So Done

by Paula Chase

  “You never know,” Mila said, because it felt like the right thing to say. Doubt shrouded the confidence she’d felt the other day.

  Mo’s head shook vigorously. “Wait. That means they only picking thirty people for each discipline?”

  “Right,” Chrissy said. She sat back and folded her legs beneath her. Her feet pressed up against Mila’s own bare feet. The contact reassured Mila. Even with the fear growing, she found herself comforted that everyone was nervous.

  Mo’s lip stretched out as she puffed out an exaggerated breath. “That’s a lot of cutting.” She brightened. “I still feel like us knowing Mademoiselle will make a difference. She gotta hook up the La May girls.”

  She looked to Mila for reassurance.

  “If she has a vote I think she’ll fight for any La May girl,” Mila said. She didn’t really believe the other judges could be told what to do that easily. But Mo’s entire face lit up, making the lie worth it.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Mo said.

  “What you saying about what?” Tai asked, suddenly there standing between the love seat and Mo’s chair. She stayed focused on Mo, never looking Mila’s way.

  Mila played along. This was what it was going to be like.

  “Bean was saying that she think Mademoiselle would fight to get her students in the program,” Mo said confidently.

  Tai’s eyes rolled in Mila’s direction. “Hmph, maybe she’d fight for her. But if she not the one making the final decision, I don’t see what difference it’s gonna make if the other judges disagree.”

  It surprised Mila that she and Tai were on the same page. But she kept mum. Saying anything would probably just open the door for more drama. She was glad when the guys came over to fill the silence between them.

  Chris and Roland stood behind the love seat. Simp placed himself behind Tai. She immediately took a step away, squashing herself against the love seat and Roland.

  “What y’all doing?” Simp asked.

  “Getting their feelings hurt,” Tai said.

  “Really, Tai?” Mo asked, scowling. “Chill. Just a little. Please.”

  “It just got real,” Sheeda said. She threw her hands up. “I really can’t see me making it. But good luck, I guess.”

  “Y’all just realizing how competitive it is?” Chris asked. He frowned at the silence, then tapped a beat in the air as he talked. “No sense being scared now, though.”

  Roland’s face, curious when he’d walked over, was serious like he was thinking on it.

  The circle was quiet until Tai, with a shrug in her voice, declared, “That’s why I don’t know why y’all was so siced, in the first place. Everybody and their brother in the county trying out.”

  “I ain’t trying be ignorant, but ain’t like none of y’all gonna be superstars,” Simp said. He had to raise his voice over the protests and chorus of “Shut up, Simp.” “Real talk, they asking people audition. So don’t that mean they tryna pick the best?” His brown eyes wandered the circle, waiting for somebody to argue. “I’m just saying, I bet some of those girls trying out was in them pink tutu things when they was babies.”

  Roland and Chris laughed under their breath. Tai flicked an eyebrow at Roland.

  “Naw, I was laughing at him saying pink tutu things,” he explained, a smile playing on his lips.

  Tai rolled her eyes at him. Still Mila felt replaced. Tai seemed fine pretending that she wasn’t there. She forced herself to go along.

  “I don’t think nobody need wild out about it,” Chris said. He sat on the back of the love seat. Everybody was looking their way, waiting on any wisdom or hope. “They gonna pick the best, for sure. But they gonna pick some ones they can mold, too.”

  Mila felt relief fall over the group like sun rays hiding behind a cloud.

  “They did say that,” Sheeda said, nodding, eager to believe.

  Tai spoke up. “Yeah, well it didn’t seem like a lot of girls in dance gonna fall into the non-talented group.”

  Chris smiled. “I didn’t say some people ain’t have no talent.”

  Their laughter quieted when Simp barged in with, “I don’t care what y’all say. I think this stuff be rigged.”

  “Why would they go through all this if they already knew who they wanted?” Mila asked. She chided him softly, “Everybody not just out to game people, Simp.”

  There was some hurt on his face but he only shrugged.

  Mo jumped in, quick to agree. “They could have just made it an invitation-only program if they knew who they wanted. You just mad ’cause you can’t try out yet.”

  His face tightened. “Forget you, Mo. Ain’t nobody pressed ’cept you.”

  “At least I can be pressed,” Mo said.

  “Come on y’all, don’t argue,” Mila said.

  She begged Mo with her eyes, anxious to keep the peace.

  Mo had three older brothers. All but the youngest was in jail. She knew how to give as good as she got and rarely backed down. And as mild-mannered as Simp was most of the time, he could handle himself. And knowing that he might be (was?) a dough boy made Mila look at him differently now. Before, she wouldn’t have worried about him and Mo dissing each other. But now? Who knew what might set Simp off if everybody kept teasing him about not being able to do TAG?

  “I’m not pressed one bit,” Tai said, breaking the tension. It was as close to siding with Simp as she would ever get. He looked at her with open adoration. “But if I can make it and get out of art or gym a few times a week, shoot, might as well.”

  There were a few halfhearted “Yeahs” from the group. But the conversation had cooled the high they’d all been on after the first day.

