The Secret Talent

by Jo Whittemore

  “Could we get to what’s important?” asked V. “Ryan, you walk like you’re carrying a sack of potatoes.” She imitated his lumbering movements. “Let’s work on your stride.” She walked to the opposite end of the room, far from the hallway entrance. Even better. “Keep your eyes on me, shoulders back.”

  Vanessa had Ryan strut in front of her while she adjusted his spine, his shoulders, and even the way he swung his arms.

  After a couple minutes, in which he definitely looked better, Ryan stopped and frowned. “Brooke’s been gone for a while.”

  “She did drink two glasses of juice,” I pointed out.

  “These are really good cookies,” Vanessa added, holding one up. “What’s the recipe?”

  Ryan shook his head and walked toward the hallway bathroom. Where Brooke definitely wouldn’t be.

  “Do something,” I whispered to Vanessa.

  She nodded and called to Ryan, “Shoulders back!”

  I stared at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t ignore form that bad!” V told me.

  From where we stood, I could hear Ryan open the bathroom door and mutter to himself. Then he passed the living room entrance, and I heard his feet hit the stairs.

  I exchanged a panicked look with Vanessa.

  “Brooke!” we both whispered.

  Vanessa raced after Ryan, and I raced to the kitchen window, where Heather was already frantically texting. Then she produced a bike horn and honked it twice.

  Not part of the original plan.

  I couldn’t stop to yell at her, though. Taking the steps two at a time, I found Vanessa waiting outside the door to Ryan’s room while Ryan stood by his desk, frowning.

  “Was that a bike horn?” he asked me.

  I shook my head. “I farted. What are you doing in here?”

  With a disgusted look, Ryan pointed to his computer. “I thought Brooke might be in here, messing with my stuff, but—”

  There was the sound of a door opening down the hall and a toilet flushing as Brooke walked over to us. “What’s going on?”

  “What are you doing up here?” Ryan demanded.

  “There wasn’t any toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom, so I thought I’d use this one,” she said. “Is that your bedroom?” She craned her neck to see, and that was when I spotted a massive cobweb in her hair.

  Luckily, Ryan was too busy barring his doorway to notice.

  “Of course it is, silly!” I reached up and tousled Brooke’s hair while pulling at the cobweb.

  “Dude!” Brooke gave me an annoyed look and smoothed it back down.

  “So did you get the . . . uh . . . toilet paper you were looking for?” I asked.

  “Yep!” She beamed a little too proudly for someone who’d simply gone to the bathroom.

  “Good,” said Vanessa. “And while we’re here, Ryan, I want to see your best shirts.”

  He nodded and took a couple steps into his room. “Wait right there. All of you,” he said, not taking his eyes off Brooke as he sidled over to his closet.

  My phone vibrated with a new text message.

  “While you guys do that, Brooke, ask Ryan a little about himself,” I said, taking my phone out of my pocket. The message was from Heather.

  Everything okay?

  Yes, I responded while Brooke asked, “So, Ryan, I noticed there aren’t any family pictures on the walls. What’s up with your parents?”

  Ryan stopped midreach for a shirt and frowned. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Ooh, touchy subject. Gotcha,” she said. Then after a second: “Are they alive or dead?”

  “Brooke!” said V.

  “No, it’s fine,” said Ryan, sitting on his desk chair. “My parents were killed one night while leaving an opera. They walked down some dark alley, and a guy was waiting for them. My parents offered to give him all their money, but he wanted their lives.”

  Brooke pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s horrible!”

  I snorted. “It’s also the plot of Batman.”

  Brooke narrowed her eyes. “Hey.”

  Ryan smiled. “Yeah, it is. The truth is . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know what happened to them. My aunt Sue’s been caring for me for as long as I can remember.” He made a face. “Well, not caring. More like . . . making sure I don’t die.”

  For a brief moment Ryan almost seemed like a decent person. But then he followed it up with “She’s more like my maid, I guess.”

  I rolled my eyes, and Brooke said, “There’s the real Ryan.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown.

  “Nothing.” She checked her watch. “This has been a great chat, but I should probably leave. V, you coming?”

  Vanessa looked up from the shirts she was sorting through. “Huh? Yeah, just give me a second.”

  “I should probably go too,” I said. “Dance practice.”

  I’d actually already missed dance practice, but I didn’t want to hang out at Ryan’s house without my friends there.

  Brooke started down the stairs, and I nudged Vanessa’s arm. “Let’s go, V.”

  She nodded and handed two shirts to Ryan. “Wear this one if you can get the stain out.” She wiggled the hanger. “Or this one if you can find the button and get your aunt to sew it back on.”

  Ryan took them from her. “I’ll have someone take care of it,” he said, eyes darting to me.

  Oh, I definitely didn’t feel sorry for this kid.

  “Well, gotta go!” I said by way of answer. I grabbed V’s arm and tugged her toward the stairs.

  Ryan walked us to his front door, and my friends and I strolled down the street without another word. The second we rounded the corner, though, I turned to Brooke.

  “Did you really find something?”

  “Of course!” She held up her phone.

  “We want to see too!” Heather said, running over with Abel.

