“Just Devane,” Devane corrected.
Emerson still didn’t get what had gone wrong between them today. They’d been talking, everything had been okay, then suddenly, brrr.
“Just Devane,” Gina repeated, her wild, curly brown hair bobbing around her face. “Then we have Adam and Allan Whitley.”
“We’re twins,” they said together.
“And those are the newcomers. Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Gina said. “Your teammates are ill papi, Fridge, M.J., Max, Chloe, Becca, and Rachel.”
Emerson tried to memorize the names of the people she didn’t know. Fridge, that was easy. Big, square fridge body. And kind of a smaller square mini-fridge head. Max was the littlest one in the group. Becca was the one with the amazing red hair. Rachel had on the Death to Pixies tee. Adam and Allan were the twins. She’d have to figure out a way to tell them apart.
“Let me do a quick rundown of the group rules,” Gina continued. “It will be a good review for everybody. The rules are also in the handouts I’ll be giving you at the end of class. I’ll need you to have your parents sign off on them and get them back to me.”
Gulp. Well, Emerson would have to forge the signatures. She wasn’t going to turn back now. She couldn’t. This was where she belonged.
“First, when I walk through that door, I expect you all to be in this room and ready to work.” Emerson noticed that Gina shot a look at Sophie when she said this.
“You need to dress appropriately for my class. That means athletic shoes with rubber soles. No leotards or other revealing clothing. No clothing with offensive language. No clothing promoting alcohol or any illegal substances.”
As if Emerson owned any inappropriate clothing. Not with her mother.
“No food or soda in the classroom. But please, please bring in water. Plastic bottles only. And finally—this is the most important rule, so listen up—I expect teamwork. Listen to that word. Teamwork. ’Team’ and ‘work.’ Both are important. We are a Performance Group, not a bunch of individuals sharing a stage. That’s the team part. And the work . . . well, after today’s class, you’ll all know where the work part of teamwork comes in.”
Gina grinned, but Emerson could tell she was serious, too. Gina definitely wasn’t as casual as Randall, the basic class instructor. “Teamwork’s going to be especially important next month,” she concluded, then started toward the sound system. Gina looked back over her shoulder. “Isn’t anyone going to ask me what’s happening next month?”
“What’s happening next month?” Chloe hollered back.
“Thanks for asking, Chloe.” Gina turned all the way around. “Our group—our team—is going to be performing at . . . Disney World!”
The smallest girl started doing the robot across the room.
“I know it’s exciting, Max. But down, girl,” Gina ordered, and Max immediately stopped. Yes, Gina was tough, Emerson decided. You could tell by the way the class responded to her.
“Disney World! Woo-hoo!” Sophie cried.
Disney World, Emerson thought. How am I going to convince my parents to let me go to Disney World—when I can’t tell them why?
“Enough talk. Let’s get to work.” Gina started up the music.
If that’s my competition, forget about it, Devane thought, looking at Sophie as Gina led the class through a warm-up. It’s not that the girl couldn’t move. Devane had seen her stuff the day Maddy was making her picks, and Sophie’s stuff was good. Not Devane good. But good.
Her attitude, though—it wasn’t the attitude of someone who wanted to make it. Fooling around like that before class. What kind of mess was that? Her head was not in the game.
Whateva. Less competition was good. Yeah, the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group was supposed to be a team and all. But they called solos solos for a reason. And solos were what Devane needed to get noticed. She’d seen the Hip Hop Kidz perform as many times as she could get there, and it was the kids with the solos you remembered.
Gina turned off the music. “Okay, let’s start working on our routine for the Mouse. Can I get an oh, yeah!”
“Oh, yeah!” everyone yelled, Devane just as loud as the loudest.
“All right.” Gina backed up and studied the group. “Ill papi, I want you up here on the right. Ky, you up here on the left. Chloe and M.J., middle center. And actually, Emerson, let’s put you on the other side of M.J.”
Devane’s stomach started pumping out sour juice as she waited to hear her name. The front row and the center row were filling up. Finally Gina looked over in her direction. “Devane, you’re just about perfect where you are. Just move one foot to the left.”
