Falling in Like #11

by Melissa J Morgan

  “Romeo and Juliet first met at a party,” Mischa said.

  “Forbidden love is so romantic,” Kallista cooed, grinning at Tori.

  Forbidden is right. I am going against everything my dad told me, she thought as she smiled back at Kallista.

  Glammed and glittered, Mischa and Kallista scampered through Mark Durgan’s giganto mansion to the backyard, where the party was in full swing. Tori followed behind, beyond excited, but also feeling even more guilty.

  The live band was jammin’ on the opposite side of the enormous swimming pool. There were tons of kids Tori recognized from school, tons of other kids she didn’t . . . and—

  “Parents!” Tori cried.

  There were grownups everywhere. As the three girls gaped in astonishment, one of them caught sight of Tori and gave her a wave. It was Cameron Stevenson. His wife, Elise, was next to him. And next to her . . . Romeo!

  Michael was adorable in black jeans, boots, and a nice white T-shirt. He was biting down on a breadstick. When he turned and saw Tori, he beamed and waved the breadstick at her.

  “Wow! He’s glowing like a light bulb!” Kallista said, giggling.

  Michael headed straight for the three girls. Tori’s stomach filled with butterflies and her brain filled with empty blank spaces.

  “Michael!” Kallista cried. “We didn’t know parents were invited.”

  Michael’s Pacific blue eyes gleamed as he quirked a half-grin at Tori. “I kind of figured that if I told you that you could invite your parents, they’d know about the party. And if they knew about the party, your dad wouldn’t let you come.”

  Tori nodded. Good strategy. But hearing it made her guilt double.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said. His voice was low and there was pink in his cheeks.

  “Me too,” she said as she felt her face get hot, and wondered if she was blushing, too.

  At least, ninety-eight percent of me.

  chapter TEN

  Priya made up a bogus excuse about feeling sick and got sent home at lunch.

  Her mother said, “You got out of school so you could help me, didn’t you.”

  “Hmm,” Priya answered, not wanting to lie but for sure not wanting to tell her what had happened. This close to the grand opening, it was way too much to go into.

  She spent a couple of hours helping her mom load the van up. Sam hobbled out to the curb and Priya helped him in. Then the three of them drove to Smoothie Town. Priya’s dad was coming a little later.

  Priya helped her mother set up and make some smoothie samples. Sam did what he could, given his crutches. Then they loaded a batch into small plastic sample cups on the baby blue plastic tray from home. The original plan had been for Priya and Sam to wander the mall, passing out samples, but now it would just be Priya.

  Mr. Simpson came by with a vase of red roses and a card decorated with popping champagne bottles and fireworks that said, CONGRATULATIONS! YOU DID IT!

  He and Riley had signed it. Priya stared down at Riley’s handwriting and swallowed down her sadness. Okay, lunch had been bad. But for all she knew, he didn’t really like that other girl.

  Right.

  “This is so kind of you,” Priya’s mother told Mr. Simpson. “Is Riley going to work tonight? I’d like to thank him for helping us out.”

  “Yes, he’ll be here in a bit,” Mr. Simpson said. “He enjoyed helping you. Maybe sometimes just a little too much.” He gave Priya a friendly wink.

  Priya tried to smile back, but her mouth was on strike and she gave up the effort. She took the tray and said, “I’ll pass out samples now.”

  “Thank you, honey.” Her mother took a deep breath.

  “Wish me luck, Mom,” she said.

  She walked to the entrance of the food court and called out, “Free samples from Smoothie Town! Grand opening at Smoothie Town!”

  People in coats and hats just wandered past. A little girl darted over to her, grabbed a cup, glanced up at Priya, and took another.

  She said, “These are the perfect size for my Barbies.” Then she scooted away.

  “Free samples,” Priya said.

  A middle-aged man in a thick down jacket came over and said, “Young lady, do you know where the sporting goods store is?”

  “Just down this side of the mall,” she replied. “Would you like a free sample?”

  He looked down at the little cups of colorful smoothies, then back up at her.