  “What’s up?” I grinned and gave him a fist bump.

  “Had to see how my plan played out,” he said.

  “There were a few hiccups,” I said. “And a horn . . .” I looked to Heather, who pointed at Brooke.

  “Her idea! In case she didn’t feel her phone vibrate from my text,” said Heather.

  Brooke waved a dismissive hand. “None of that matters. Check out all these juicy pictures I found!”

  The five of us crowded around.

  The first image was of Toddler Ryan sitting in the toilet.

  “Eww!” squealed Heather. All of us giggled.

  The next image was again of Toddler Ryan, but this time he was wearing lipstick and chewing on it at the same time. After that was one of him about to kiss a girl who was screaming and trying to escape.

  Brooke flipped through several more photos of Ryan through the years in different ridiculous situations, even a picture where he was clearly trying to be cool while wearing a fake mustache and leather jacket.

  “Where did you get all these?” I asked between fits of laughter.

  “They were in his aunt’s bedroom,” she said. “She had a whole box of photos labeled ‘Precious Memories.’ So I was thinking,” said Brooke, “that we take these precious memories and make a slideshow with silly music of our own. We can send it to Ryan and let him know two can play his game.” She smiled triumphantly.

  “Mission accomplished!” said Abel, high-fiving her.

  “Man, I hope he calls our bluff,” said Brooke, zooming in on one of the photos. “I’d love to embarrass him.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a smile.

  But for some reason, I didn’t really share her enthusiasm.

  Later that afternoon I lay on my bed, staring at my phone. Brooke had texted me the pictures of Ryan, but I hadn’t done anything with them, even though I knew exactly which song I’d set them to (“Bibbidy Bobbidi Boo”).

  I could hear noise from downstairs as Gabby came back from folk dance practice, and a min
ute later, she was thundering up to the second floor.

  “You’re here!” she said, bouncing onto the bed beside me. “Everybody missed you at practice.”

  “Really? How was it?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was great,” she said. “My invisible dance partner has the best form.” She gave me a pointed look, and I winced.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I had to take care of something important. Is Uncle Theo mad?”

  “That you’ve missed almost every practice the last couple weeks?” She smirked. “What do you think?”

  I sat up. “I should talk to him.”

  Gabby shook her head. “He already took off. Something about a meeting with the show choreographer. How was . . . whatever you were up to?”

  “Good,” I said, nodding over and over.

  “Then what’s with the frown?” She poked the corner of my mouth with her finger, and I squirmed away.

  “Things just aren’t turning out like I’d hoped,” I said.

  “Gee, can you make that any vaguer?” she asked.

  I sighed. “Ryan’s the one who took the video of me and shared it with the school.” I paused for an explosive reaction, but all Gabby did was nod.

  “Yeah, I already pieced that together myself.”

  “And you’re not going on a murderous rampage?” I marveled.

  “Nah. He was nice enough to blur your face out of the video,” she said.

  “Because he’s blackmailing me with the unblurred version.”

  Gabby sat up straight, eyes narrowing. “That I did not know. What’s this jerk’s address?”

  I smirked. “Two days ago you were gushing about how cute he was.”

  “He can be both,” she informed me, hopping off the bed. “Now how are we going to take this cute jerk down?”

  I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Don’t bother. I already have what I need to get revenge.”

  “And you seem thrilled about it,” she noted with a wry smile. “So what’s the problem?”

  “Now that I have a chance,” I said, shaking my head, “I can’t go through with it.”

  Gabby pursed her lips and nodded. “Because it’s not you. You might be a liar and a loud eater and a huge flirt and . . . a great brother,” she finished after a glare from me. “But you’re not out to hurt anyone, even if they deserve it.”

  “But if I don’t beat Ryan at his own game, he’ll always win.” I punched a pillow with my fist.

  “Not if you don’t play his game,” she said, sitting back down.

  I propped myself on an elbow. “It’s not that easy. I can’t quit this, just like I can’t quit folk dancing. The consequences are too disastrous. I’m trying to make friends with the guys, and if they find out the truth . . .”

  “Well, you can’t keep letting Ryan blackmail you.”

  “I know.”

  “Then you have to have your revenge,” Gabby reasoned.

  “But I can’t!” I said.

  Gabby gave an exasperated sigh. “Tim, it’s a mess all around, but unless you have a third option, you either have to get out or get even.”

  It wasn’t the advice I wanted to hear, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I spent Sunday weighing my options and trying to think of other ones, but they all required bribing Ryan in some way.

  On Monday morning my friends pounced as soon as I walked into the student lounge.

  “I’m so excited!” Brooke gushed. “Please, please, please let me be there when you tell Ryan.”

  “Or did you already do it?” asked Vanessa.

  Heather studied my face. “If Tim did, I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

  “No.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Guys, I appreciate all the hard work you put into this, but . . . I can’t go through with it.” I turned to Abel, who was standing next to Brooke. “Sorry. It was a good idea.”

  “It’s cool,” he said.

  The girls were not as okay with it.

  “What?!” all three of them cried.

  “He tried to destroy you!” said Brooke.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t stoop to his level.”

  “Well, I can,” Brooke said with a deep scowl. “If you won’t blackmail Ryan into silence, then I will.”