  Roland put his fist out to Chris. They touched knuckles then swiped their hands quickly. “I need rehearse my solo. I check y’all later.”

  “Can you walk me home first,” Tai said, following close behind.

  Simp rolled out with them, the third wheel. Mo and Sheeda left shortly after.

  “You ready roll, too?” Chrissy asked Mila.

  Mila was happy to hear sadness in the question.

  Chris took Mo’s place in the round chairs. His arms splayed around the back of it. He turned it an inch to the left then right, swiveling softly.

  “No shade, but everybody going practice like it’s gon’ do something now,” he said. “Either you ready for this or you not.”

  His eyes fixed on Mila, like he was trying to figure out which one she was.

  She wasn’t sure herself. Simp was right. She’d only been dancing a minute. She was competing against other girls like Christol with more experience. She had only really cared about making it into TAG once auditions started. It seemed stupid to be nervous now. Except she was.

  “I don’t know if I’m one of the talented or the non-talented,” she said, meaning it. “But like Chrissy said, I’m ready to work either way. So . . .” She shrugged, as if apologizing for not having a straight answer.

  Chrissy gave Mila’s knee a congratulatory jiggle. She was grinning crazy. “Then you ready. Right Chris?”

  They watched as his chair swiveled to a beat—first to the right, then a tiny double swivel to the left before swinging back. His head nodded along and his lips moved silently until he realized they were both gaping at him.

  “Huh?” he asked.

  Chrissy rolled her eyes. “He get like that. Just start rhyming all randomly to his self.” She jiggled Mina’s knee again. “You ready. We both are. We gon’ kill the next round of auditions.”

  “I hope so,” Mila said.

  She let Chrissy rattle on. Every few minutes she stole a glance at Chris, lost in his own world, lips moving without a sound coming out. They didn’t look a thing alike, but they both had the same fire in them. It wasn’t just how focused they were on singing and dancing. She knew plenty of people in the Cove who had sang at church and planned to be a chart-topping R&B artist or who balled pretty good and was going to the NBA “one day.” Most of them were s
till in the Cove either still talking about their dream or reminiscing about it.

  Chrissy and Chris did more than talk. They were about it.

  She vowed to do the same.

  Chapter

  16

  Tai pushed her spoon deep into the bowl. The sludge of oatmeal slowly glommed over the sides as it sank. She wiggled the spoon, trying to free it, but Nona’s oatmeal was extra thick today. The spoon stayed wedged. It’s how she felt—stuck.

  It was the last audition day. Jazz and interviews. Instead of being excited she felt dizzy, like everything was moving too fast.

  Rollie was feeling her. They talked every day now. She had no doubt that before school started he’d make them exclusive. And if he didn’t, well, she was working up her nerve to bring it up.

  Her last year at Woodbury Middle and she was going in with a boyfriend. She should have been bouncing off the walls. Instead, she felt more alone than ever.

  She picked up her phone and scrolled to Bean’s number. All she had to say was sorry or something close to it and Bean would forgive her. Probably. The contact floated in front of her eyes. The icons to text or call whispered to her to choose one of them. Her finger hovered over the call button. She snatched it away. She’d just stumble and stutter through a phone call.

  She put her finger on the yellow envelope.

  Just text her she told herself.

  Then she thought about how new girl and Bean had strutted across the yard looking over the big-A rocks in the back. Their laughter had slammed into Tai’s head like a hammer. She’d forced herself into the boys’ conversation, trying to block the sound.

  She clenched her jaw thinking about how easily they had become friends, like Bean had just been waiting for somebody else to kick it with.

  Before she could change her mind, she scrolled to the little trashcan in the corner of the contact then hit yes to “Are you sure you want to delete?” until all evidence of her friendship with Jamila “Bean” Phillips evaporated. An ache grew in her throat. She swallowed hard, refusing to let a tear lump take over.

  Her appetite gone, she dumped her oatmeal into the sink and called out halfheartedly to her grandmother, “Nona, I have to go.”

  They nearly bumped into each other.

  “I’m sorry, baby girl,” Nona said. Her eyes widened. “Oh my Lord, you put your bowl in the sink without me asking you to.” She put her hand up against Tai’s forehead. “You feeling okay?”

  Tai nodded woodenly. She knew it was a joke but she couldn’t force a laugh.

  Nona frowned. “What’s wrong? Nervous?”

  Tai took the way out. “Yeah. It just seems like I’m wasting my time doing this.”

  Nona’s hand flew to her hips. “Metai Johnson. From the day you were born you’ve managed to get your way. Whether it was using those big lungs of yours to cry your way to an early bottle feeding.” She chucked Tai’s chin. “Or when you convinced Ms. White to let y’all kids have two arts and crafts sessions during camp instead of one. You’re resourceful when you want to be.” She held Tai’s chin up so they were eye to eye. “So just want to be today.”

  She kissed Tai’s forehead. It felt so good, Tai wrapped her arms around her grandmother and held on tight while Nona rubbed her head.

  “Is there something else wrong?” she asked.

  Tai shook her head yes. The tears poured from her eyes.

