Marisol
My
knees were locked and my hands trembled as I sat in the school’s auditorium with the number 157 plastered across my chest. Several students were seated on the floor with their backs against the wall. Some of them stood in the back of the auditorium or in corners of the room with their arms folded across their chests. It was standing room only, and we were lucky to get a seat.
Jasmine sat calmly in the seat next to mine, sending text messages to someone. I suspected it was Preston. Over the course of a week, the two of them had become somewhat of an item. There was lots of flirting and giggling going on between them, but not much else. I wondered when he would have the courage to ask her out on a date. A real date—not just for a slice of pepperoni at Manny’s. There was nothing special about that—everybody hung out there.
As her phone buzzed and she read the incoming message, I wondered how she could be so calm at a time like this. Tryouts for Dance America were huge and happened only once a year. Someone’s life was about to change com
pletely. The winner of a competition like this would no longer be the same. They would travel to Hollywood to star in a film being produced for release in the spring. And just this morning, I learned that Justin Bieber would make an appearance in the movie. This small fact caused my heart to dance. I would give anything to meet him in person.
As the noon hour quickly approached, we’d sat through fifty-nine routines so far. Being number 157 on the list meant that Jasmine and I probably wouldn’t audition until well into the afternoon or early evening. It would be a long, tiresome process, but well worth it if we got past the first round. Round two would begin first thing tomorrow morning, and I’d already made plans to skip Sunday morning Mass at our church. It was a struggle to convince my parents to first allow me to compete, and second to allow me to skip church in the event that I made it past the first round. But ultimately they signed the permission forms and gave me the green light.
With my textbook in my lap, I’d planned on completing my science homework, but I was distracted by the events of the day. And with my upcoming American history exam, I needed to study, but who could study for a test when there was so much going on? I made a mental note to give American history and science my undivided attention once I made it home. I had to. If I didn’t do well on the exam, it would affect my grade for the entire semester. I stuffed the textbook back into my backpack.
As the judges called number sixty-two on the list, I
watched as a familiar face suddenly appeared onstage. It was Luz. Or should I say Backstabber Luz? Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she and Catalina wore matching outfits—a pair of sexy black shorts that didn’t cover much skin and black T-shirts with CALIENTE written across their breasts in bold red letters. They danced to Willow Smith’s song about whipping her hair—the same song that Luz had complained about when Jasmine had suggested it.
“I don’t believe it,” I whispered to Jasmine.
“Me either,” she whispered back.
As Luz and Catalina snatched ponytail holders from their hair and began to toss their locks back and forth, the crowd went crazy. Although I was steaming mad at Luz at the moment, I couldn’t help but admire their routine. They were good. There was no doubt that they’d make it through to the second round, which made me even madder. It had been a solid week since Luz and I had spoken. That was the longest we’d ever gone without talking. There were plenty of times when Luz and I would get mad at each other, but by the end of the day, all would be forgiven. Not this time. This time was different. With each passing day, the tension grew thicker and thicker, which made it that much harder to break the silence.
For a brief moment, I’d thought about asking Luz if she wanted to ride the subway into the city together. But when I glanced out my bedroom window at the crack of dawn that morning, I saw Catalina and her mother pull up in front of Luz’s house. She ran out with a Pop-Tart in
her hand and hopped into the backseat of the car. I had watched as they pulled away from the curb and then disappeared down the street. I was jealous. Catalina Sanchez had stolen my best friend.
They ended their routine with a sizzle as each of them touched their butts with their index fingers. As they jogged off the stage, the whistles and cheers seemed endless. Part of me had wished that they hadn’t done so well. To my surprise, the duet had performed the best routine of the day. I knew that Luz was a good dancer, but I had no idea that Catalina had so much talent. I hated to admit it, but she was a better dancer than Luz.
“You’re both through to the next round,” I heard one of the judges say.
Luz and Catalina screamed and hugged each other before exiting the stage. As much as I hated to admit it, they both were really good, and they both deserved to move to the next round.
When my phone lit up, I looked down at the screen, secretly hoping it was Luz. I wanted to congratulate her, but I wanted her to be the one to break the silence. After all, it was she who owed me an apology. And I wouldn’t accept it right away. No, I wanted her to work for it. Surprisingly, it was a text message from Drew.
