CHAPTER 7
“You were awesome, you guys!” Sammi cried. She gave Sophie a big hug. Then she hugged Emerson. “I watched the whole second half from the audience, and the crowd loved you guys the most. I could feel it.”
“That’s not what we really want to hear,” Sophie said. “You know the routine as well as we do. What mistakes did you see?”
Emerson locked her eyes on Sammi’s face. This was exactly what Emerson wanted to hear. She’d noticed mistakes from the stage. But how did they show up from the audience?
“You were great,” Sammi insisted. “And remember, the top three teams from this competition get to go on to the nationals.”
Ouch. If Sammi was pointing out that three teams were moving to the nationals, that meant she had to have noticed at least some mistakes.
“I thought when the second group came out in that middle section, they were a little off center,” Emerson said. She figured if she said something completely honest, it might be easier for Sammi to say something completely honest.
“Just a little,” Sammi agreed. She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “And Devane and M.J. were a little out of sync in one place.”
I knew it, Emerson thought. “The flare air-track combo?” she asked.
“How little are we talking about?” Sophie jumped in.
“A little, little,” Sammi said. “And I can’t remember exactly where it happened. It wasn’t anything on the ground, though. It was part of the footwork.”
Emerson gave a silent groan. So there was more than one spot. It had to happen, she told herself. Devane knows the routine cold. But she’s never done it from ill papi’s position before.
Yeah, it had to happen, she repeated to herself. But it’s not good.
Max tore up to them. “What are you doing over here?” she cried. “They’re about to announce the winners. Come on.” And she was off.
“Look,” Sammi whispered as she grabbed Emerson by the shoulder. “I think you did well enough to be in the top three. Maybe even the top two. Either way, you get to go to the nationals, and that’s all that matters.”
“Thanks,” Emerson said. “I appreciate your honesty.” And then she ran off to catch up with the others, who all gathered around J-Bang.
“It’s been a bumpin’ night, but it’s gotta end,” J-Bang was saying into the mike when they reached the wings and found a spot with the rest of their crew. Emerson struggled to find a place where she could see the judge. Everybody who’d been in the competition was trying to keep their eyes on J-Bang.
”All the crews gave us a lot to think about,” he continued. “Lots of flavors came at us. Old skool, new skool, breaking, popping, locking, house dancing, martial arts, some bop, we even got a little ballet. Sometimes all in the same two-minute routine!”
Sophie gave Emerson a little nudge when J-Bang said “ballet.” At least I know he noticed us, she thought.
“It wasn’t like comparing apples and oranges. It was like comparing the Milky Way and the ocean. How can you really say one is more beautiful?” J-Bang asked, smiling.
“J-Bang’s flowing now!” someone in the audience yelled.
“You’re right, you’re right. And we’re not here for poetry. We’re here to decide who’s going to represent for the Southeast at the nationals and maybe the world. It has to come down to three crews.”
J-Bang paused, letting silence fill the large auditorium. “Now, the boys of our number-three crew reminded me more of the Northeast than the South,” he finally said.
Sophie and Emerson looked at each other. “Boys,” Sophie mouthed. Emerson nodded. J-Bang wouldn’t say boys for a group with b-boys and b-girls. Would he?
“I saw a little bit of their kind of battle style when I was spending some time back in New York,” J-Bang continued. “Coming in at number three—the Storm Lords!”
The all-boy group took the stage, getting whoops and hollers and tons of applause. “Those guys are third. Wow. I was thinking they’d be the ones to beat,” Sammi said.
“You thought the Plain Janes looked pretty good, too,” Ky reminded her.
“I didn’t watch anyone else. It gives me the wiggins,” Rachel said. “After we did our stuff, I didn’t even listen to the crowd. I just looped ‘Hang Wire’ on my iPod.”
“The crew that went on right after intermission made me nervous,” Max said. “They were doing almost acrobatic stuff. And clowning. It was sort of like a hip-hop circus.”
“Chill. He’s about to announce second,” Becca interrupted.
