by Tami Charles
I take a look around the storage room, the space Junito called his own. All the while, this place was nothing more than a representation of his own battles. Dedicated to building a gang of people he could call family as a way of replacing the love he never got from Papi. But that room was also his escape. A place where he and TJ could be together without the world looking down and frowning. I messed that up. With my fears and my lies, Junito beat TJ up for all of Grafton and Broadway to see. To prove that he was exactly who Papi wanted him to be…un hombre fuerte. But in the end, that only made things worse.
The reality sinks in that this space is for only me now—my dreams, my dancing, my way out. The posters of Diablo gang symbols are gone. All the red decorations, adios. All that is left behind is my graffiti tag: ¡Fama! Quiero vivir pa’ siempre! This room is now a dance studio where my hands, feet, and corazón will create movements that will live forever. After I won ACT-SO, Mami, Ms. Geraldine, and I installed a wall of mirrors and a barre for me to do stretches. There’s a table in the corner with a big boom box and lots of tapes filled with salsa, bomba, rap, pop, and R&B. My walls are covered in posters of my favorite stars of Fame. Especially Debbie Allen.
Next to the table there’s a garbage can with only one thing in it. Yesterday’s Newark Ledger, complete with the headline: “September trial set for murder of Newark gang leader.”
“Beatriz, gotta get to the airport. ¡Están aquí!” Mami yells down the basement steps.
“Coming, Mami!” I turn off the lights inside my dance studio.
When I get to the door outside the bodega, Mami and Abuela are talking with Señorita Amaro, our chaperone for the trip. Nasser winks at me and places my suitcase in the trunk of the taxi. His dad is taking us to Newark airport. We’re heading to Dallas early for rehearsals and historic tours planned for the contestants. Our families will meet us out there in two days.
“This is it.” Mami kisses my forehead, pulls me in close. I drown myself in her embrace.
“Thank you, Mami. For everything.”
“No, no. Gracias, Beatriz.”
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” I ask.
Mr. Martin pulls up in his Chevrolet Celebrity.
“Sweetie, not only will I be fine, we both will live now…for us.” She smiles real wide. When Mr. Martin gets out of the car, she runs over to him and plants a kiss on his cheek.
Then I see TJ. I can spot that ’fro a mile away. I often thought about what would happen when this day came. And here we are. He gets out of Mr. Martin’s car and walks toward me, and my hands turn clammy.
“Hey…TJ.” My voice is hesitant. “I didn’t know you were back from San Francisco.”
“Just flew in this morning. I got me a summer internship in New York. Uncle Daniel’s taking your mom out to dinner at Je’s downtown, and they invited me to come along.”
I swallow hard at the thought of that. In a perfect world, Junito would be going with him.
“Well, I just wanted to say hi, Beatriz. Good seeing you.”
I wonder if he’s lying.
“TJ!” I call out as he starts to walk away. “You ever wonder if one day you could…”
“Forgive you?” He turns to face me.
I chew on my bottom lip and nod slowly.
“Already did that a long time ago.” TJ stands there, giving me the once-over, probably wondering what more I have to add.
“Actually, I forgive both of you.” As soon as he says that, I feel my knees buckle a bit.
TJ reaches for my hands.
“I miss him so bad.” My voice breaks midsentence.
“I’ve got some good memories to hold on to. Dig deep, Beatriz, and find those moments too.” He gives my hands a firm squeeze and heads toward Mr. Martin’s car.
“Will you still be here when I get back?” I shout out to TJ, tears welling up in my eyes.
“All summer long. So will Vanessa.”
I smile at that, knowing I still might have a chance to make things right. Mr. Moreau turns the key in the ignition as I hop in the back seat of his taxi. Then he busts a U-turn in the middle of Broadway, blasting “Save Your Love (for #1)” on the radio, and we speed off.
Nasser turns around in the front seat. “Who was that you were talking to?”
“Oh, just my brother’s old boyfriend.” The words come out with ease.
Nasser nods. He knows what’s up now.
Señorita Amaro reaches for my hand as we zip down the highway, windows rolled all the way down, the summer breeze whirling around us. A few wishmaker seeds float in through my window, swaying slowly to the rhythm. I think back to the memory of Friday the thirteenth—the lonely wishmaker flower I saw, searching for the sun as shots rang through my life. But that was yesterday, and if yesterday is what I once was, then today I’m becoming someone else.
A single seed dances its way to the palm of my hand.
“Make a wish, Beatriz,” Señorita Amaro says.
I press my fingers together, close my eyes real tight, see the curtains opening, feel the pulse of the music as Debbie Allen smiles from the judges’ table. And then…I imagine myself soaring.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Becoming Beatriz is a work of fiction. That means I got to make some stuff up and you know what? I had a blast doing it.