How are tryouts going?
Lento (that means slow).
Ten paciencia.
OMG! Tú hablas español!
A little. Working on it.
I think that’s sexy.
LOL! Then I should work harder at it.
Too bad ur not here.
Why?
4 moral support.
Find out the name of the person 2 ur right…
What??
Jus do it.
I wasn’t sure what Drew was up to, but I did as he asked and introduced myself to the person who was seated to my right. She was a small girl, with long blond hair and silver braces on her teeth.
“It’s a lot of people here today. Are you competing?” I asked her.
“Yes.” She smiled.
“I’m Marisol…Marisol Garcia.” I pretended to really be interested in making her acquaintance. “What’s your name?”
“Sarah Jenkins,” she said softly.
“Nice to meet you, Sarah. Good luck.”
“You, too.”
“What are you doing?” Jasmine whispered.
“Just introducing myself to the competition,” I lied.
Jasmine leaned forward; looked past me and gave Sarah a glance. With a smirk on her face, she said, “Okay, whatever.”
I opened my phone and sent Drew a text.
Her name iz Sarah Jenkins. Why?
He didn’t respond right away, so I shut my phone and continued to watch the girl onstage who was doing a tap dance routine to an old Frank Sinatra song. I felt sorry for her. She was obviously confused about the type of competition this was. When the judges interrupted her routine in the middle, she was on the verge of tears.
“Are you Sarah Jenkins?” I heard someone ask. A redheaded boy with freckles stood at the end of my row.
“Yes,” said Sarah.
“Someone needs you in the back. I think it’s your mom,” the freckle-faced boy stated.
“My mom’s here?” Sarah asked and stood. She gathered her things and headed for the back of the auditorium.
Just as quickly as she left, Drew slipped into her seat; gave me a wide grin.
“Hola,”
he said.
“You dirty dog.” I smiled. “You stole Sarah’s seat.”
“Stole is such an ugly word,” he whispered. “Let’s just say I borrowed it.”
“What’s up, Drew?” Jasmine asked. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for moral support,” Drew said and then winked at me.
“These seats are reserved for participants in the competition,” I told him. I wanted to save him the trouble of being thrown out of the auditorium once the ushers found out he wasn’t a dancer.
Drew unzipped his hoodie. The number 217 was plastered across his chest. “I am a participant.”
“You are too much, Drew Bishop,” I told him.
“I know. I’ve been told that a lot.”
Whatever anxiety I felt before Drew got there suddenly seemed to disappear. In an instant, he’d managed to ease my fears.
It was a mistake to look into the audience before the music started. I should’ve kept my head down instead and never faced the crowd, but someone whistled when Jasmine and I stepped onto the stage and I wanted to see who it was. As my eyes scanned the crowd, my heart started pounding ferociously and my legs trembled. I prayed that I could at least gain control of my legs—they were all I had at the moment, and I needed them to cooperate.
Wearing silver metallic halter tops and black baggy hip-hop pants, we stood onstage facing the audience. Our legs spread apart and our hands at our sides, we waited for the music to start. As our song rang out through the auditorium, my legs shook just a little less and the pounding in my chest eased just a little bit. Jasmine and I started moving to the music just as we’d rehearsed. We’d decided to incorporate a few pop-locking moves into our routine, just to spice it up a bit. I’d never pop-locked before, but I was able to pick up the moves after several hours of practice. Jasmine’s father, who’d grown up in the eighties, had taught her the moves and then she taught me. The pop-locking
part of the routine turned out to be the best part and a big hit with our newfound fans, which were applauding and whistling in the audience. I couldn’t tell if we’d impressed the judges or not, because their faces were like stone; no expressions whatsoever. However, we ended our routine with a bow and exited the stage. We both sighed, relieved that we’d made it through the routine without either of us fainting.
The judges began filling out their scorecards and holding them in the air. The first judge gave us a full score of ten, and the second judge gave us an eight. The pounding in my heart started again as we awaited the third score. We needed at least another eight and we were through to the next round. It was as if the white male judge with salt-and-pepper hair wanted to see us sweat, so he took his sweet time in revealing his score. I crossed my fingers behind my back and held my breath.
