Mom and I took turns talking, and then we put her on speakerphone so she could tell us about her bus ride to Dad’s. She’d sat next to a Harry Styles impersonator who insisted on singing the entire five hours and giving everyone his fake autograph. By the time Claire handed the phone to Dad, Mom and I were laughing hard.
“Hey, Dad.” I took him off speakerphone. It wasn’t like my parents couldn’t talk. They were divorced, not dead to each other, but in my mind, I kept them in separate places. It was like how I loved mashed potatoes and I loved cranberry sauce (well, not from Market Stop, but normally)—I loved them equally but I didn’t want them touching on my plate. Okay, bad analogy. Point is, Mom and Dad didn’t go together anymore, and it made me feel less sad when I could compartmentalize them.
Mom started on the dishes. With the phone to my ear, I walked to my room and closed the door. “Dad, I miss you.”
“And I miss you. Claire told me you’re doing the show. I’m so proud of you, Sash. We need to get someone to take a video of it.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Hall will.”
“You’re right. She’ll probably upload it to YouTube. And then you’ll go viral.” Dad paused. “I can’t wait for you to visit. Claire says you’re going to want to turn my studio into a dance studio.”
“Probably. It’s pretty hard practicing in the apartment. Our downstairs neighbor doesn’t seem to appreciate my jumps.”
Dad laughed. “I guess you’ll need to head to JayJay’s to practice the power moves.”
“Hey, Dad. I wanted to ask you about that. Mom said she wasn’t sure if we had the money to cover next semester’s dance classes. I was wondering if maybe I could have them as my Christmas gift.” I felt bad that the classes were expensive. With the divorce, and with both Mom and Claire in school, money was tight.
“That sounds like a good idea. Let me talk to the North Pole—” He coughed. “I mean, Ms. Claus, and see what we can come up with.”
After I hung up with Dad, I felt sad. California was far away. Like 2,703 miles away. And sometimes after talking to Claire or Dad it felt even farther.
I crashed on my beanbag chair and looked up at my poster of the Alvin Ailey Dance Company. I’d picked it out when Dad took me to see a performance for my birthday last year. That was before he moved to California. We’d spent the whole day in the city. Dad had even taken a picture of me on the steps of the High School for Performing Arts. Shoot! I’d forgotten to tell Dad that the winners of the Holidaze Spectacular win scholarships to the Summer Academy. He would think that was cool.
I picked up my phone, ready to call him back, but an incoming text from Karly distracted me. She wanted my advice about whether she should text Ahmed and wish him a happy Thanksgiving. What was happening to Karly? That was the third Ahmed-related text she’d sent me in the last three hours.
I texted back: I guess. Then she was gone, and I was left thinking about what she’d said the day before: “You’ve got to like someone.”
Okay, maybe. But who?
I looked down at my phone—a snap from Kevin (we were on a streak). There he was: eating pecan pie, whipped cream on his nose. It was so Kevin. I went into the kitchen and took a picture of our half-eaten pie and sent it to him.
On Saturday, Mom and I headed to the Senior Center. That’s where Karly and I usually volunteered with the lunch program, but with Karly out of town, Mom said she would come. Actually, Mom was the reason Karly and I started volunteering there. Before Mom went back to school, she was, like, Volunteer of the Year.
Both Miss Melinda and Big T, who were regulars at the Saturday lunch program, gave me a hug. Big T hadn’t met Mom before because he started coming to the Senior Center after she stopped volunteering. He made a big deal about meeting her.
“You’ve got a special daughter,” Big T said. “She always brings me extra butter for my rolls. And the biggest slice of cake.” Big T winked at me.
“That’s nice,” Mom said, smiling and sitting down next to Miss Melinda. “Can I help you with that?” She pointed to a piece of chicken on Miss Melinda’s plate.
“I’ve got it.” Miss Melinda picked up her fork and knife. “But Missy over at Table Ten could probably use your help.”
When Mom stood up, I sat down.
“Good.” Miss Melinda glanced behind her. “She’s gone. You know, I prefer young people.”
I laughed.
