Katrina and Jenny and all the others were waiting anxiously downstairs, uncertain as to whether they would still be performing this afternoon. Janey's sprain had come at the worst possible time: they needed at least six to do this number, quadrille or not. They had some idea as to what Ms Deane had in mind, but a flat refusal was more than a possibility. What if Casey said no? There was no one else their age who could fill in for Janey - at least no one as good as Casey was.

"How could Janey break her ankle at a time like this?" Katrina was demanding of no one in particular, "she's put us right out of the show with her dumb stunts."

"It wasn't a dumb stunt," replied Cindy Bayliss, defending her absent friend, "she was practicing her handstands and fell over. And it's just a sprain, she didn't break anything, Kat."

"Well, it's still left us stranded up the creek, hasn't it? We'll never find someone to replace her in time."

"What about Casey? Ms Deane said she was going to -"

"He'll probably say no," Gail Williams cut in pessimistically, "what boy wants to do the can-can? Everybody would call him a sissy."

"Hey - there she is now," Katrina said, pointing to the stairs.

"Who's that with her?"

They watched narrow-eyed as Ms Deane approached with their new can-can girl in tow. A slim, shy-looking little girl in a red satin ball-room dress, none of them recognized her at first. It was several seconds before the penny dropped. Debbie Thomas stepped forward, mouth a-gape:

"Kay-See?!"

Casey hugged his arms in embarrassment, lowering his face and nodding toward the floor. Gail and Cindy ran forward, gasping with delight (WOW - is that really YOU, CASEY? Hey!!) and Casey found himself surrounded for the second time in as many minutes. Katrina and Jenny waded in, touching his hair and checking his petticoats with cries of disbelief - particularly when they saw what he was wearing underneath. Casey tried to hold his skirt down against their explorations.

"All right, time to get ready," Ms Deane interrupted, bringing the party to a premature halt, "You're on next, girls. Over by the curtain, let's go."

Eve clapped her hands smartly together. The girls ran lightly across the floor with little screams of excitement, scooping up handfuls of satin and lace. Casey followed after, his skirt billowing around him like a satin cloud. No time now for reservations. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his blush had spread all the way to his hairline.

Out in the theater, the Hostess of Ceremonies was looking over the program. The Civic Center was packed to capacity tonight - must have been more than a thousand people filling the rows. As it was, the seats were booked out for nearly a week in advance. Not bad for a small-town dance festival, especially this far out in the suburbs.

Glancing towards the wings, she noted that Evelyn Deane's dance troupe was in place for the next number - six young girls in garish costumes, petticoats hiked up to their thighs. This was going to be quite the spectacle, according to all accounts. Gesturing for silence, she tapped the mike, adjusted her glasses, then introduced the imminent festivities with a hint of spice in her voice:

"Well, the next number will certainly be a treat, ladies and gentlemen. The Spencer District Dancing School is pleased to present a taste of Gay Paree. Monsieurs et madamoiselles - the French Can-Can!!"

The auditorium's loudspeakers rung into life as the audience began to applaud. Offenbach's universally familiar overture to Orpheus in the Underworld echoed across the floor as the cancaneuses made their entrance, skirts bunched up to their hips. All of the girls wore prim white garters - all save one; a tall, stunning blond with a saucy grin and legs that could kill at a hundred yards. "She" was wearing a pair of bright red garters just below her stocking tops. Flaring and flashing with every movement, they almost screamed for attention.

And attention was what they got.

Casey dominated the performance from the first step. The spotlights followed his spirited dash to center left. The girls circled the stage, falling into position with their petticoats whipping about their thighs. Casey took his place between the two principals -

and the Can-Can really began.

Casey lifted his hemline clear up to his throat, allowing the crowd a spectacular view of his thighs, stockings, and lavishly frilled underpants. Crinolines were raised across the floor, and the girls sprinted forward in a dazzle of shining lingerie. A startled gasp sailed up from the audience. The hall erupted with cheers of satisfaction; howls and wolf whistles split the air.

Moving slightly forward off the others, Casey kicked his right leg over his head and brought it down in a circular motion, an action repeated by the remaining five dancers. Inexplicably, Casey had taken the lead, and the rest were following his cue. Smiles beamed from face to face, silvery laughter chimed above the music. None of them had realized just how much fun this was going to be.

The girls began spinning like tops, their skirts threatening to fly away. Several begin turning cartwheels and handsprings, all calculated to reveal every inch of their lingerie. They worked their way through a complicated series of high-kicks, flip-flops and turn-overs with undisguised enthusiasm.