“You girls work very well together, but the next round is a solo routine,” he said. “I loved how you incorporated the pop-locking into your routine. It was very original. You’re both very good dancers, but so are plenty of other people here today. You have to have an edge, something that sets you apart from the rest. So because of your originality, I gave you an eight. You’re both through to the next round.”
I stopped holding my breath and sighed with relief. Jasmine and I grinned and gave each other a high five, holding hands in the air for a few seconds; savoring the moment.
J.C. met us backstage. “That was awesome!” she exclaimed.
“Thank you for all your help,” I told her.
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Jasmine said.
“We’re not done yet. We still have work to do. This is just the first round. You still got two rounds to go,” J.C. reminded us. “We start work again on Monday, right?”
“Yes!” I said, grateful that she was still willing to work with us.
“Then I’ll see you on Monday.” She smiled and gave us both a hug.
As we made our way through to the back of the auditorium, people were congratulating us and offering high fives. People who we didn’t even know were telling us how great we were and cheering for us. It was a great day.
“You were good, Mari,” said a familiar voice. “Congratulations.”
It was Luz. She was leaning against the wall with her new sidekick, Catalina.
“Thanks. So were you,” I told her.
“The next round will really reveal who has talent,” Catalina smirked.
Before I had an opportunity to respond to Catalina’s comment, someone grabbed me from behind and lifted me into the air.
“Woo-hoo!” Drew spun me around in a circle before letting me down. He grabbed my hand and Jasmine’s and pulled us both toward the door. “Let’s go celebrate!”
Whatever negativity had awaited me back there in the auditorium that day, Drew had rescued me from it, and I was grateful. I was on such a high that I was glad that Catalina hadn’t gotten the chance to bring me down. I wanted to stay in this place for a moment. Even if I didn’t make it through to the next round, I still had this day…this moment…this time.
Drew
Strolling
through Times Square was much more interesting this time. With Mari next to me, her long black hair pulled into a ponytail, we stopped at Starbucks and stood in line.
“What are you having?” I asked.
“I don’t really drink coffee…not usually. I don’t even know how to order a drink at Starbucks. It seems complicated,” she said.
“It’s not really. But you can tell the difference between the professionals and the rookies,” I told her.
“How?”
“Don’t ever walk into Starbucks and ask for a small, medium or large anything,” I explained, “then everyone will know you’re just a rookie. And you should already know what you want before you step up to the counter. You don’t spend minutes scanning the menu. The people in line behind you are in a hurry to get wherever they’re going, and they don’t have time to wait on you to figure out what you want.”
She giggled, and it was then that I realized that she had a tiny dimple in the left corner of her chin.
“What are you having?”
“Today I’m having a Venti Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccino, with caramel drizzled on top of the whipped cream, and a shot of vanilla,” I said. “Venti is the biggest size they have.”
“That sounds good. I’ll have the same thing. Only I’ll take the smallest size they have.”
“Cool,” I said and stepped up to the counter.
Ashley was the cashier. She was tall and beautiful, and even more so in her Starbucks uniform. She wore her hair down today, and had makeup on her face. It had been days since I’d stopped in for a Frappuccino, and I was sure she’d missed seeing my face. It was no secret that Ashley wanted more than a coffee relationship with me; she wanted to be my girlfriend. But I wasn’t ready to settle down at the moment; I needed to focus on school. And I wasn’t sure that Ashley was the right girl for me, anyway.
She almost gave me a smile, until she saw Mari. She gave her a quick scan, frowned and then turned to me. “What can I get for you?
“The same thing I always get,” I told her.
“Which is what?” She had an attitude, and it didn’t look good on her. She was way too beautiful to be frowning.
She knew what I wanted. I ordered the same thing every time I came in.
“Two Double Chocolaty Chip Frappuccinos, with car
amel drizzled on top of the whipped cream, and a shot of vanilla…one tall and one venti.”
“Just a small for me,” Mari whispered. “Tall is too big.”
“Tall is small,” I said and laughed. “Remember the crash course I just gave you?”
Mari laughed, too. Ashley frowned.
“Will that be all?” she asked with attitude.
“Will that be all?” I asked Mari.
“Yes,” she said.