  He said, “No.” Then he walked away.

  Well, Priya thought. This is not going so great.

  “Free samples,” she called out weakly.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” a voice drawled. “You gotta sell it, girl!”

  Jordan!

  He was dressed in a white T-shirt, a tuxedo jacket, and a pair of jeans. He grabbed the tray from her and bellowed, “Free! Free! Free! The best smoothies in town! Totally free for the next ten minutes only! So get ’em now!”

  Two girls, a blond and a brunette, giggled as they walked up. The blond one batted her lashes at him and said, “Did you make them?”

  “Sure,” he said. “And they are excellent.” He jerked his head backwards. “Go to Smoothie Town and tell them Jordan sent you.”

  The blond sipped. “Oh, it is good,” she said.

  “Smoothie T-O-W-N,” he said. “Go now.”

  “Okay, but we’ll be back,” the blond told him.

  “Great.” Then he bellowed, “Free smoothies!”

  People started gathering around him and taking the samples. Before long the tray was empty.

  He turned to Priya. “Okay, where were we?” he said, looking a little uncertain and shy.

  “Oh, Jordan,” she said.

  And then she hugged him.

  “I’m sorry,” she said into his chest. “I really messed up. Leslie hates me and I lost Riley and everything is horrible.”

  “And don’t forget—you and I made up. Which also must stink for you,” he prompted.

  She smiled. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how glad I am that we made up. I guess I assumed that was understood.”

  They began to walk back to Smoothie Town. Jordan said, “First of all, Leslie does not hate you, but she did ask Ms. Romero to take you off the project. She is joining forces with the great Marco, and I’m sure they will be very happy together.”

  “Oh, great,” she groaned. “I’m getting a C.”

  He shook his head. “I asked Ms. Romero if you could be on my project.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “My project that she loves. And she said yes.”

  She caught her lower lip and squinted up at him. “You would do that? After I dumped you?”

  He whapped her with the tray again. “I don’t know. Maybe not. You’re pretty dense, Shah. You might not be any help at all.”

  “You really are a good friend.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry I lost faith in you.”

  “You were right to,” he said, shrugging. “I was all Brynn, Brynn, Brynn. But you know, not to start another fight—no way!—but you could have come up with a topic yourself.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. He had a good point. “You’re right. I could have.”

  “But it’s a good thing that you didn’t,” he continued, “since my idea rocks the house!”

  “What is your idea?” she asked. “What’s the project?”

  “How Things Rot,” he said proudly. “I’ve been collecting rotting things all week. You cannot believe what goes on in the cafeteria garbage bins!”

  She laughed. “That’s why you’ve been in the kitchen in a hairnet?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’ve decided to follow my childhood dream of becoming a lunch lady.”

  “Oh, Jordan,” she said fondly. “You are such a dork.”

  “No, I’m just your BFF,” he replied. “He’s the dork.”

  He pointed to Simpson’s Hot Dogs. Riley was standing behind the counter in a navy blue turtleneck sweater and a great pair of jeans. He had gotten a hair-cut
and he looked fabulous.

  And Miss Lunch Line was standing on the other side of the counter, leaning on her forearms and flirting with him. Red hair, brown eyes, gorgeous lacy top, and all.

  “C’mere,” Jordan said, grabbing Priya’s wrist. He started walking toward the hot dog counter.

  “No, J!” Priya begged, grabbing at her wrist. “Let go of me!”

  He kept walking. Riley turned his head to look at them. Priya dropped her hand away from Jordan’s wrist so she wouldn’t make a scene, but she pretty much wanted to die.

  They kept walking. Riley kept looking. Her face was blazing hot and she seriously needed to remember how to breathe.

  “Hey, Riley,” Jordan said, all cheery. “I’m here for my grease.”

  “Cool.” Riley glanced at Priya. She couldn’t read his expression. He had a different stud in his ear. He looked great in navy blue. She wanted him to like her again. She wanted things to be great between them.