Seized by an irresistible impulse, Casey suddenly doubled over and executed a perfectly balanced handstand. His petticoats immediately fell away, showing off his slender legs and flimsy nylon panties. With his hair brushing the floorboards and skirt reversed over his head, Casey couldn't see the audience, but there was no mistaking their roars of appreciation. The walls were almost shaking with the thunder.

Still holding his balance, Casey scissored his legs open in mid-air. His suspenders elongated by at least six inches, straining against his upper-thighs. Casey giggled in spite of himself - wouldn't it be embarrassing if one of those tense black straps snapped right here in front of the crowd? Then again, he had plenty to be embarrassed about as it was.

Being closest to the edge of the stage, Casey's knickers were on full display to everybody in the first four rows. Every ribbon, every bow, every dainty scrap of lace was clearly visible. His nebulous black stockings stood out in urgent contrast as Casey concluded his aerial splitz. His pulse was thudding like a trip-hammer; he'd never felt so pretty, so feminine in his life.

Bringing his legs together once more, Casey dropped over onto his feet like a gynmast in dismount. His dress fell back into place, covering his underwear behind a curtain of red satin. Can't have that now, can we? No room for false modesty here! Throwing both hands high over his head, Casey launched into a forward handspring. Polyester frills frisked about stockinged calves, cheeky little panties flickered back into view. Another cheer burst up from the audience.

Katrina and Jenny cantered to the front of the stage whipping their petticoats from side to side, joining Casey as he landed on his high heels. The timing seemed almost supernaturally correct: Casey never stumbled, never hesitated, never placed a foot wrong. Raising his crinoline up to his shoulders, he flung himself into the dance with renewed vigor, firing highkicks in rapid-fire bursts. Katrina and Jenny followed suite, proudly disclosing their gartered stocking-tops to half the population of Chamberlain. The rest of the girls spun about, tossing their skirts over their heads and exposing their bottoms in a flourish of white lace.

Watching unseen from the wings, Evelyn Deane studied Casey's form in subdued fascination. She'd known the boy was talented, but she'd never suspected he was capable of such (all right, let's be truthful here) virtuosity. Twenty minutes ago, he'd been on the brink of tears, now he was undergoing some kind of transfiguration. Eve shook her head in awe. She felt as though she were looking at the next Njinsky ... or maybe Fontaine, depending on the costume.

Out on stage, the troupe had whirled into its final configuration. Kicking up their stilettos in a welter of lace and garters, they offered the crowd a final glimpse of their firm young calves, their tightly strung suspenders, their girlish, naughty smiles.

What am I DOING?! Casey asked himself, lifting his left sole into a tendon-straining pat en l'air. What was he doing here, exhibiting his panties to like a million people at once?! Panties were sacrosanct; an unmentionable secret to be kept hidden beneath layers and layers of silk and satin. Except, of course, while he was dancing the Can-Can.

And what could be more exhilarating than that?

Reaching the grand finale, the girls turned in a line, bent over and presented their panty-clad bottoms to the audience. Skirts flipped inside out in a wave flowing left to right: one two three four five SIX!! Pert young bottie-cheeks were thrust out in a halo of foaming crinolines, sussie-straps stretched to their limits, glossy red pumps clacked together with the sound of breaking ice. Frilly round buttocks clenched and jostled for center stage, their lush curves bulging through their gossamer sheaths.

Casey peeked out from below her layered underskirt, looking out towards the theatre. The audience had exploded into a standing ovation: row after row of spectators rose their feet, clapping their palms and yowling their congratulations, their bravos, their encores. The boards beneath the girls' feet started vibrating in resonance as the tumult continued to climb.

"Casey - that was fantastic!!" Katrina Waylan whispered, her face the color of a wild strawberry.

"Yeah," Jenny Griffiths agreed with an admiring giggle, "you're the bomb, Casey!!"

The motion was carried by all present; Casey certainly was the bomb. All six girls wriggled their fannies in a unanimous declaration of triumph. Faultlessly white panties glared beneath blazing spotlights. Out beyond orchestra pit, the cheering swelled towards a crescendo. Encore, Encore, ENCORE!!

Now I'm really blushing, Casey thought, shyly regarding her new friends with a touching mixture of affection and gratitude.

And with that, the curtain came down on the Montmarte number. Purple Velvet swept the stage, bringing an end to the evening's festivities. The footlights dimmed, the applause began to fade. The cancan was over.

But for Casey, the show was just beginning.