“How are you?” She put down her utensils and leaned toward me. “Any new boyfriends?”
“No.” Every week, Miss Melinda asked about boyfriends and every week I laughed and told her I didn’t have any. But that day I didn’t laugh. Why was everyone so boy-crazy?
“Are you sure?” Miss Melinda said. “When I was your age, I had so many crushes.”
“Would you like some more green beans?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
Before we left, Mom and I stopped by the director’s office. Mom wanted to say hello and I wanted to tell her the date had been set for the Holidaze Spectacular. The Senior Center usually provided transportation for anyone who wanted to attend.
“That’s great, Sasha. We could use something to look forward to around here.”
“Is everything okay?” Mom asked.
“Budget cuts.” The director picked up the calculator on her desk. “It looks like we won’t have enough money to continue our meals program.” The center served free and reduced rate lunches daily, plus they delivered meals to housebound seniors.
“That’s terrible,” I said, thinking about Miss Melinda and Big T. I knew they not only looked forward to the meals, they counted on them. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding like she’d already given up.
I don’t know? What kind of answer was that?
Chapter Three
WINTER DREAMS
By Sunday, I was bored. Beyond bored. I’d binge-watched anything worth bingeing. I’d scrolled through Instagram trying to find a boy, maybe a friend of a friend, worth crushing on, but I gave up after I’d seen the same turkey meme five times. I’d also stalked the High School for Performing Arts website, watching the Summer Academy promo video until I knew every word. And I’d written a detailed rehearsal schedule for Kevin, Karly, and me.
So by midmorning Sunday, I was sitting at the dining room table sketching costume ideas for our Holidaze Spectacular act, waiting for Kevin and Karly to come home. Our dining room table still looked awkward in the apartment. In our old house it had had its own room, but in the apartment it took up half the living space and had turned into the everything-table. It was where Mom studied, where we folded laundry, where I did my homework.
“Did you sign up for the coding workshop I told you about?” Mom looked up from her laptop. “It’s at the library, Saturday afternoons, starting in January.”
“No.” Under the table, I flexed my left foot and then my right.
“Why not?”
I picked up a red pencil. “I don’t think I can fit it in, not with my dance schedule.”
“But Sasha. If you want to apply to Tech Magnet for high school, you need to start filling your resume with STEM-related activities.”
I don’t want to go to Tech Magnet, I wanted to say, but instead I folded in my lips and colored the tutu I’d sketched in my pad.
“Have you looked into the robotics club at school yet?”
“No.” I held up the pad, blocking my view of Mom. I’d drawn a candy cane–striped tutu—very festive. Karly would love it! Now I needed to think about Kevin’s costume.
“You know, Claire did the robotics club in middle school.” Mom pushed her screen down and looked over at me.
“Mom, I know.” Claire did a lot of things I didn’t do. I dropped my sketchpad on the table.
“Sash, I know it seems like a long time away, but before you know it you’ll be applying to college and—”
“Mom, I’m in seventh grade.” I didn’t want to go to Tech Magnet. They didn’t even ha
ve a dance program.
But Mom had the whole thing mapped out, and she was definitely using Claire’s map—the one where Claire went to Tech Magnet and ended up with a scholarship to college.
Zzz. Zzz. My phone vibrated.
“Is it Claire?” Mom asked.
I looked down at the screen. “No. It’s Karly.” It was the text I’d been hoping for since I woke up. Karly and Kevin were home from their grandparents’. Finally!
“Go,” Mom said before I even asked. She knew I’d been waiting all weekend to rehearse with them. We now had only twenty-four days to get ready for the Holidaze Spectacular. Not that I was counting or anything.
“Thanks.” I stuffed my sketchpad into my dance bag and headed over to the closet.
“You need a hat,” Mom said as I zipped up my coat. “And mittens.”
I grabbed the mittens but I couldn’t find a hat. “I’ll be fine,” I said.
“Call me if you need a ride.” Mom’s eyes were back on the screen, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
“Okay.” I took my phone and pressed my earbuds into place.
“Be careful,” Mom said without looking up at me. “Watch out for cars,” she called as I opened the door.
