The Man and his homecoming team: A Juanita High senior gets to fulfill a dream

A little fist-pumping here, a little hip-shaking there, a pelvic thrust when the rhythm feels right.

Juanita High School has watched Matt Louden dance like this for years now — in the weight room, where he bench-presses 230 pounds; on the football field, where he works as a water boy; and even in the school cafeteria, where he showed up for a lip-sync contest twice in one day.

But this is the first year Louden has brought his moves to the homecoming dance. Fed up with their own wait for a date, a group of Louden's friends asked him to be their escort. They did it over the loudspeaker during halftime, as Louden filled water bottles for the players.

One by one, they posed the question — four cheerleaders, three jump-ropers and one German exchange student. Louden gave the same answer to each. "I will," he said.

Louden, a 19-year-old senior, has long had the homecoming dance as a high-school dream. So when the girls got tired of waiting for the "stupid senior boys" to ask them, teacher Pat Leonard suggested they ask Louden.

"More than any other kid I've taught over 18 years, Matt deserves to go to homecoming," said Leonard. "He's a big part of our school spirit."

Louden, who has Down syndrome, came to the Kirkland high school as a sophomore, bent on joining the football team. Within the first few weeks of school, he walked into coach Mike Pluschke's office and made an announcement: I want a job with your football team. Call my mother.

"Matty" has always been brave like that, his mother said.

When he was a toddler, she tried to get him to play in the back yard, convinced that would be safer. He insisted on the front yard, where the rest of the kids were playing.

"And he's been trying to teach me that ever since," said Vickie Louden. "It's like, 'Mom, life's not in the back yard. Life's in the front yard.' "

Louden came to school worried other kids might not like him because of his disability, which affects up to 1 in 800 people. Down syndrome is a genetic condition that causes delays in physical and intellectual development.

Pluschke took him on as the team's water boy. And a senior football player, AJ Parnell, made Louden his friend — driving him back and forth to the team's spaghetti dinners and getting the cheerleading squad to sing him "Happy Birthday."

"When I got popular was when I got the job on the football team," said Louden, who hopes one day to work at Safeco Field, either playing the game or working with the grounds crew. "My name started traveling around."

Vickie Louden had one concern: What if her son became the school mascot?

As the months passed into years, the friendships were tested. Louden was no angel; he threw the boys challenges, from a nasty temper to some bad behavior.

The kids stuck with him. It had nothing to do with charity, said Patrick Parnell , a defensive back for the football team. Louden is just a good friend. End of story.

"I see those players get beat up so hard," said Louden. "I want to see them through thick and thin."

When the team wins, Louden does a halftime dance. When they lose, he hurls a water bottle on the ground. He is more team manager than water boy, said coach Pluschke; he's "the guy that gets things done."

When he walks into the locker room, the nicknames rise up to meet him: Stud, Knucklehead, Lou-Dog, Matt-Dog. Since the girls' proposal, Louden has a new one: The Man.

Late last week, Pluschke sat on the bleachers after football practice, dreaming up Louden's first moves on the dance floor.

"The circle will open up," said Pluschke. "It will be like Moses parting the sea."

There have been rumblings since the homecoming date was arranged — some boys saying they were ready to ask the girls and that Louden took their dates away. Leonard, the teacher, has advice for those boys: "You snooze, you lose."

Leonard spent the week preparing Louden to play the part of debonair date — how to approach the maitre d', how to pick up the bill. His mother offered her own advice. A few days before the big night, Louden repeated the mantra aloud: "Got to be on my best behavior, eat perfect and be myself."

A few hours before the dance began, the girls stood tittering in heels and high hair, sweeping scarves and sparkling dresses. They greeted Louden with high-fives and gushed over his look: a white tuxedo, well-shined shoes, sandy-blond hair combed neat to the side.

One by one, the girls paraded before the cameras, leaned into Louden's shoulder and smiled. After the photo session, the girls inched up their skirts to walk up the driveway and meet the stretch limousine.

Louden stood with his mother, a few feet away, as the girls climbed into the car and squealed at the glamour inside.

Later in the night, Louden would try to steal a kiss from one of the girls. He would tell jokes that made a few of them lose their breath from laughing so hard. And he would move onto the dance floor with "my eight girls," raising his arms in the air and shaking his hips.

But now, Louden was quiet, watching the girls rustle their skirts and call to him from the limo.

"Are you going to be OK?" Vickie Louden asked her son.

"I'm going to be great," he said.

Cara Solomon: 206-464-2024 or csolomon@seattletimes.com