One foot to the left. That put her in the left-hand corner of the back row. She might as well be performing in the studio when everyone else was at Disney World. No one was going to see her anyway.
You’re in charge. You’re the one who makes things happen, Devane told herself. You’re on schedule this far. You’re in the Performance Group. You’ll find a way to work it.
Gina studied the group, moved a few people around. “Looks good. All right, we’re going to start out in a wide-leg squat. Then we look left. Back to center. And shoulder rolls.” Gina slowly did the moves as she called them out. Once she’d walked them through a short sequence a few times, she put on a Kanye West track.
“And five, six, seven, eight,” Gina counted out. “Look left. Back. Monkey arms. Monkey arms. Slide right. Cross back. Devane, no shoulder pop on the cross. Max, the cross starts with the right foot. Right arm up, right arm out. Left arm up, left arm out. Now get ready for the flare. And drop. And swing. Devane! Legs apart. Not crossed.”
Devane nodded, trying to keep her expression calm. But the cross-legged flare—that was one of her perfection moves. And the shoulder pop on that cross—it made the whole move stand out. Was Devane supposed to hold herself back just because the rest of the group couldn’t keep up?
It’s not my fault they don’t have my skills, Devane thought. I’m not going to dumb myself down. I’m not going to be wallpaper.
Because being wallpaper is not part of the three-year plan.
CHAPTER 5
“I never would have imagined your sister dancing in front of an audience. And now that teacher of hers said on the phone she’ll be performing at schools and malls and all over the place.”
“It’s not as if Sophie’s exactly shy, Dad,” Sammi told her father as he pulled the cab up in front of the Hip Hop Kidz dance studio. “She pretty much always says what she thinks. And she likes to joke around and everything.”
Her father smiled. “True. For a while, when she was little, she wouldn’t even let me get through the door without hearing a joke. ‘Dad, what’s the sound of someone laughing their head off?’ ‘Dad, why is six afraid of seven?’”
“I think it’s so cool she’s into hip-hop. She can be a star at school dances. And like you’re always saying, it’s good exercise, and—” Sammi’s mouth dropped open a little. And it’s obviously a great way to meet hotties, she silently added as she spotted her sister coming out the door with one of the—if not the—best-looking guys Sammi had ever seen. He had longish, dark brown hair and a great smile that turned on a dimple in one cheek. Sweet.
Sammi opened the door of the cab so Sophie could climb in. She had to get the scoop on the cutie. “So how was your first class? Did you make any new friends?” she asked, laying on the word friends so Sammi would know she’d seen her with the boy and spill.
“I got to class almost exactly when it started, so I didn’t have much time to talk to people,” Sophie answered. She slammed the door, and their dad pulled out onto the street. “But Emerson and Ky, these kids from my other class, got in the group, too, so that will make it extra fun. And guess what? You won’t ever guess, but guess anyway.”
“Ha, ha, ha, plop,” their dad said.
“What?” Sammi and Sophie asked together.
“The sound of someone laughing their head off. Remember that one, Sophie?” their fa
ther asked.
“Yeah. That was a good one, Dad,” Sophie told him. “But you’re supposed to be trying to guess my news.”
“Who was that you were walking out with? Is he in the Performance Group?” Sammi asked, because obviously she had to be more direct. Sophie hadn’t picked up on the “friends” question.
“His name’s ill papi. And yep, he’s in the group. So, guesses? I’m waiting to hear guesses,” Sophie prodded.
“His name can’t be ill papi. Ill papi isn’t a name,” her dad said.
“Okay, forget it. I’m telling. The group gets to perform at Disney World next month! Disney. World. How out in the cosmos is that?” Sophie gave a little bounce in her seat.
“That’s great! Are we invited?” their father asked.
“Yeah, do we get to go?” Sammi asked, a picture of her and ill papi watching the fireworks together popping into her head, even though she’d never even said hi to the guy.
“I don’t know yet,” Sophie told them. “But we started working on the number we’re going to do. Gina, the teacher, came up with some slammin’ choreography.”