I ran down the flight of stairs, the music thudding in my ears. When I pushed open the front door of our building, the cold hit me. Mom was right—I needed a hat.
I headed down the street, my head bopping to the music. On the corner of Main and Walnut, outside Sugarman’s Market, I did a fouetté. Then, watching my reflection in the store’s window, I did a hitch kick. Not bad. At the crosswalk, I looked both ways and then leapt. Two stag leaps and I was on the other side of the street. That was one good thing about moving into the apartment. We were closer to the center of town, so I could walk (or dance) almost everywhere—the studio, school, Karly and Kevin’s.
“Sasha!” Mrs. Hall hugged me as I stepped inside their warm house.
“Did you have a good turkey day?” Mr. Hall called from the living room where he was putting a log on the fire.
“Pretty good, thanks.” I pulled off my sneakers and lined them up next to the collection of shoes by the door. “How was your trip?”
“Well,” Mrs. Hall said. “Let’s just say I can sing ‘Snow, Snow, Baby!’ in my sleep.” Smiling, I stuffed my mittens into my coat. “Snow, Snow, Baby!” was the song Karly, Kevin, and I had chosen for our routine.
“Snow, snow, baby!” Mr. Hall sang, swinging his hips wildly, flapping his arms, and waving his hands.
I laughed. “I guess it was a long car ride.”
“Very,” Mrs. Hall said as I headed down the front hall to hang up my coat. “You know where they are.”
“Thanks.” I opened the door to the basement.
“Sasha!” Karly called from below.
On the fifth step from the bottom, I jumped.
“Sa-sha. Sa-sha,” Kevin chanted as if I was a quarterback after a winning play. Enthusiasm was one of the things I loved about the Hall family. It must’ve been in their DNA.
Another thing I loved about the Hall family was their basement.
It was a dance studio.
“Hey guys.” I sashayed across the top-of-the line hardwood sprung flooring Mr. Hall had installed himself. Pulling on the barre above them, Kevin and Karly stood.
“What’s up?” I could see my reflection in the mirror behind them. And my hair was a mess. I took the elastic band off my wrist and pulled my hair into a high ponytail.
“Bad news,” Karly said.
“Oh no.” My mind raced with what it could be—the Holidaze Spectacular was cancelled … our performance was cut … the director of the Summer Academy pulled out …
“We need a new song,” Kevin said.
“What? Why?”
“Have you heard my dad sing it?” Karly shuddered. “He kind of ruined it for me.”
“Yup.” Kevin swayed and waved his hands, imitating what I had seen Mr. Hall do upstairs. No, actually, Kevin’s version was mild compared to Mr. Hall’s. “Once we heard him sing it, we realized it was kind of a corny song.”
“Okay, okay.” I laughed as Kevin belted out the chorus. “Maybe that song wasn’t the best choice. What’re you thinking?”
“I like ‘Snow and Ice.’” Kevin started tutting—raising his arms up, bending in his wrists, forming right angles.
Karly groaned. “I don’t want to do all hip-hop.” She lifted her leg onto the barre. “I think we should do ‘Snowland.’” She brought her arms up over her head and reached toward the mirror.
“No way,” Kevin said. “I want to show off some of my new acro moves, and ‘Snowland’ would be all ballet. Bor-ing.”
“How about ‘Winter Dreams’?” I turned toward Kevin. “We could incorporate some of your new stunts, maybe your one-handed front walkover.”
He smiled. “I’m getting pretty good at it, aren’t I?” He poked me in the stomach.
“Definitely.” I reached for the barre.
“Don’t feed his ego.” Karly dropped her leg onto the ground. “Hmm … ‘Winter Dreams’ … I can work with that.” She plugged her phone into the speaker on the floor. “Let’s free dance and see what we come up with.”
“Sounds good.” As the song filled the basement, I spread open my arms and tilted my head back.
Karly put the song on repeat, and we danced to it over and over. I lost myself in the music, and then Karly and I danced side by side, mirroring our moves and building off each other’s ideas. We belted out the refrain. Kevin started singing too.