“All right,” J-Bang said. “Now we got the number-two slot.” He ran his hand over his shaved head. “Joe O’Neal and I were sweating over this one, but we really loved the Brazilian influence mixed with the street.”
That definitely doesn’t sound like us, Emerson thought. And it’s pretty obvious we didn’t do well enough to come in first.
“Give it up for Swagger, everybody!” J-Bang shouted.
The kids in Swagger broke out a set of moves to take the stage. The tallest girl stepped up to J-Bang to take the second-place trophy.
“So we get first or we get nothing,” M.J. said.
“Ky does not walk out of here with nothing,” Ky told him.
“Ky does not actually have a choice,” Becca pointed out.
“Get ready to give it up for the winner of the state-wide competition,” J-Bang called out. “What Joe and I loved about this group was how much fun it looked like they were having. Hip-hop can have a lot of different moods. And joy is definitely one of them.”
Max bounced from one foot to the other. “Sounds like he’s talking about that circus group.”
“Now, before I get accused of turning this into a poetry jam again, let me bring out your number-one crew—”
Sophie grabbed Emerson’s right hand. Chloe grabbed her left hand. Emerson squeezed her eyes shut.
“This group that could go on to represent for the whole USA at the world championship.” J-Bang let the moment stretch again. The guy was kind of an attention hog.
“Come on,” Ky whispered.
Please, let’s just get this over with, Emerson thought.
“Your winners—the Hip Hop Kidz!” J-Bang bellowed.
Emerson’s eyes snapped open. She ran out onto the stage, still holding hands with Sophie and Chloe.
“I hope my dad doesn’t give himself a brain aneurysm or something,” Sophie yelled over the screaming crowd. “I can see how red his face is from here!” She waved to him. “Hi, Dad!” Mr. Qian waved back with both hands.
Emerson was hit with another blast of . . . it was almost like homesickness, which was silly. She’d be home in a couple of hours. She just couldn’t help wishing her dad was out there clapping for her. Her mom, too.
Couldn’t they somehow be excited for her because Hip Hop Kidz had won—and Emerson loved Hip Hop Kidz? Couldn’t they be proud of her even if they didn’t think hip-hop was real dancing? Or essential to her college application? Or incredibly impressive to the Arts Council?
She slammed the thoughts away. Her group had just won first place. They might end up going to the world championship. Emerson was going to enjoy this moment. She focused on M.J. bumping fists with J-Bang as J-Bang handed him the trophy. And Gina’s face—Gina was glowing, and not just because of the stage lights. Maddy was climbing up onstage to join them, and she had tears of happiness sparkling in her eyes.
“We did it, Em!” Sophie exclaimed.
“I know! We did it!” Emerson hugged her. “Can you believe a couple of months ago we were afraid we wouldn’t get in the Performance Group at all?”
Sophie hung on to the buzz from winning first place for about ten minutes. Then she started thinking about ill papi
. . . again. He should be here with the rest of them. He’d worked as hard on the routine as they had. Why didn’t he show? It didn’t make any sense.
If anybody will know what’s up with ill papi, it’s hi
s dad, Sophie thought. He’s probably still in the auditorium.
“Be right back,” she told Sammi.
“Hurry,” Sammi said. “Mom and Dad are going to shove their way backstage in about ten seconds, and they’re going to have to take about a thousand pictures.”
The thought made Sophie grin. If the Kidz made world champion, Sophie might end up with several photo albums—and several videotapes all to herself. Sammi had a bunch; why shouldn’t Sophie?
“Ten seconds,” Sophie promised. She hurried out onto the stage. Yep. There was J-Bang, still at the judges’ table, surrounded by fans.
“Hey, J-Bang, do you know where ill papi is?” Sophie called down. People always said she could talk to anybody, but even she felt a little nervous talking to one of the guys who practically invented hip-hop.
J-Bang turned around. “You’re one of the Kidz,” he said, taking her in. “You’re me. But younger. And a girl. You know?”