“Are people in the group from schools all over the place? Like that guy ill papi—what school does he go to?” Sammi asked.
“I don’t know. We didn’t get into it.” She turned and looked at Sammi for a long moment.
“What?” Sammi asked.
Sophie shrugged. “Nothing.”
Sammi gave her little sister’s arm a squeeze. “So what were you guys talking about, then? You definitely made him laugh somehow, Soph.”
Sophie shrugged again. “Who knows? I’m always making people laugh, right? I just open my mouth, and it’s ha, ha, ha, plop.”
Their father laughed.
“See?” Sophie said.
“It’s true. Everyone thinks you’re funny,” Sammi agreed.
“Funny, and now a Hip Hop Kid.” Sophie pulled her gym bag tighter against her body.
“Yeah, Dad and I were just saying how great that is before you got in the car. And that was before we even knew about the Disney Word thing,” Sammi said. Or about the fact that you’re hangin’ with a guy I’d kill to get close to, she thought.
Sophie tossed her gym bag on her bed. Disney World! She was going to perform at Disney World! “Hey, Sammi, can I borrow your Kanye West CD?” she called. She couldn’t wait to try out the moves from class again.
“Yeah, come on in. It’s on my dresser . . . someplace,” Sammi answered from her bedroom across the hall.
“Thanks,” Sophie said as she rushed into her sister’s room and over to the dresser. She started rooting around, trying not to look at the cheerleading awards, and honor student certificates, and choir programs, and, and, and tucked into the frame around Sammi’s mirror. She hated feeling jealous of Sammi. It made her feel like a big ol’ troll. But sometimes when she looked at that mirror, she did.
“Here it is.” Sophie pulled a CD free from the pile on the dresser. “We’re using one of the tracks for our number, and I want to practice.” She grinned. “Actually, I love the moves so much I just can’t wait to do them again.”
“So does ill papi dig Kanye?” Sammi asked.
Ill papi. Again.
“Here’s what I know about ill papi,” Sophie said. “His name is ill papi. He’s in the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group. And, um, his name is ill papi.” She flipped the plastic CD case open and shut a few times. “Why do you want to know?”
The question came out with an edge. Yikes. Sophie quickly tried to cover. “You can’t want to know because he’s so incredibly smokin’ hot, can you? You’re not that shallow, are you?” she teased, tickling Sammi under the ribs on the right side, the place that always made her go into giggle spasms, no matter how mad she was. And she wasn’t even mad this time. “Admit it,” Sophie insisted as tears started running down her sister’s face. “You must admit it.”
“I admit it. I want to know because he’s cute. I’m that shallow,” Sammi answered breathlessly.
“You and every girl at the studio,” Sophie said, stopping the tickle torture. “But I’ve told you all I know. Really.” She started for the door. “Thanks for the CD,” she said over her shoulder.
“Can I watch you practice?” Sammi asked.
Sophie tried to remember if Sammi had ever asked her something like that before. Sophie had always wanted to watch Sammi do stuff in that little-sister way. She’d wanted to watch Sammi get ready for cheerleading tryouts. Or put on makeup. Or just sing scales. But Sammi had never wanted to see Sophie do anything.
Anything like what? Sophie thought. Did you expect her to sit next to you and watch you play Xbox? Xbox had been pretty much Sophie’s only extracurricular activity before Hip Hop Kidz.
“Sure. Let’s go in the living room. There’s more space,” she told Sammi.
“I’ll bring my CD player,” Sammi said.
Sophie shoved the coffee table to one side, and Sammi got the CD player plugged in and the CD in place. “Anything else you need?”
“Nope. Just hit track three,” Sophie told her. A second later the music began to thump into the room, into her body. Look left, back, monkey arms, monkey arms, she silently coached herself as she started the section of the routine they’d learned that day.
Sammi gave up some hand-bruising applause when Sophie finished. “You could be in a Black Eyed Peas video. You rock, Soph!”
“I could teach you some steps if you want,” Sophie told her. How wild would that be? Her teaching Sammi something?
“I’ve got an even better idea,” Sammi said, her dark eyes all glittery. “Can you sign up for classes at Hip Hop Kidz anytime? Or are there sessions that you have to wait and sign up for?”
