Disco King, they called him. Or at least so he called himself, not that it mattered. He'd show up Saturday nights in white and sequins, daring anyone to laugh, defying anyone to out-birl or out-dazzle him. No one ever could, of course. He spun, twirled, and pointed to the ceiling (to the floor!) like he was schooling the room on smooth.
Girls swooned; boys chewed enviously on their lips. They all watched, transfixed.
And when the ball eventually stopped turning and he wheeled himself out of the room, more than one of those left behind struggled to keep from bowing.