Ashley took two cups, scribbled my name on one.
“What’s her name?” she asked.
“Mari,” I said. “What?”
“Mari,” I said slowly.
“Spell it.”
“M-A-R-I,” I told her.
She scribbled Mari’s name on the second cup. She gave me a price and I paid for Mari’s and mine. Before she could hand my change over good, she was already looking over my shoulder at the next customer. “Next!” she exclaimed.
We’d been dismissed. And I knew I’d receive a nasty text message soon.
In two oversize, cozy chairs in a corner of the store, Mari and I sat facing each other and sipping on iced coffees.
“Is that your girlfriend or something?” she asked.
“Who, Ashley? Nah, she’s just a girl that I know. She would like to be my girlfriend.”
“But what?”
“But I’m not really looking for a girlfriend right now. Gotta focus on school and other things.”
“She’s the girl from Manny’s that day. Are you leading her on?” Mari asked.
“What?”
Where did that question come from?
“You know, are you making her think that she’s your girlfriend…but because she comes with benefits, you just kinda let her believe it.”
“No. I’ve been up front with her. She’s just really into me,” I said. “What should I do to let her know that I think she’s cool and all, but I’m not really interested?”
“Just tell her.”
“I did that.”
“As long as you’re not making it confusing for her, then there’s nothing more you can do,” she said.
“What about you? You got some guy chasing after you?” I asked. I wanted to know what Mari’s status was—she was beautiful, talented and smart. I was sure that guys were beating her door down.
“Just my brother’s friend, Fernando, who’s had a crush on me since grade school,” she said. “No real guys.”
“Fernando’s not a real guy?”
She giggled. “Fernando’s a real guy, but he’s more like a brother. We grew up together.”
“Oh, okay. So when you say a
real guy,
you mean someone like me, right?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I pretended to wipe sweat from my brow. “Whew! Glad I’m a real guy.”
“Okay, smarty-pants. How about you pull out your algebra book and we get started. I gotta get home soon,” she said.
Mari had agreed to tutor me after school three days a week. I figured Starbucks would be a quieter place to study, and we’d avoid the hustle and bustle at Manny’s. We pulled our books out, opened them up and began our first lesson together. It was hard to focus, because I was too busy admiring Mari’s vanilla-colored skin. I wasn’t ready to admit that she was hard to ignore. That I thought about her when she wasn’t around. I wanted to learn algebra and be able to do my own homework and make my own grades. But more than that, I wanted to spend time with Mari.
After our session was over, Mari and I dumped our empty cups and walked out into the fall New York air. We headed down Broadway, and I walked Mari to the subway station. I wanted to bring up the subject of the fall social again. Wanted to ask her to go, but I wasn’t sure if she would be willing to go with me. Or if her parents would even allow her to attend a dance with a boy. So I dropped it. If I was going stag and she was going stag, there was a good chance that we’d run into each other there anyway. So I let it go.
“You don’t need me to ride into Brooklyn with you, do you?”
“No, I think I can manage from here,” she said and smiled. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
“Okay, kid. Don’t forget to send me a text message and let me know that you made it home.”
“I will.”
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my hoodie and watched as she took the stairs down into the subway station; her backpack draped across her shoulder, she never looked back. After she was no longer within view, I took off down Broadway toward home.
Dad was in sweats and a T-shirt; his legs stretched across the ottoman while the sportscaster on ESPN talked about last night’s game.
I stuck my head into the family room. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Hello, son. How was school?”
“It was really good. How was work?”
“Not bad,” he said. “I got tickets to Friday night’s game. Maybe you and Preston can go. I’ll arrange for a car to pick you guys up.”
“How about me and you?” I asked. I missed the days that Dad and I hung out. When I was younger, we went to all the Yankees’ home games, all the Knicks games and all the Broadway shows together. I missed those days. His job seemed to absorb most of his time, and our time together had become less and less of a priority in his life.
“Gotta work,” he said. “Sorry, son. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“It’s cool, Dad.” I let him off the hook. “I landed the role in an off-off-Broadway play…I’ll be playing Walter Lee Younger in
A Raisin in the Sun.
”
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, son.”
“About
A Raisin in the Sun?