Sophie felt like she’d just chugged a gallon of cold water. Her body felt chilled from the inside out. “Anytime, I think,” she answered, trying to sound casual.
“I’m gonna ask Mom and Dad if I can take some classes there!” Sammi exclaimed. “My cheerleading camp is almost over. And some hip-hop moves would be great to work into some of the cheerleading routines I’ll have to come up with when school starts, don’t you think?”
No! Sophie wanted to shout. No, mhai, nein, nope. No way, Jose, even.
But that would not be . . . nice. And their mother wasn’t the only one who thought niceness was important.
“Yeah, hip-hop is great in cheerleading. Some of the squads you were competing against last year used some locking and popping, even some breaking, and got woohoos from the crowd,” Sophie said.
“I’m gonna go ask Dad if I can sign up for classes right away. I’m sure he’ll say yes.” Sammi trotted out of the room.
Sophie thought their father would say yes, too. But she wished he wouldn’t.
For Sammi, Hip Hop Kidz was just one more thing. For Sophie, it was everything.
Was it so un-nice to want it all to herself?
“Eee-ooo! Eee-ooo! Eee-ooo!” Tamal shook Devane by the shoulders. “Look out. It’s the fashion police. They’re coming for you.”
“Tamal! You made me cut this wrong! Go sit as far away from me as possible,” Devane ordered, dropping the scissors.
“I’ll get the tape measure,” he answered. “I think the farthest away from you right now might be your bed, and you don’t let me in your half of our room.”
“Just go watch TV,” she told him.
“You go watch TV. Go watch one of those shows where they tell you what to wear.”
Devane sucked in a deep breath. It had been a hell day. She’d thought a couple of coats of her Cha-Ching Cherry, the polish she usually saved for extreme special occasions, would cheer her up. But even with her nails the fabulous deep pink, she still felt as low as she had when she left class this afternoon. Gina had pulled her aside right before she got to the door and reminded her that the Performance Group was all about teamwork, and when Devane tried to draw attention to herself by changing the choreography, she wasn’t being a team player.
That’s why you came up with the plan, Devane reminded herself. There was more than one way to get Gina to pay attention to Devane—and for Devane to get herself moved to the front row for the Disney World show. At the next class, Devane was going to have herself one bangin’ outfit. Everyone would be looking at her. And when Gina was looking at her, she’d see that Devane was the best dancer in the room, even if Devane wasn’t allowed to do her perfections like the cross-legged flare.
Best dancers got the front row. Her plan was a lock. By the end of the next class, it was front-row city for Devane. So there was no reason for her to still be feeling in the basement.
“I know ugly when I see it,” Tamal said.
Yeah, every time you look in a mirror, she wanted to tell him. But her plan didn’t involve getting into a battle with her brother. “Look! Tamal! It’s almost time for The Simpsons,” she cried with mock excitement.
And he was gone. Problem solved.
Devane picked the scissors back up and started to cut. Her back-row problem was going to be solved just as easily. Uh-huh.
Everybody stared at Devane as she strolled into dance class two days later. Good. Being looked at was step one of today’s plan. Slowly she walked to her spot in the back-left corner. Very slowly. So everyone could get a real good look.
Miss Emerson’s blue eyes seemed like they were about to land on the floor. They’d have Ky and ill papi’s eyes for company. Devane smiled at the image of all those eyeballs rolling around.
“Devane, what are you wearing?” Gina exclaimed.
Whoa. She hadn’t expected Gina to say anything about the outfit in front of the whole group.
“I made it myself,” Devane answered, running her hands down the tight, deep orange top. She didn’t think she needed to add that she’d started with an old dress of her mama’s. “It’s a good color for me, don’t you think?”
The shirt had a mandarin collar and short sleeves. But the real oh-yeah of it was piece she’d cut out between the neck and the top of her chest. It didn’t show cleavage or anything. That wasn’t the kind of attention she was going for. But the neat triangle—well, a triangle with the pointy top cut off—of skin contrasting with the orange material was poppin’.
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