Left with no choice, President Maya walked over to the side of the stage and bumped the emcee's shoulder. Twice.
The girl startled awake as if shaken from a dream, blinked hard, then scrambled to center stage. Her voice came out breathless and excited: "Wow, Hansen's performance was absolutely incredible! I got so lost in it I forgot I was the emcee! I—"
Clap-clap-clap-clap-clap—
The girl had some quick thinking in her, even knew how to turn a work blunder into a self-deprecating joke. But before she could finish her sentence, the audience—finally snapping out of their trance—erupted into the most thunderous applause of the day.
"Holy shit, I was totally freaking entranced just now!"
"I felt like I'd become a bird, a tiny little bird. Wanted to fly but couldn't fly high enough, and I—"
"I'll remember your name, Maya Hansen. That was amazing!"
"..."
Madam President listened to the chatter, her expression calm and indifferent, as though she couldn't care less about anyone's opinion. Only the faint upturn at the corner of her mouth betrayed the satisfaction underneath. And when a soft ding chimed inside her head, she finally allowed herself a restrained smile.
The rest of the performances weren't worth belaboring. None matched Madam President's showstopper, but they still earned warm applause from the crowd.
At noon, everyone ate hot dogs and burgers distributed by the student council, washing them down with juice and cola. Not exactly a gourmet spread, but it was free and the portions were generous, and everyone ate happily enough.
At one-thirty, Maya gathered her red-armband squad for a briefing. "This afternoon, upper and lower grades split up. The older students' dance is staying on this lawn. I'll be nearby keeping an eye on things, no issues there."
She turned to address the dozen-odd adult chaperones. "The priority now is the lower-grade group activities. Teachers lead from the front—hiking, playing by the water, the zoo, whatever works. Just remember: roll call at every new location. Assignments follow the plan we confirmed this morning at the school yard. Each teacher, come grab your group roster."
The teachers were all adults who'd done this before. Nods all around.
Maya turned back to the armband crew. "I'm also assigning one older student from the council to tail each group. You are not there to sightsee. Your job is to stay at the back of the pack at all times. Teachers lead from the front; you make sure nobody falls behind. Sync watches. Every thirty minutes, check the roster and confirm headcount. School flag, school badge, student ID—not a single one goes missing."
The "school flag" Maya mentioned was just a small banner reading "Manhattan ××× Community Elementary School." Its main purpose was to signal organized student group to passersby. The badges and student IDs were for emergencies—so park staff could identify and help a lost student.
"I'll be right here the whole time. If anything comes up, come find me. Dismissed—go meet your assigned lower-graders."
Once the crowd dispersed, Nana wandered back over. "Maya, should we keep tourists out of the dance area?"
Maya thought for a moment. "I'll have people spread out around the perimeter. As for tourists, just leave them be."
"You're not going over yourself? You used to love dancing," Nana said.
Different kind of dancing. Mine was ballet—for competitions, for awards, for Influence Points. This is social dancing. Not the same thing.
Internally rolling her eyes, Madam President gave the diplomatic answer: "Look how many council members are working right now. How could the President just ditch? Go have fun. Don't worry about me."
"I'm a council member too!" Nana protested.
Maya was speechless. You do remember that? Then why'd you sneak over yesterday begging me not to assign you any duties?
"So you're saying you want to stay here with me?"
"Uh... not really."
These Americans were born-and-bred party creatures. Even a simple school dance turned into a full-blown party in their hands. On top of the school's PA system and speakers, a few kids had brought their own boomboxes—the kind that ran on four dry-cell batteries, small enough to carry by the handle or hoist onto your shoulder. The music was an utter mess. Maya listened closely for a bit and, yep, in this era, Michael Jackson was still the undisputed king. More than half the tracks were his.
Even more absurd: someone—she had no idea who—had actually brought a set of stainless steel basins, filled to the brim with chips and Bugles. Kids would dance for a while, wander over, grab two fistfuls of snacks, stuff their faces, then go right back to dancing.
Damn it, the student council was going to have to clean all this up afterward!
A quick note: Maya had already negotiated with the park management. All event trash was the students' responsibility, which meant the kids had basically given themselves permission to go wild. Confetti in every color of the rainbow drifted across the entire area.
Not that Maya could bring herself to shut it down now—she'd ruin the mood for everyone. And hey, she was Madam President. She had plenty of underlings. Cleanup duty was absolutely, positively not going to land on her.
So Maya sat in the lakeside pavilion, simultaneously cultivating the Hansen Sage-Ninja Method and sweeping the area with her senses.
Today, the cheerleaders were having the time of their lives—fluttering around like butterflies in their new spring dresses, basking in the attention of every boy in the grade. Naturally, first pick of dance partners went to the sports-day champions.
Take Andrew, for instance. Right now the idiot was wearing a paper crown on his head, beaming ear to ear as he waltzed with cheer captain Liz.
A sweep in another direction, and there was poor Matthew, huddled in a corner with his best buddy Foggy, commiserating together like two lost souls.
It wasn't that nobody had asked them. Nana had invited Matt, at least. But Matt had wrecked himself staying up all night cultivating and was currently catching up on sleep. His loyal buddy Foggy—convinced Matt's blindness made dancing impossible—had parked himself right there in solidarity.
If Matt ever actually danced, he'd move better than any sighted person in the room. Foggy would find that out eventually.
Maya scanned the armband squad next. All present and accounted for, nobody had abandoned their post. William Beck, the temporary recruit, clearly understood this was his last shot at leaving a good impression. He was itching to join the fun, obviously, but he held the line.
Some passing tourists drifted into the party—a few started dancing on their own, others stood at the edge to watch and cheer. Behavior that would've been peak weird back in China was completely, utterly normal here.
And that wasn't an exaggeration. American schools practically taught you how to throw a party. Parties were treated as an essential component of social development. If you didn't attend parties, your classmates thought you were a freak. The administration would flag you as antisocial and dock your college application.
American party culture was like Korea's seniority culture or Japan's hierarchical culture: opt out and you were an outcast, plain and simple. Look at Peter Parker—he went to the Vulture's party knowing he'd probably get mocked. And Aunt May was thrilled about it, relieved that Peter was finally "fitting in."