”
“About that performing arts school.” He raised up in his seat. “When I gave you my approval, I didn’t think you were really serious.”
“I was pretty serious, Dad.”
“And you’re honestly not interested in playing ball anymore?”
“I still like basketball, Dad. That hasn’t changed. I’m sure I’ll play again. Maybe in college,” I assured him. “Right now I want to focus on acting.”
My dad shook his head; didn’t really respond to my last comment.
“We’ll probably be performing the play around Thanksgiving. You think you can come check it out?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Drew. Maybe if I’m not working.”
I was willing to accept that. At least he didn’t say no.
“Okay, cool. I’m gonna go hop in the shower. Are we ordering takeout for dinner?”
“I brought Chinese home. All your favorites. Orange chicken and moo shu pork.”
“Egg rolls, too?”
“Of course. Can’t have Chinese food without egg rolls, right?”
“Right.”
I was disappointed. I wanted my father to be excited about Premiere. I wanted him to understand how talented his son was, and not just with a basketball in hand. I had other talents, and if he’d just give me a chance, he’d see. I hoped that he would come around someday.
I hopped into the shower; let the warm water cascade over my face. When I heard my phone chirp, I hopped out of the shower, stumbled over my Jordan tennis shoes and stubbed my toe on the edge of the bed. I’d been patiently awaiting a text message from Mari. She promised to let me know when she made it home. I grabbed the phone from my nightstand. It was a text message from Ashley.
PUNK
.
That was all she said. The four-letter word cut deep. It caused me to look inward—wonder if I was really behaving like a punk. I had been up-front with her. I told her from the beginning that she was beautiful and I liked being around her, but that I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. I probably shouldn’t have spent the night at her house when her parents went away for the weekend. I guess that might’ve caused some confusion. I didn’t think it meant that we were in a committed relationship.
I didn’t respond. Instead I sent a text to Mari.
Make it home?
Sí
.
Cool.
Busy?
No. What’s up?
I
was
busy. I was still dripping wet from hopping out of the shower, but I had time for Mari. When my phone rang, I answered it on the first ring.
“I’m nervous about the second round of tryouts on Saturday,” she announced.
“Why are you nervous? You’re a great dancer.”
“So is everybody else who made it through to the next round. The competition will be that much tougher this time.”
“It just means you gotta work harder, kid. Can’t slack this time.”
“I didn’t slack the first time.” There was laughter in her voice.
“I bet you didn’t give 110 percent,” I said. “You probably only gave ninety-five. This time, Mari, you gotta bring it.”
“I know,” she said. “I just needed to hear it. Thanks for listening to me, Drew. I usually talk about these things with my best friend. But my best friend is not really my best friend anymore. She’s my competitor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember the girls in the competition with CALIENTE plastered across their chests…the ones who made the crowd go crazy?”
“Oh, yeah, the hot girls with the sexy little shorts on,” I said, and Mari was silent for a moment. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you did,” she said.
“Sorry.”
“That was my ex–best friend and some girl that I can’t stand.”
“Why isn’t she your best friend anymore? What happened?”
“The competition happened,” Mari explained. “And now, we’ll be competing with each other in the second round.”
“And what exactly is the problem?” I asked.
“It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all.”
“Then you’ll just have to win, that’s all. She doesn’t have anything you don’t have. They were good, but you and Jasmine were better. And with a lot of work, you can beat them…easily.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Thanks, Drew. Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” she said.
“Did it work?”
“Not really, but I appreciate you trying.”
“Your best friend will come around. Just give it time. If she’s your real friend, then you’ll work it out. Otherwise, she’s probably not your friend anyway and no love lost. Right?”
“I guess so,” she said. “I have to go. My mom’s calling me for dinner. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. That’s cool.”
I sat on the edge of my bed for a moment—still wet from
jumping out of the shower. My heart went out to Mari. I wished I knew how to help her, but I didn’t have any answers. There were times when Preston and I got into it, but before the end of the day we were friends again and I couldn’t tell you what we were fighting about. Girls were different. They held on to things a lot longer. They took things to a different level, and made things worse than they really were. But I knew that Mari and her friend would work it out. Who could stay mad at her?
I hopped back into the shower; finished what I’d started. Closed my eyes and rehearsed my lines for the play.