“Thanks! Cool.” Sophie couldn’t believe J-Bang had said that to her. Wow. “I was wondering if you know where ill papi is.”
“Ill papi?” J-Bang repeated. And it was clear he hadn’t heard the name. Ever in his life.
The woman next to J-Bang smiled. “Is ill papi your boyfriend? You want to get him some advice from the man here?”
“Uh. No. That’s okay. I just thought—I made a mistake,” Sophie said in a rush. “Never mind.”
J-Bang didn’t even know who ill papi was. What was going on?
Emerson actually felt sick as she climbed back up the trellis to her bedroom later that night. Sick in that feverish way where nothing seems completely real. We won, she thought with every step she took up her makeshift ladder. We won, we won, we won.
She pulled in a last deep breath of the honeysuckle wrapped around the trellis, then slid open her window. She smiled when she saw the pale blond fake Emerson hair spread out across her pillow. It looked pretty good. She’d have to remember that for next time.
Although the Barbie head wasn’t going to cut it while Emerson was in L.A. for three or four days. She was going to L.A.! She jumped and landed with her legs wide, swung her head left, followed it around with her body—and stepped on her binder.
Wait. There shouldn’t be any binders on her floor. Emerson always left her room absolutely in order. Her binder had been on her desk chair.
She twisted around to look over her shoulder at the chair. Someone sat there in the darkness. Oh, no. Oh-no, oh-no, oh-no.
Before she could decide what to do, what to say—click. Her study lamp flicked on. And Emerson saw her mother staring at her. She didn’t seem surprised to see Emerson.
Emerson could tell she was going to have to confess everything. Too bad her throat was suddenly too dry for her to talk. All the saliva had evaporated, leaving it gritty and raw.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how worried I was about you,” her mother said quietly, her hands folded in her lap. “At first, I thought you decided you felt well enough for the recital. I know how much you love ballet.” She gave a harsh bark of laughter. “At least I thought I did.”
“Mom, I—” Emerson managed to get out.
Her mother continued as though she hadn’t said anything. “I called Rosemary. Her old cell phone number worked fine, by the way.”
Emerson flushed. She’d told so many lies, lies a lot bigger than that one about Rosemary having a new cell phone. But she still felt ashamed about the little lie.
“Rosemary told me you weren’t at the recital. She also told me you haven’t been to class in almost two months.” Her mother didn’t look at Emerson. She seemed to be looking at something just to the left of Emerson’s face. “Rosemary said that you had told her we were in Italy for the summer, and she’d been expecting to hear from us about getting you started in class again. She assured me that she’d been crediting our account with the payments we’d continued to send.”
Emerson’s mother stood up. “Your dad and your grandparents are worried, too. They’re downstairs. I think you should be the one to tell them you’re home.” She left the room without another word. All Emerson could do was follow her.
“Em! Where were you? Are you all right?” her father demanded the second she stepped into the living room.
“You scared your mother half to death,” Grandpa Tredwell added.
“Where was she?” Emerson’s father asked her mother.
“I don’t know. She just sneaked back into her room. I thought she could tell us all together.” Her mother’s voice was quiet and tight. She didn’t yell. She didn’t ever really yell. She sat down on the sofa next to Emerson’s father and waited.
For one crazy second, Emerson considered coming up with a Bigger Lie. Something to cover up the Big Lie and explain away all the little lies. Because it had felt amazing out there onstage. Because she’d made better friends in the group than she ever had before. Because she wanted to push herself to the limit and help her crew win the World Hip-Hop Championship. She didn’t want to give up the group. She wanted to stay in like she wanted air to breathe.
But there was nothing she could say. Even if she had days to prepare, there was nothing she could concoct that would satisfy her parents. What was the point of trying?
“Um . . . okay . . . well . . .” Emerson swallowed hard, trying to bring some moisture back to her mouth and throat. “Back in July—”
“July,” her mother murmured, shaking her head. Grandma Tredwell made a low clucking noise.
“In July, I joined the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group,” Emerson confessed.