  I glanced at Abel, who reached over and snatched Brooke’s phone away.

  “Abel! Give it!” She jumped up and down, trying to wrest it from him while he went through each image and deleted it. When he was done, he handed Brooke her phone.

  “Sorry, but that was for your own good,” he said. “‘If once you start down the dark path—’”

  “Don’t quote Star Wars at me,” she said with a pout, searching through her photos.

  “It’s The Empire Strikes Back, actually,” he said. “And I permanently deleted those pics so there’s no point in looking.”

  Instead of raging at him, Brooke shook her phone at me. “Dang it, Tim! We had him!”

  Heather grabbed her arm. “No, Tim’s right. Revenge was a bad idea. It’s better to take the high road.”

  I gave her a grateful smile and tried to remember her words when Ryan caught up with me later and handed me both of the shirts that Vanessa had handed him on Saturday.

  “I think you know what to do,” he said with a wink.

  I sighed and twirled the shirts on their hangers. If I knew what to do, I sure wouldn’t be holding his laundry.

  That afternoon, when Uncle Theo picked me and Gabby up for practice, he greeted us with a soft smile and a mild, “Hello, you two. How was school?”

  Gabby and I exchanged a look. Was my sadness spreading?

  “Uh . . . fine,” I said. “Are you okay, Uncle Theo?”

  “Or are you mad at Tim for missing practices?” added Gabby.

  I elbowed her.

  “What, like nobody was thinking that?” she asked.

  “Actually,” said Uncle Theo, “this does concern Tim missing practices.”

  “I know I’m behind,” I said, “but when we get to the studio, I’ll pick up right where we left off.”

  Uncle Theo sighed. “You won’t be going to the studio, Timotheos. I’m dropping you off at home.”

  “What?” I leaned forward in my seat. “Why?”

  He was quiet for a moment, but I could see his lips moving, as if he was trying to find the right way to answer.

  “The choreographer is kicking you out of the holiday show.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  All or Nothing

  “What?” cried Gabby.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I asked with a nervous grin. “This is a joke.”

  Uncle Theo shook his head. “Mr. Humphries never jokes when it comes to dance.”

  “So I don’t get to perform at the museum?” I could hear my voice coming out as a whine, but couldn’t stop it. “Why not?”

  “He said you’re not up to grade-A performance standards, and . . . I have to agree with him.” Uncle Theo gave me a pained look. “Right now, you’re barely a C level.”

  “But . . . I’m really good! People at the dance studio told me!” I pointed at him. “You’ve told me!”

  Uncle Theo pulled into traffic. “You are a great dancer, Timotheos. But you don’t know all the moves, and you missed practices. Mr. Humphries wants to give the Museum of Science and Industry our very best.”

  “I can do that!” I jabbed myself in the chest. “I know I had a bunch of stuff going on that got in the way, but I’m committed now. Please let me do this!”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not up to me.” Uncle Theo glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression close to disbelief. “And I had no idea this meant so much to you.”

  I fell back against my seat, silent.

  To be honest, I hadn’t known it meant so much either. But now that it was being taken from me, I realized that I wanted to dance the sirtaki and the hasapiko and the kalamatiano. I wanted to kick and twirl and have everyone watch and
clap along. I wanted to be a Greek folk dancer.

  I stretched forward with renewed purpose and grabbed Uncle Theo’s shoulder. “Please, let me talk to Mr. Humphries and try to convince him. If I practice really hard, like, every free hour, I can make this work. I was wrong to goof off so much, but I really do want this.”

  “I can train him at home, too!” piped up Gabby.

  We reached the intersection where the dance building and our neighborhood went in opposite directions. Uncle Theo pulled to the side of the road and twisted in his seat to look back at me.

  “It’s less than a week until the performance. You will have to work very hard. I can plead your case, but you can’t let me down.”

  I nodded emphatically. “I promise.”

  Uncle Theo regarded me solemnly and then faced forward, put the car into gear, and drove toward the studio. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the window.

  Once we reached the studio, Uncle Theo filled the other dancers in on what was happening. They seemed as shocked as I was and agreed to train me as fast as they could. Their overwhelming support might have actually choked me up if one of the men hadn’t immediately pointed to the dance floor and demanded a hasapiko.

  “Uh . . . sure,” I said, very aware that all eyes were on me. “Could I get some music, though?”

  Someone turned on the stereo, and I held my arms out by my sides, slowly doing a step-hop onto my left foot before raising my right leg and stepping back with it. Then I raised my left leg before stepping back into a cross kick. The other dancers clapped while I moved, and Gabby put an arm across one of my shoulders, falling into step beside me. We smiled at each other as the tempo picked up and we started to dance faster. Soon, a woman had joined me on the other side and then a man stepped in next to her. By the end of the song, everyone was dancing and smiling, and this time when Uncle Theo smiled at me, I understood.

  Our dancing wasn’t just silly leg kicks and skirts. It was tradition and family and friends, celebrating our heritage together.

  “Excuse me,” Uncle Theo told the rest of the dancers. “I have to make a phone call.” He winked at me and stepped out of the studio.