This selection is part of Chapter Two from The Ghetto Theatre, a novel-in-progress by IBC/YC Junior Aaron Klein.

The boat contained a deck full of excited and well-dressed college freshmen anxiously awaiting the start of the voyage. The night air softly danced through my lungs, awakening my senses as the boat pulled away from the dock, its oppressed motor rumbling beneath us like an old washing machine desperately churning through its last cleansing cycle.

The vessel housed two levels: a large and semi-stylish ballroom below, and a lounge with an outside deck above, complete with a bar and dance floor. The cruise was the last event of Orientation '97, a series of parties, speeches and meetings planned by trite and phlegmatically uninspired faculty members. I attended all orientation events and found the entire thing somewhat childish, although I did meet a few interesting people.

Three days and two sleepless nights had passed since I had first arrived in New York. My temporary insomnia was a delicately wrapped gift thoughtfully presented by the noisy concourses of Manhattan. My roommate had not yet arrived and I was starting to enjoy my privacy.

I was sitting at a full and well apportioned table on the outside deck. To my right was Jeff Benson, a finance major who lived next door to me. Dance music was playing loudly, and it was hard to talk above the sound that pulsated from the speakers like water exploding from an old pipe in the middle of a crowded avenue.

"Just when you think orientation can't get any lamer, they go and throw a party on a boat," said Jeff.

One of the girls at our table said, "At least the food is okay."

I had noticed that she was occasionally flirting with me. At least my testosterone-charged, egotistically biased mind thought I had noticed her casting deviously feminine, often misunderstood glances in my direction.

"Eat here while you can, because the food in the Caf tastes like raw sewage," I said.

"Tell me about it, and it costs more than imported caviar," the girl responded. "By the way, my name is Lauren." Flirtations confirmed.

"Ian Aurlich, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"You're pre-med, right?" asked Lauren.

"Yeah, how did you know?" I was both impressed and flattered that she knew who I was.

"I saw you at the meeting yesterday. I'm in that program too."

"Do you know which pre-med courses you're taking yet?" I said, making an effort to continue a conversation with this strikingly beautiful girl.

"Probably general biology and calculus. How about you?"

"Biology and chemistry but I need to register tomorrow morning."

"Make sure you don't take Dr. Meit for biology, I hear he's heartless."

"That's what I heard, too," I said as a photographer snapped a picture of the smiling students sitting around our table enjoying the late night breeze. A few months later, a segment of that picture would be aired on the news and in the papers throughout the city, though one of us wouldn't live to see it.

I look back on that night and stare at a picture that wasn't meant to be taken, an image of blood soon to be spilled. I can almost make out figures of the macabre spirits watching me, laughing at me, at my ignorance and at the false sense of invincibility that serves as the trademark of the young, when the world is yours and the Angels of destiny are oblivious to the most adventurous of desires.

The images in the picture once again come to life - the people who gave rise to them having sunk deep within my soul.

"Maybe we'll be in the same biology class," says the girl in the photo.

I can feel the night as if I were on the boat again. Music is playing. It's turned up a notch louder than before. The students sitting at the nearby tables get up and begin to dance.

"So what's your story?" Lauren asked.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," I responded. "I won't ask for your story because that would be unfair."

"You know what? It doesn't really matter. We're in college now - the past is gone and we're starting a new life."

"You couldn't be more right." I was suddenly overwhelmed by a strange and wild feeling, as if I knew this girl in a different lifetime. "You wanna dance?" I impulsively asked Lauren.

I couldn't believe that I thoughtlessly uttered those daring words and before I could think of a plausible explanation, Lauren responded, "Sure, why not."

In an almost trance-like state, we got up from the table and I led Lauren to an area on the deck where the other students were dancing. Lauren was about three inches shorter than I, and had shoulder length brown hair. Her blue eyes suddenly pierced me as I took in her nearly perfect figure. Talking with her began to excite me in secret places. Her face now seemed to glow with all the majesty of a calm ocean sparkling beneath the moonlit sky.

When we reached the dance floor, the first song ended and a new one began. It was a slower tune, one that would ultimately become our silent anthem. We danced through a galaxy of fanciful mystery, silently absorbing each other presence.

Deep within the eye exists a lost world, it's where secrets are written in an enchanted hieroglyphic. I gazed into her hypnotic eyes, and somehow knew that we would one day share something extraordinary. Later we would admit to each other that it was there, on that boat, on that night, under those stars, that Lauren and I, two strangers at the time, forged a speechless pact that would lead us into the rest of our lives.

As we danced to the music, and I came to the realization that I was actually having fun. I could pinpoint the exact moment that my fears of isolation melted from my thoughts. I knew that the night was young and that I was enjoying the ride after all.

Just then, a fire ripped though the dark sky. Like a surprise attack on sleeping soldiers, the storm came from nowhere and startled everyone at first. The clouds initiated their remorseless revenge on us dry, defenseless passengers before anyone could get inside.

"My dress is going to be ruined," said Lauren. "Where is this rain coming from?"

"I don't know, I was just looking at the stars," I said. "We better get inside."

We followed the wet crowd into a now overpopulated lounge and stood next to the door. With everyone at last inside, a stream of lightning illuminated the room and hit the deck almost precisely where Lauren and I had been standing just a few moments ago. It created a small fire that was immediately extinguished by both the crew members and the fierce rain. The motor gave off an alarming sound that was heard above the noise of the crowd. The boat began to tremble like the debilitated hands of an overworked seamstress. A few girls were screaming, and the music was abruptly cut off.

After a bell sounded, the captain began to talk on the loudspeaker. "Passengers, we're experiencing slight technical difficulties, but everything is under control. We're on our way back to the dock and should be arriving shortly. I repeat: everything's under control."

We heard a crack above us and water started to drip from the ceiling, further drenching an already wet crowd. At this point everyone started to scream.

"It's like we're on the freakin' Titanic," said Jeff, now standing next to me.

I responded, "They just had to rent the cheapest boat on the Eastern seaboard, didn't they?"

"This whole situation is pretty comical if you think about it," said Lauren.

Jeff shouted, "I can derive no humor from this entire evening," and then burst into laughter when a stream of water came flooding down on me. His laughter was immediately silenced when the ceiling above him gave way and rainwater soaked him as well.

Just then a group of students began to sing, "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," and everyone joined in, singing the nursery rhyme in two exuberant, half-musical rounds. Finally someone yelled "Pump the music back up." Within a few moments the wet students were dancing under springs of rainwater that poured in from the ceiling like a tropical waterfall hidden deep within the rainforest. The unexpected storm didn't wash away the festive mood of the boat. It became a game to dance around the leaks that sprang from almost every square inch of the cheap plaster that hung above us. People started to talk again. The boat started to shake again. And so we stood there, a mass of energetic college students, cracking jokes, socializing and dancing the night away on the leaking, rocking, moaning ship that had been struck by lightning and was heading back toward dry land.