  “Priya,” he said. “I went over to your mom’s stand to wish you guys good luck. You weren’t there, so I figured you were working on your project with Leslie.”

  “Ms. Shah has joined my team,” Jordan informed him. “She realized that my project is superior, and she also wanted a life.”

  Riley smiled at Priya.

  Priya’s sun came out.

  The girl in front of the counter blurted, “See? I told you it would work out!” Then she covered her mouth and laughed. “Oops!”

  Riley blinked, looking flustered as he said, “This is Marta, my . . .”

  “I’m his . . . advisor,” Marta told Priya. “On certain matters. Named Priya.”

  As Riley got even more flustered, Marta giggled and said, “I’ll go now. Jay’s waiting.” She added, “Jay’s my boyfriend.”

  Jordan said, “I’ll go get my rotting hot dogs. Priya, you are going to love congealed meat grease. It rots the house.”

  He ducked under the counter, leaving Riley and Priya as alone as two people could be in a food court on a late Friday afternoon. He smelled so good. He looked so happy.

  “Hi, again,” Riley said.

  And that was all he needed to say.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Valerie pleaded. It was getting dark and she was cold. She kept checking the time on her cell phone. Class was nearly over!

  She tried calling her dad but she got his voice-mail.

  She tried Sharin’s number and Sharin answered.

  “Valerie, I’m so sorry!” she cried. “I had a fender-bender. We’re exchanging information. I’m almost done.”

  “Okay,” Valerie murmured. Even though it wasn’t at all. It was horrible. Then she thought to ask, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll be there soon.”

  Tears of frustration filled her eyes as she flipped her phone closed. She tried the studio over and over. Still no answer!

  Then, just as Valerie was about to dissolve into a puddle of tears, Sharin screeched up beside her in her Sentra. The passenger-side front bumper was slightly dented. Valerie let out a whoop and jumped into the passenger seat.

  “Valerie! I’m so sorry! What a horrible day!”

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” Valerie said in a small voice. She tried to smile at her stepmother, but she saw the digital readout of the time on the dashboard. There were only five minutes left to class.

  “That is really sweet,” Sharin told her.

  Sharin drove fast. But as soon as they pulled up to the curb in front of Fusion Space, Valerie knew it was too late. The lights in the front office were off.

  Undaunted, Sharin marched up to the door and rang the bell. Valerie stood beside her. They waited. Valerie held her breath. But no one came to answer the door.

  Her stepmother rang it again.

  Nothing.

  Sharin tried a third time. She pounded really hard on the door and bellowed, “Hello? Ms. Manzuma?”

  And then . . . the lights came on. And the door opened.

  Manzuma stood before them with a kimono wrapped around her slender frame. She looked both surprised and pleased to see Valerie.

  “Valerie, we missed you!” she said. “What happened? LaToya said you missed your ride.”

  “I didn’t,” Valerie said in a rush. “She left without me. I tried to call . . .”

  “Come in, come in,” Manzuma said. She glanced over at the phone on Antoine’s desk.

  It was off the hook. Manzuma got a funny look on her face as she put it back on the hook, then punched a few buttons.

  “The message system has been turned off,” she said. “I don’t think that can happen by accident.”

  LaToya! Oh, she is so evil!

  Valerie said in a halting voice, “Did you . . . did you pick the dances?”

  Manzuma gazed at her with a sad expression. “Yes, I did. I picked four. And before you ask, yes, one of them was LaToya’s. She created something quite exciting. She went in an entirely different direction from simply copying your idea. Which I was glad to see, I might add. So many of the others did just that—did variations on your new style.”

  “What new style?” Sharin asked. “I thought LaToya had invented some new kind of dance that you had tried to imitate. That’s what she told me, anyway.”

  She would, Valerie thought bitterly.

  “Where is LaToya?” Sharin asked. “She knows she’s supposed to wait for me here.”

  “Well, she said she wasn’t sure if you would remember there was no beginners’ class today. It was cancelled because of the recital. She said you had an important meeting at work. So she got a ride home with Linda.”

