips were firm but gentle, and they didn't push her, didn't try to force anything at all, and the way he looked when they parted...

"I have to go," he said quietly, an adoring smile all over his face, "But I'll pick you up at 8 on Friday?"

"Sounds perfect," she murmured back.

"Break a leg at your auditions," he added, squeezing her hand before heading back up the path and out of the park.