Bust a Move (7 page)

Emerson gave a reluctant smile. There was something about Sophie. No matter how bad Emerson was feeling, Sophie could always make her feel at least a little better. “Well, I have a ballet recital the same night.”

“But you're not taking ballet anymore,” Sophie said slowly.

“So you see my problem.” Emerson started plucking blades of grass out of the ground. “Since my parents still think I am.”

“You think they'd believe the recital was canceled—because there was, like, some dangerous fungus found in the theater?” Sophie didn't sound very hopeful.

“No. My mom knows everything about every theater in a hundred miles.” Emerson moved from plucking blades of grass to pulling out handfuls.

“We're making this too complicated,” Sophie declared. “Forget fungus—you just have to pretend to be sick. Just sick. You let the loving parents put you to bed and give you juice and aspirin. Then you pretend to fall asleep. Sneak out. Do the performance. Sneak back in. Classic.”

Emerson frowned. She already felt a little sick to her stomach. “That's a lot of sneaking with six adults in the house. No, seven. The housekeeper will be there, too. And she has bionic ears.”

“Gulp,” Sophie said.

“Yeah, gulp,” Emerson answered. “But I guess I have to at least try it.”

 

 

 

“Slammin' picnic, Devane,” Fridge called.

Devane smiled. Her smile got even bigger when she realized Gina was heading toward her and had heard Fridge giving Devane props.

She put the Frisbee she'd borrowed from Tamal into her backpack and looked around to see if she'd missed anything else.

“We should do this before every class,” Max cried. Then she did a row of cartwheels and landed in a split after the last one.

“A rehearsal with Max pumped up on Oreos and Fanta. Thanks, Devane,” Gina joked quietly. Then she patted Devane on the shoulder. “Really, thanks. This was great. The group hasn't gotten together much outside of class. It's good for us. Makes us tight—and that shows onstage.”

And?
Devane thought.
And,
and,
AND? Come on, Gina, give it up. Say it. “And so I've decided to take you off probation.”

But Gina just slung her dance bag over her shoulder and started out of the park. She had basically said that the picnic—the picnic Devane had organized—was good for the team and good for teamwork. And teamwork was the most important thing to Gina and to Maddy.

So what did they want from her? What?

Get yourself in check and get yourself over to rehearsal. You're going to be late,
Devane told herself. As if it mattered. She was going to be rehearsing for a performance that she wasn't going to get to perform in.

Devane slowly walked over to the dance studio. She needed time to get a smile on her face. Even a fake one.

You think Missy always feels happy when she's out there in front of the people? You think HiHat always wants to go to work?
she asked herself.
Na-nay-no.

But the thought of going into the practice room and dancing made her feel tired. For the first time, she'd rather be doing something else.

Almost anything.

Sophie put her water bottle next to the wall and started to head back toward Emerson. Then she caught sight of ill papi and hesitated. He looked so . . . she wasn't sure of the word. He didn't look sad, exactly. But he definitely didn't look happy.

Vacant. That was it. Like he'd moved out of his own body.

“I've figured you out,” Sophie said as she walked over to him. “Ky's afraid of the Peter Pan ride, and you're afraid of—ants.”

She waited for ill papi to ask her what she was talking about. He didn't.

“That's why you left the picnic early. Because ants usually invade picnics.” Sophie suddenly felt like an idiot. Ill papi was looking at her like he was waiting for the babbling to stop and Sophie to just go away.

Sophie couldn't stop herself from thinking of her sister again. Sammi had had a lot of ill papi encounters like this one. She'd been in like with ill papi from day one. Sophie had a hunch that was why her sister had signed up for the Hip Hop Kidz basics class in the first place.

One minute Sammi noticed ill papi while she was picking Sophie up from dance. The next minute Sammi was asking Sophie all these questions about ill papi. Then lo and behold, Sammi was taking classes herself.

And
one minute after that, she was trying to talk to ill papi—and getting ignored. Ill papi pretty much always ignored the girls at the studio who
liked
him, liked him.

Yikes. Did that mean ill papi could tell how Sophie was feeling? Was her inner freak showing on the outside? Did he somehow know she
liked
him? That even though she didn't want to go
there
, she had?

Was that why ill papi had turned into the human clam? Usually he talked and joked around with Sophie all the time. Now, nothing.

Abort, abort,
she ordered herself.
Get away now, before you get another bucketful of humiliation in the face.
“Uh, I'm going to go warm up now,” she muttered to ill papi—like he cared—and bolted.

“What's wrong?” Emerson asked when Sophie hurried back over to her.

“Nothing,” Sophie said.

“Come on. If there was grass on the floor, you'd be the one tearing it up right now, not me,” Emerson pushed.

But Sophie just couldn't tell Emerson how she felt about ill papi. Sophie had told Em how she felt about Sammi doing hip-hop—that Sophie really didn't want her sister at the studio because she wanted one special thing of her own. That was hard enough, even though Emerson got it and didn't make her feel like a monster or anything.