“What do we think?” Karly stopped the music.
“It’s perfect.” Kevin winked at me. “Summer Academy, here we come.”
“Not quite,” I said. “First we need to choreograph it.”
We spent the next hour sharing ideas and demonstrating to each other what we were thinking. It was slow work, but we were getting there, and by the time my phone rang, we’d nailed down the opening section.
It was Mom calling and asking me to pick up milk on the way home.
“I should go,” I said to Karly and Kevin. “But I’ll work on it some more.”
“Me too,” Karly said.
“I almost forgot.” I dug through my dance bag for the rehearsal schedule I’d come up with. “Here.” I handed Kevin and Karly a printout of the month of December with our practice times on it. “Take a look. But I think it should work.”
“Thanks.” Karly waved the paper in the air. “And I like the costume ideas you texted me. We’ll need to buy the materials soon.”
“This weekend.”
Kevin wrinkled up his nose. “No tutus for me, okay?” His eyes sparkled.
Outside, the temperature had dropped. The wind stung my face. I covered my ears with my mittened hands. But I didn’t care how cold it was. I was thinking about Kevin.
Kevin!
Why hadn’t I thought of it before? He was the perfect person for me to have a crush on. We liked all the same stuff, plus we were already friends. Best friends. I’d never really thought about it before, but Kevin was cute. Wasn’t he? In a goofy, hair flopping, sometimes-smelly-feet kind of way.
Yeah, Kevin was the obvious answer.
By the time I reached Sugarman’s Market, my toes were freezing, my ears were numb, and my head was filled with reasons why Kevin was a good choice for my crush. When I opened the door, the bells hanging from the wooden doorknob jangled merrily. Even in the summer, the sound of them made me think of sleigh bells.
“Hello, Sasha,” Mr. Sugarman called from behind the antique cash register with its mechanical keys and brass money drawer.
“Hi, Mr. Sugarman!” I smiled, relaxing into the warmth of the store. It was one of the few places in town that never changed. Other stores might go out of business or expand, but not the market. Mr. Sugarman was definitely an “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it” kind of person. I liked that about him. And I liked everything about the store, especially the smell: fres
h-baked chocolate chip cookies. Mr. Sugarman made them every afternoon, just in time for the after-school crowd.
I was headed toward the refrigerated case when I heard Mira’s laugh coming from the back of the store. I did a pivot turn and hurried down the aisle lined with jars of peanut butter and dusty soup cans to the café area. Maybe café was too fancy a word for the three tables with mismatched chairs set up in the back, but it was cozy, and one of our favorite places to hang.
“Hi,” I said as Mira and Anna came into view.
“Hey, Sash.” Mira waved to me from the center table.
“Look at your nose,” Anna said. “It’s bright red.”
I touched the cold tip.
“You’re freezing,” Mira said. “Sit down.” She pushed her mug toward the empty chair. “Have a sip.”
Smelling the sweet cocoa, I plopped down in the seat and pulled off my mittens, placing them on the table. I warmed my hands on Mira’s mug. Then I took a sip.
Delicious.
I slid the mug back toward her. “Thanks,” I said, unzipping my coat.
“Sasha, you want something?” Mr. Sugarman called from behind the counter.
“Yes, please.” I pulled out my wallet and walked over.
“Hey,” I said as I passed Pete, who was pouring sugar into a dispenser. Pete was in my math class. He’d moved to town to live with his grandparents (Mr. and Mrs. Sugarman) a couple of months ago. I knew he was on the boys’ basketball team at school. But I didn’t know him. Not really.
“Sasha.” He wiped his hands on the white half-apron tied around his waist. “Hi.”
“Do you want to try the flavor of the day?” Mr. Sugarman asked when I reached the counter. “Candy Cane Cocoa.” He nodded toward his grandson. “Pete came up with it.”
“That sounds good.”
I watched as Mr. Sugarman poured the hot chocolate, flicked in a dash of peppermint, swirled whipped cream on it, and then sprinkled crushed candy canes on top.
Peppermint Cocoa Crushes Page 2