Now that we’ve cleared the air, the plot contains some threads that are grounded in personal details of my life. For example, my father lived in the Grafton Projects of Newark. I spent the early part of my childhood there. Like Beatriz, I studied many forms of dance at the Maria Priadka Dance School, I watched Fame, and I competed in the NAACP ACT-SO contest in high school.
There are also some threads of history that I think are worth mentioning here.
ABOUT GANGS AND THE DRUG EPIDEMIC OF THE 1980S
I grew up in Newark, New Jersey, and went to school there all my life, attending Madison Elementary School and University High School. (Go Phoenix!) Yes, Newark is a city, complete with an unfortunate history of drugs and gangs. But let me be very clear: my childhood memories of Newark will forever be sweet. The busted-open fire hydrants in the dead of July; going to the bodega for penny candy; and the mix of salsa, rap, and R&B blasting from corner to corner. Not to mention hearing stories of people who came from my beloved city and went on to claim real fame: Shaquille O’Neal, Whitney Houston, Amiri Baraka, Queen Latifah. The list is endless.
Like any American city, however, Newark sometimes gets a bad rap. The drug epidemic that gripped the city in the early 1980s was well documented in various newspapers. Heroin and cocaine were the drugs of choice, followed by crack cocaine in 1985. Unlike expensive cocaine (about a hundred dollars a gram in the early 80s), crack was cheap, selling for as little as three dollars. Naturally this led to a widespread epidemic in metropolitan areas like Newark. Some of the newspaper articles featured in this novel, though written to serve the plot, were inspired by real Star-Ledger articles. Thanks to the wonderful librarians in the Charles F. Cummings New Jersey Information Center at the Newark Public Library, I had a chance to learn how drug problems affected our city.
The Macoutes and Diablos are gangs made from my own imagination. Real gangs, however, existed in Newark in the 1980s and still do today, as they do in other cities across the United States. According to the National Gang Center (www.nationalgangcenter.gov), young people join gangs for many reasons: loss of a parent, financial gains, problems at home, protection, and more. There are hundreds, even thousands, of young people like Beatriz and Junito who have experienced these types of problems. Joining a gang does not have to be the answer.
If you or someone you know is at risk of gang involvement, there are resources and support services that can help. Contact the National Gang Center at (800) 446-0912.
ABOUT ACT-SO
In 1976, renowned African American journalist Vernon Jarrett d
eveloped his idea of an “Olympics of the Mind” through a contest he named Afro-Academic, Cultural, Technological, and Scientific Olympics (ACT-SO). It’s aligned with the NAACP, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Established in 1909, the NAACP is the United States’ oldest and largest civil rights organization.
For the sake of the plot, I altered some of the details and timelines. For starters, while the first national ACT-SO contests were held in 1978, only seven cities participated. Newark was not one of them. The first New Jersey contest was held in 1989, four years after Beatriz won her regional contest. In addition, Nasser performs a poem for his segment of competition. While ACT-SO did include a poetry segment in 1985, it was only in written form. In 2015, spoken poetry was added as a separate competition.
I competed in the local and national contests for ACT-SO between 1994 and 1998. It is an experience that I am extremely grateful to have had in my teen years. It molded me into a public speaker, exposed me to students of various Afro-centric backgrounds from all across the country, and taught me the values of discipline and perseverance. During my competition years, there were students of color from different backgrounds who participated: Black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American too. (I clearly remember one Filipino violinist who brought the house down with a Beethoven piece!)
The current website for ACT-SO states that the contest is open to African American students, yet a separate page also states that ACT-SO provides a forum for “students of African descent.” In writing a story about a girl from Puerto Rico who competes in ACT-SO, I thought it was worth mentioning the complexities and misunderstandings that exist within communities of color.
Beatriz Mendez is what people today would consider Afro-Latina, or Afro-Latinx, where the x symbolizes intersecting identities and racial backgrounds that exist within Latin American culture. In other words, Beatriz is both black and Puerto Rican. Her race is Black. Her ethnicity is Puerto Rican. Her nationality is American. This type of complex diversity exists within my own family. Come to one Christmas dinner and you’ll have a cup of coquito in one hand and a plate of fried chicken and collard greens in the other, while kompa music blasts in the background.
It is my hope that this novel opens up more conversations about diversity within diversity. These types of conversations add to the growing spectrum of stories that show there is no single, authentic lived experience in communities of color. As authors, we are the lucky ones who get to show all this on the page.