Emerson knew Sammi
liked
ill papi. Sophie just couldn't tell her friend that now she was in like with him, too.

“I guess I'm just kind of worried about the regionals,” Sophie answered. She had to say something. And she was worried about the regionals. It just wasn't what was bothering her right that second.

“You mean because we'll be performing without Devane,” Emerson said.

“Yeah, and because the Storm Lords are really good, Em. And they're just one crew we're going up against. Who knows what the other groups are going to bring? I'm not sure I'm ready,” Sophie admitted.

“Me either,” Emerson said.

“Are you crazy? You're amazing. That ballet spin you put on things rocks,” Sophie told her.

“I just really want us to get to the world championship. I have this fantasy that if we do—and if we win—it will change my parents' minds somehow,” Emerson explained. “Because of course they'll find out the truth if I go to L.A. But maybe if I was part of a group that won a
world
championship, they'd be proud of me. For something that wasn't ballet. And they wouldn't care if I told a million lies. And we'd all live happily ever after.”

Emerson gave a sarcastic snort, like she didn't mean anything she'd just said. Except Sophie knew she did. Maybe not the happily-ever-after part. But the rest—yeah.

Sophie checked to make sure Sammi wasn't in hearing distance. She was on the other side of the room, but Sophie lowered her voice anyway. “I want to be in the crew that wins the world championship, too,” she confessed. “I mean, I know we all want to win. But I want it because it will be something of mine. My one thing. Something Sammi's never done. She's taking hip-hop, and she's practicing with us, but I don't think she's going to get in the Performance Group by September. Do you?”

Emerson shook her head. “So all we have to do is win the Southeast, without Devane. Win the nationals. And then be better than all the other groups in the world championship. No problem.”

“No problem,” Sophie repeated.
It would also be nice if I could find a way to get ill papi to speak to me again,
she added to herself.
Since Emerson and I are talking fairy-tale wishes here.

“Time to get started, people,” Gina called as soon as she entered the room. “Watching ill papi the other day got me thinking. I'd like to work a couple more freezes into our routine. They impress the judges as much as power moves. Everyone get stretched out.” She got some music with a slow beat going.

But the power moves are easier,
Sophie thought as she started doing some slow neck rolls. At least they were for her. Freezes were all about sheer muscle strength as you held yourself absolutely still in some outrageous position. With other moves, you had speed and momentum on your side.

“Let's kick it off with some hollow backs,” Gina said when the class was warmed up.

“We don't get to try that sweet one-armed planche J-Bang got ill papi up to speed on?” M.J. asked.

“I don't think all of us are quite ready for that one,” Gina answered.

“Ills, bring your pops into class to school us,” Fridge suggested.

Ill papi didn't answer. Sophie glanced at him. He had his body twisted away from the group in a side stretch.

“I think I can handle all the schooling you can take, Fridge,” Gina told him.

Fridge gave her an apologetic grin. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Into a handstand, everyone,” Gina instructed.

Sophie got into the position. The blood flowing into her face always felt kind of good. Warm and tingly.

“Now tuck your chin and drop your legs back like you're going into a bridge, but don't let your feet hit the floor,” Gina went on. “Now freeze it. Your back should be arched as much as possible. That's what gives the move its style.”

Sophie held the move. Held it. It felt like there was too much blood in her face now. Her head felt heavy with it. And her arms were starting to quiver from supporting her entire body.
World champions can take it,
she told herself.
And that's what you want to be. So suck it up.
She kept holding the position.

Come on, Gina, end this,
Sophie silently begged a few moments later. Her arms were quaking now, not just quivering. But Gina didn't say a word.

Sophie's elbows buckled. She tried to straighten her arms. But she couldn't. She went down with a soft thump.
A world champion could have held it,
she thought. She heard several other thumps as a few of her classmates went down before Gina released them.

Are we really ready to compete in the championship?
Sophie wondered.
Are we even ready to take the Southeast?
She noticed Devane was still holding the hollow back.

But Devane wasn't going to be competing with them when they took the stage against the Storm Lords and the other crews.

I'd rather be doing anything right now,
Emerson thought.
Anything. Having my fingernails removed one by one with pliers. Watching Martha Stewart turn a pinecone into a place mat. Anything.
How had a week gone by so fast? It felt like she was just at the picnic discussing the ballet recital tragedy with Sophie.

“How is French going this year?” Grandma Lane asked from the chair closest to the fireplace. All varieties of grandparents seemed eager to hear the answer. Why did they have to be so involved? Why couldn't they just mail her birthday cards and ignore her? Tonight would be so much easier if she only had her parents to handle.

“I've only been back in school a few weeks,” Emerson answered. “But I started meeting with my tutor on day one. That was the plan Mom and Dad and I came up with.” She glanced at her parents, and they were both nodding approvingly. “I think this year, I'll do much better. I got an A on the first quiz.”