  “She is in so much trouble,” Sharin muttered. “She never even mentioned that there was no beginners’ class today.”

  “Maybe I should have told you,” Valerie said. “I’m sorry.”

  “No,” Sharin said. “You and I . . . were having some tension. But LaToya . . .” She trailed off. “LaToya and I are going to have a talk.”

  Wow! She’s on my side! Valerie was so grateful.

  Manzuma looked at Sharin and Valerie for a moment. “Valerie, why don’t you dance one more time for me?”

  Before Valerie could answer, Manzuma turned on the hall light and led the way into the dance room. Then she moved into the darkness. There was a hiss and the smell of a lighted match, and then she lit a candle. And another. And another. The walls of the dance room flickered with light. The dance room looked even more magical to Valerie than when the regular lights were on.

  “Come and dance,” Manzuma urged Valerie.

  “I don’t have on my dance clothes,” Valerie said.

  “The clothes a dancer dances in are her dance clothes,” Manzuma replied.

  “I’d like to see your dance,” Sharin added.

  Feeling shy, Valerie shucked off her heavy outer-wear and her black boots. Then she did a few stretches while Manzuma crossed to the boom box and put in a disc.

  Valerie assumed her opening position. Then the music swelled through her, filling her, and she began to move. She swooped and fell, rose and stretched. She glided. She leaped.

  She danced.

  She forgot about LaToya. She forgot about her stepmother. She even forgot about Manzuma. All she thought about was . . .

  I am a

  woman-to-be

  a woman-to-be strong and free

  I am

  a body humming

  a heart strumming

  a spirit thrumming

  changing, growing, becoming,

  I

  I am

  I am a

  woman now

  It was over before she was really ready for it be over. She held her last position—which was the same as her first—as the music faded, then ended.

  “Oh, Valerie,” Sharin breathed. She began to applaud. Manzuma did, too.

  Then a third pair of hands joined in.

  Valerie dropped her pose and looked in the direction of the sound.

  A tall, dark woman
wearing a long black dress and silvery gray hair in a bun glided from the corner of the room toward Valerie. As she approached, she smiled and held out her arms.

  “Ah, c’est belle,” she said. “Your dance is beautiful.”

  “Valerie, this is Ashanti Utu,” Manzuma said. “She arrived a few minutes ago, after the other students had already left. You’re the first of my dancers to meet her.”

  Valerie’s lips parted. The very woman she had hoped to show her moves to! And she, Valerie, had danced for her all alone!

  “You have a gift,” Ashanti said, enfolding Valerie in her arms. She pulled back slightly and studied Valerie’s face. “Manzuma told me of your creation. Very interesting. Very lovely.” She smiled at Sharin. “You must be so proud of your daughter.”

  “Thank you. I am.” She smiled warmly at Valerie.

  “Do I see you dance again tomorrow?” Ashanti asked.

  Valerie looked at Manzuma, who smiled and nodded.

  “I’ll make room for another dance,” she said.

  “That probably won’t be necessary,” Sharin said. “I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt until I speak to her, but my guess is that LaToya will be home tomorrow while we’re here. In other words, not performing.”

  “Ah.” Manzuma looked sad. “LaToya didn’t have to resort to underhanded tricks to get a place in the recital. She should have trusted her artistic instincts. Her new dance was very strong.”

  “It is never strong to win with tricks,” Ashanti Utu said. She smiled at Valerie. “Remember that. You are a warrior of art.”

  I am a Zulu Warrior Dancer, Valerie thought giddily.

  Tori tried to have fun. She ate some pizza and danced with Michael, Kallista, and Mischa. She talked to a bunch of girls from school. But she was torn. If she was going to have to lie to her parents and sneak around to be with Michael, maybe . . . maybe she shouldn’t do it.

  “Hey,” he said, with his blue eyes and his cute gap in his teeth and his friendliness and his everything-ness. “This worked out pretty well, huh?”

  She nodded, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t tell if he noticed. He was nervous, too, but he was also very happy. Everything should have been perfect . . . but it wasn’t.