ABOUT DEBBIE ALLEN
Some of Debbie Allen’s accomplishments are presented in this novel, but it’s worth mentioning some key points of her life story here. At the young age of four, Debbie Allen had her future figured out. She wanted to be a professional dancer. But in 1950s Texas, life was hard for people of color. The racial divide that existed in the United States was in fact so deep that Debbie’s mother, Vivian Ayers, moved her family to Mexico. As a result, Debbie and her siblings became fluent in Spanish.
At the age of sixteen, Debbie decided to give her childhood dance dreams a real shot when she auditioned for the North Carolina School of the Performing Arts. She was denied admission because according to the selection committee, she had the wrong body type.
Regardless of early challenges, Debbie Allen went on to fulfill her dance dreams, performing in Broadway shows, starring in Fame, singing, composing music, and directing some of entertainment’s most iconic television shows and films. As impressive as her work on camera is (I adore her role as Dr. Catherine Avery on Grey’s Anatomy!), it is Ms. Allen’s work off camera that is the most impactful.
On July 8, 2018, I had the opportunity to fulfill my childhood wish of dancing alongside the Ms. Lydia Grant—Debbie Allen. And let me tell you, I could not keep up! Ms. Allen graciously gives back to the community by hosting Salsa Sundays at the Wallis Annenberg Center for the Performing Arts in Beverly Hills, California. In 2001, she opened the Debbie Allen Dance Academy, a nonprofit organization for children in kindergarten through twelfth grade. While in California, I had the opportunity to witness young rising stars putting their dreams to work. I saw firsthand the impact that dance can have on a young life. Debbie Allen may have played Lydia Grant on television, but it’s her real-life legacy that will last for years to come.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I can’t believe I’m writing another round of thank-yous for a book I wrote. Wow! This feeling will never, ever get old.
Let me preface these acknowledgments by saying that if I forgot to mention your name, I’m sorry! I’m sleep deprived, okay? But I love you. Promise.
I give the greatest honor to God! It is my faith in Him that keeps me going.
To my son, Christopher, you are my endless gift. Nasser Charles, the greatest definition of love and friendship, te amo con todo mi corazón. Huge thanks to my parents, Jennifer and Robert Peters, and my brother, Robert Peters II, for their belief in this dream (and their supreme babysitting skills!).
To Lara Perkins, my literary agent. I’m amazed at how you juggle everything. Wife. Mom. Agent to writers like me who need constant attention. (Ha!) Thank you for this journey.
How far would an editor go to show commitment to character? How about trying to function with a pseudoblade (actually a piece of sea glass) inside her cheek? That would be my editor, Karen Boss. Karen, you’re the real MVP! Thank you for your keen eye, feedback, and patience.
To the entire Charlesbridge team, and especially to Yolanda Scott, Mel Schuit, Donna Spurlock, Rachel Doody, Megan Quinn, Hanna Lafferty, and Joyce White. Also, a huge shout-out to cover illustrator Alyssa Bermudez!
I have the best family and friends a girl could ask for. A beautiful, colorful, multilingual crew of damas, caballeros, and madames whom I am so blessed to call my own. Thank you for reading early drafts and for putting me in check when I needed it: Jaylis Arcentales, Julicza Feliciano, Fallon Dumont-Sajous, Leslie C. Mondesir, Damarys Scaff, mi prima Ivette Serrano, Lily Vento (Miss Yeye), Gwen Charles, Stephanie Amaro-Nieves, and France Tucker. Also, sincere thanks to Kelly Calabrese for early reads.
To the bestest friend/critique partner, Stephanie Jones. Our daily Facebook therapy sessions keep me sane! Let’s keep grinding and popping out these stories.
To Sofia Quintero, Guadalupe Garcia McCall, and Carmen Bernier-Grand, gracias por leer y apoyar a mi libro. Attorney José A. Camacho of Camacho & Associates in Brooklyn, New York: thank you for helping me sort out the legal-speak for the news articles.
To Las Musas Marketing Collective, I adore the purpose and mission of our group. ¡Adelante!
To Darnell Davis and Deborah Smith-Gregory, thank you for the NAACP ACT-SO memories in high school. It was the time of my life!
I’ve always wanted a big sister. I’m happy to have found that in Karyn Parsons. Sending you so much love for your kindness and continued inspiration!
To Brian Edwards, part godfather, part long-lost uncle. Your advice and advocacy knows no limits.
To Debbie Allen, in whose honor this book is written. In hard times, girls like Beatriz Mendez seek out role models—whether real or intangible—to guide their path. Ms. Allen, your life’s work is a legendary testament to every dancer and every dreamer across the globe.
And lastly, I thank you, the reader, for choosing this book. As I imagine you reading my words, I realize that there is no greater vision of a dream fulfilled.