My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights (6 page)

“But—” Austin groaned and tore open the plastic wrapper on his fork. “So much for getting people to subscribe.”

“No, Austin, it’s a really good idea,” Kassie said. “Maybe not at school, but we could hand them out everywhere else.”

He nodded, but not before giving me one quick scowly look. I was about to take another drink of my milk when the smell of vanilla tickled my nose. I perked up, recognizing the scent. Perfume.

“Well, look who it is,” Sarah said, standing at the end of our table. Kassie’s face went icy cold. It was like a blanket of tension had dropped right on the table. And it was seriously heavy.

“I didn’t think you were allowed to be this close to food, Sarah,” Carson said.

“I’m taking that as a compliment for how some of us didn’t get fat over the summer,” Sarah said coolly.

Carson waved away her comment.

“What do you want?” Kassie hissed.

“From Little Miss Dance Rebel? Nothing. But I think I need to have a talk with one of your friends.” She swung her gaze toward me.

“I—I was, um, just—”

“You can have him,” Kassie said. “He was just telling us he can’t dance with us anymore.”

I said a quick
Thank you, God, for letting Kassie be smarter than me
prayer.

“Yeah. So much for loyalty, I guess,” Carson added, playing along.

Austin had his face practically buried in his tray, shoving fries in his mouth.

“Good,” Sarah said. “Now, let’s go. It’s time you started eating with the team like the rest of the players.” She walked off and our end of the table let out a collective sigh of relief.

Kassie laughed. “Okay, that was, like, really close.”

Carson leaned over his tray, grinning. “You’re going to be eating with DeMarcus Jones! I’m not gonna lie, Dillon, I’m sort of jealous right now.”

“Well, not for long,” I said. “Today’s the day I hand in my jockstrap.”

Carson’s smile disappeared. “Gross.”

I looked at Austin. “Hey, you all right?”

“I’m fine. Go have lunch with your new fake friends.”

I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. “Okay. Well, wish me luck, I guess.” I picked up my tray and made my way to the football table. The only empty seat was next to Troy. Wonderful.

Sarah had parked herself with the Barbies on one side of her and DeMarcus on the other. Since he was the first-string quarterback, I didn’t know much about him. Except that he had a cannon for an arm and he looked like Jaden Smith.

Sarah dipped one of her fries in his ketchup. “You know, Dillon, for a second I thought you might have been lying to me.”

“No, I swear I wasn’t. I was breaking up with them, like Kassie said.”

“Ha! Tighty Whitey divorced his dance dorks,” Troy said, stealing the mustard packets off my tray.

DeMarcus looked over my head toward my old table. Then at Sarah. Then at me. “I thought you guys were some sort of team or something.”

I shrugged. “Not anymore.”

“Why’d you quit?”

“Because Sarah told him to,” Red-Haired Barbie said.

DeMarcus sighed, shaking his head. “Do you enjoy bossing everyone around?” he asked Sarah.

“I’m not bossing him around. I’m helping him. Dillon’s trying to win a Dance-Splosion scholarship. I’m helping his image.”

She bumped DeMarcus with her shoulder like she was being all playful. But his jaw tensed up like something she’d said made him nervous.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop. Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out they’re bad for his image. Especially since his image already needs a miracle.”

“Tighty Whitey! Tighty Whitey!” Troy chanted with a spaghetti noodle hanging from his mouth.

“Shut up, Troy,” DeMarcus said.

“Why? Who cares what I call him?”

“I do. He’s still a part of the team.”

“Yeah, about that,” I said. “I’m actually dropping out. Of football, I mean.”

The color drained from Sarah’s face. “What? I didn’t tell you to do that.”

“Yeah, I know. I figured it was time, since I never really get to play. Plus now I’ll get to work even harder on my dance moves.”

“You can’t quit!”