“What is that?” Grandma Lane asked Emerson’s mother.
“It’s a dance troupe that her father and I forbade her from joining,” Emerson’s mother answered, looking directly into Emerson’s eyes for the first time since she’d gotten home. It was a lot worse than when her mother had refused to look at her. “We told Emerson we thought it would affect her schoolwork and that we thought continuing with ballet would be more impressive on her college applications because it would show consistency.”
“When I do hip-hop, I feel a completely different way than I do in ballet,” Emerson said. “I love the music—it just kind of takes me over. And I’ve made all these great friends. When we get up onstage together, we just have so much fun,” she added, trying to make them understand.
“Haven’t we been sending checks to that ballet studio?” Emerson’s father asked her mother. As if he hadn’t heard a word Emerson had said.
“Didn’t Hip Hop Kidz require a permission form from parents before you could join that group?” her mother asked, not bothering to answer the question about the checks.
“I signed it,” Emerson admitted.
“I don’t know who I’m talking to,” Emerson’s mother said. “Lying. Sneaking out. Now signing my name. You aren’t the Emerson I know.” Tiny lines appeared, bracketing her mother’s mouth. Her chin trembled slightly. This wasn’t angry face. It was sad face. Emerson was about to make her mother cry. She really did feel like throwing up now. No chunky soup necessary.
“I’m sorry,” Emerson said. “I . . . it was just so important to me. And I couldn’t make you understand. I—”
“Are you trying to say it’s our fault?” her father asked, his blue eyes going cold.
“I can’t talk about this anymore right now,” her mother said. “Go back upstairs, Emerson. We’ll discuss this later. You’re grounded until further notice.”
Devane carefully folded the “Hip Hop Kids Got the Juice” banner and slid it into her backpack. She was bringing it to the nationals. And the world championship. It was lucky. For the group. And for her.
“Fabulous job tonight, Devane,” Gina told her. They were the only two left in their section of the backstage area. “I know it’s hard to take on another dancer’s part—even when you know the routine as well as you do.”
“Thanks. And thank you for giving me the chance,” Devane added. “I’m going to make sure we make it a
ll the way to the top! With me back in the group—that’s a promise.”
“Oh, Devane. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you thought—” Gina stopped and tapped her lips with her fingers.
“Thought what?” Devane asked. She knew. By the sound of Gina’s voice. By the look on Gina’s face. But she wanted to hear Gina say it. She wanted Gina to say that trash out loud.
“What happened tonight with ill papi—that was completely unexpected. I had to make a last-minute decision,” Gina said. “You saved the whole group tonight, Devane, and I appreciate it. It and everything else you’ve been doing. But you’re not off probation. I’m very sorry if I gave you that impression.”
“Probation meant no performing. I performed tonight,” Devane answered.
“Because ill papi—” Gina began.
“So I’m on probation unless you need me to save your butt,” Devane interrupted. “You say you’re trying to make me learn something about teamwork. You’re trying to help me understand something. Be a better person. But you don’t care about that if Hip Hop Kidz might lose a competition.” She slung her backpack over her shoulder.
“I handled this badly,” Gina admitted. “I get that now. I should have realized that you would think you were off probation. I should have explained and asked you if you would agree to perform.”
“I shouldn’t even be on probation anymore, okay?” Devane burst out. “No one thinks so.” Gina’s cheeks flushed, but Devane kept going on. “But I sucked it up. I kept trying to be a good little Hip Hop Kid. I’ve been falling all over myself trying to show you I’m all about the team. Fetching water. Doing that picnic. Making signs.”
Devane jerked the banner out of her backpack and ripped it in half, letting the pieces fall to the floor. “But I’m not off probation. Not even after tonight. What do you want me to do, Gina? What more do you and Maddy expect me to do?” She shook her head. “You’re both fools. Everyone in class thinks so.”
Gina pressed her palms together. “You know what I’m going to do, Devane?” she asked.
“What?” Devane shot back.
Bust a Move Page 7