“Um, pretty sure I can. People do it all the—”

“No, I mean I won’t let you. You completely destroyed your reputation with that video, Dillon. Trust me, even my dropping your name at the studio won’t erase your underwear from people’s minds. We have to think about your resumé.”

“Resumé? I can’t get a job, I’m only twelve.”

“I know that, stupid. I’m talking about your extracurricular resumé.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling relieved. “Well, why can’t I do something besides football?”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea!” she said sarcastically. “You could join the drama club. Or maybe even the choir. Oh, I know, you could join the art club.”

Black-Haired Barbie leaned forward, her face scrunched up in confusion. “Uh, we don’t have any of those, Sarah.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Which is why you’re sticking with football.”

“But I already told my dad I was gonna quit!”

“Then un-tell him. Those judges want someone who’s serious. Someone who’s going to look as good on paper as they do on the floor. And trust me, they’ll eat up the athlete-turned-dancer angle.”

“Whatcha got against football, Tighty Whitey?” Troy growled.

“Nothing. I just don’t want to play it anymore.”

“It’s not like you’re ever on the field,” Sarah said. “Just show up and sit on the bench like you always do. I’ll take the pictures. Hopefully we can get enough of you not looking like a complete dork during practice. With my help, you may actually have a chance at that scholarship.”

“This isn’t fair. Like, at all,” I said.

“Listen,” Sarah hissed. “Dance-Splosion is an elite academy. Dancers all over the country apply to our school and never get accepted. Which means we’re seriously picky about who we let in. I’m not a miracle worker, okay? If you want to even stand a chance at that scholarship, then you need to meet me halfway. Got it?”

I was stuck in a maze and the walls were slowly closing in. But I couldn’t turn back. Not when everything I wanted was ahead of me. “Fine,” I said. It came out more sigh than actual word.

“Perfect.”

“Can I go back to my table?”

Sarah shook her head. “I already told you. You’re a football player. You need to eat with the team.”

DeMarcus leaned close to Sarah and whispered, “Let him eat where he wants to.”

“He
is
eating where he wants to. Isn’t that right, Dillon?”

My eyes bounced around the table, landing on face after face. If smiles could be animals, the one that slithered across Sarah’s mouth would be the world’s most venomous snake.

And I was the little mouse for lunch.

K
assie and Carson were waiting for me outside after the 3:30 bell.

“Austin already leave?” I asked, tossing my backpack down against the wall.

Carson shook his head. “I saw him sitting outside the nurse’s office. He didn’t look too good.”

“Well, at least I’m not the only one with a sucky day.” I slid down the wall beside my backpack.

“What happened?” Kassie asked, kicking my foot.

“Sarah’s making me stick with football. She said my reputation needed it.”

Carson barked out a loud “Ha!” then added, “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He’s right, Dillon.” Kassie squatted down beside me. “If this whole thing’s too much, just say so.”

“Um, I was just talking about football,” Carson said. “I wasn’t saying he needed to forget the whole plan.”

Kassie breathed in slowly, then said, “I’ll back you up no matter what you choose.”

When Kassie had first brought up the plan, it had scared me to death. But knowing I was going to look like a hero to her for trying was enough to make me want to stick with it. Plus the whole getting-some-dance-help thing was really cool, too. “I’m still in.”

“Sweet!” Kassie grabbed one of my shoelaces and yanked it loose. I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling. I liked to pretend that doing stuff like that was her way of flirting. She stood up and pulled a piece of notebook paper out of her pocket. “Now tell me what you think of this business card design.”

Our crew logo. It looked perfect. Big purple block letters for
Dizzee
with
Freekz
underneath it in dark, jagged black lines. Behind the words was a big yellow star.

“That’s awesome!” I said. “How’d you get so good at drawing? I can’t even draw a stick figure.”

“Aww, I like your stick figures.”

A goofy-sounding laugh popped out of my mouth and I covered it up with a cough. Carson turned his head like he was trying to hide his smile.

“Okay, so since our plan’s still on, I’m going to see if we can preorder tickets to the Heartland Dance Challenge,” Kassie said.

“Yes! There’s no way I’m going to miss the look on Sarah’s face. She’ll be all like—” Carson’s face twisted up into this fake surprised look. He marched around me and Kassie, pretending to bump into people like he was in the middle of the world’s most awkward escape mission. It was hilarious. Several other students stopped to watch him, giggling as he acted like he kept twisting an ankle while he walked.

All of a sudden he stopped, looking at the line of vehicles in the car rider line. “Okay, never mind. I know exactly how embarrassed she’ll be.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out what he was talking about. Carson’s mom and dad were the world’s most intense dance parents. They had their car decked out in every dance-themed bumper sticker they could find. They’d even had some made up with his face on them. It drove Carson insane.

“Excuse me while I run away forever.”

“Later,” I said, trying not to laugh. I turned to Kassie. “I’ll see you tomorrow. If I survive Sarah.”

Sarah was already waiting in the gym, decked out in a T-shirt and black tights. I slapped the pinch of jealousy away and walked over to her.

“You’re not practicing in that.”

I glanced down at my jeans. “What else am I supposed to practice in?”

“Anything but jeans. We both know your dancing and jeans don’t mix.”

“Well, it’s either this or my underwear. And the world’s seen enough of that.”

“Then put on your football pants. If you’re going to dance for real, then you need to dress the part.”

“Yeah, because nothing says dance like football pants.”

Sarah nearly tore my head off with the scowl on her face.

“Fine. I’ll change.” I went to the locker room and opened my locker. My pants were right where I’d left them last year. Shoved in the back corner.

I held them up. They looked almost like real dance tights. I couldn’t help but smile. That was until I turned them over and remembered mine had a massive dirt stain running down the backside. My second pair of tights and they had a skid mark as long as my arm. But at least I didn’t have to wear them on my head.

I got changed and came out trying to pull my T-shirt down as low as it could go. After a few minutes of stretching, I was already sweating. Normally I just ran in place for a few seconds.

“Okay,” Sarah finally said. “Feet in first position.”

“Huh?”

“First pos— Oh good grief. Put your feet like this.” Sarah slid her heels together. “The judges are going to want to see control. So none of your punching and kicking, okay?”

I was surprised it stung as bad as it did. Punching and kicking was the only thing I was good at. But I was there to learn the new stuff. The real dance moves.

“We’ll be creating a new routine for you. From scratch. But before I can do that, I’ll need to see what you can do. Let’s see your
plié.
” She pronounced it “plee-ay.”

If that meant “stare blankly,” I was nailing it. But apparently it didn’t. It meant “squat down as far as you can without falling over.” Then she made me try a
développé
(she pronounced it “dev-low-
pay
”), which was basically a side kick. Each time I did one, she’d push my knee down or shove my toes forward. I tried my left leg, but it was less flexible than the right. But after about the twentieth time, I was starting to get it.

My body was doing actual dance moves.

A jolt of excitement rocketed through me.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Sarah asked.

“Because…this is pretty awesome. I never thought I’d be doing moves like this.”

“Well, calm down. Because you’re, like, really bad. Especially your feet.”

“Gee. Thanks.” I pulled the bunch of spandex out of my crack. My feet pointed just fine when I wasn’t dancing, but every time I moved they’d bend or “sickle.” Whatever that meant.

“Look,” she said. “You’re not pushing your toes forward. Imagine your heel in front of them. Like this.”

Sarah leaned forward while her left leg floated up behind her. Her arms flowed out to the side like tiny waves. The move was so simple. So effortless. So gorgeous. I sat down, never taking my eyes off her. I’d never actually seen Sarah Middleton dance. And in that pose, she was something different. It was like every bit of her angry snark faded away. Even her face softened. I was seeing a hidden person underneath the layer of snobbery she usually wore.