  “What is it?” Nona whispered.

  Tai’s voice hitched, breaking the words up in a mess of hiccups. “Me—and Bean . . . we not talking.” She squeezed her grandmother tighter. “She like . . . she like the new girl better than me. I thought we was girls but . . . but she act like she can’t stand me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case, baby,” Nona said, so gentle and wise Tai wanted to believe her. Their bodies rocked slowly as Nona tried to soothe her. “You’re so used to having Jamila to yourself, I don’t doubt it’s hard to share her. But you know what?” She waited until Tai lifted her head to look at her. “Around here, the more friends you have the better.”

  Tai buried her head back in Nona’s chest. It felt good there.

  “So is it that the new girl doesn’t like you?” Nona asked, her voice probing.

  Tai knew that voice. There was a time when she’d seen her grandmother confront neighborhood kids for picking on Tai and calling her slanty eyes. And if she didn’t get the answer she expected, she’d go at their parents. Nona wasn’t a pushover. It would have been easy to blame it all on Christol and have Nona step to the girl’s mother. Instead, she found herself telling the truth.

  “No, she’s all right. I was over her house yesterday.”

  “Well, see,” Nona said cheerfully. Her hands rubbed Tai’s hair, stroking the short side. “You just have to find a way to be friends with both of them. I’m sure Jamila doesn’t mind sharing you. You just have to share her.”

  “If I don’t make it into TAG and they both do, it won’t matter anyway,” Tai said. Her tears burned off. Some of the original anger simmered under her words.

  “Why’s that?” Nona asked.

  Tai shrugged. “They’ll have classes together and stuff.”

  “Well how ’bout you deal with one problem at a time,” Nona said. She gently pried Tai away from her, holding her by the shoulders. “Do your best today at the audition and then give the new friendship a chance.”

  She saw in Nona’s eyes that in her mind this was already fixed. She let her believe it.

  “Okay,” Tai said. She swiped at her eyes, her mind wandering to where her sunglasses were. All she needed was for everyone to know she’d been crying.

  “I have a surprise for you in the living room.” Nona pecked her on the cheek. “Break a leg today. You got this.”

  Tai repeated those words to herself as she put on the gift from Nona—the strappy black leotard with the lace in back, the one she’d wanted since last year—and the entire way there and as she sat in the hallway next to three other girls, waiting to be called in for her interview.

  You got this.

  You got this.

  You have to have this!

  Chapter

  17

  The Players Cultural Arts Center was a lot like the city it called home, bigger than it seemed and more sophisticated than it had any right to be. The maze of music and dance rooms and studios gave the place a sense of organized chaos.

  Mila hadn’t known how huge the center was until she realized she was lost. She slowed her steps and mentally went over the directions again. Leave the auditorium, take a right, hit the second bay of stairs, and go up one flight. Or was she supposed to hit the first bay of stairs and go up two flights?

  People glided by. Everyone seemed to know where they were going except her.

  She had hoped the dancers would be kept together. There was some comfort in being among the large group even if they were competing with each other. To make it worse, she wasn’t with any of her friends. Mo’s interview was downstairs. Chrissy’s was on something called the mezzanine. Sheeda got to stay in the auditorium and Tai . . . she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to think about Tai today. This was her last chance to make good on her promise to focus on dance. Not just say it. Really be focused.

  The halls brimmed with students. It was hard to tell which was a music room versus a dance room unless you pushed your face up to the long, narrow glass that allowed you only a peek. Worse, the rooms had only a small number beside them in a white glossy plastic that blended into the light oak of the door.

  She was looking for Room 234.

  It hit her. Second floor. She was at least on the right floor.

  Get it together, she told herself. Scared of looking as lost as she felt, she glanced at the number of the door next to her, catching it right as she passed by.

  260. She’d gone too far.

  She stooped down, pretending to need something out of her bag, rummaged through it for a few seconds, got up, and reversed directions. She peered a
t the number on the door to make sure she’d gotten it right this time. There were two other girls sitting on the floor outside.

  “Looking for two thirty-four?” one girl asked.

  Mila felt like hugging her. She nodded then spoke, “Yes,” to help herself breathe normal.

  The girl patted the floor beside her. “This is it.”

  Mila’s unsteady legs easily led her down to the floor.

  “I’m Jenna.” Her eyes took Mila in. “I like your leo.”

  The one thing Mila liked about jazz was being able to wear any color leotard she wanted. She only had three colored ones. She’d picked her favorite, light blue with crisscross straps and lace in the front.

  “Jamila,” Mila said, glad to stretch her legs out. She prayed they’d steady before she had to dance. “Thanks. Yours is cute, too.”

  “I’m Lourdes,” said the other girl, a ginger with fake eyelashes.

  “So this is it,” Jenna said. Her eyes were large behind a pair of glasses. They blinked at Mila and Lourdes expectantly. Mila was too nervous to carry on a full conversation. But one of her fears had been that the other dancers would be snobby. Thank God they weren’t. Her nerves couldn’t take it.

  “Yeah. I’ll be glad when it’s over,” she said.

  “I heard that the interview counts for more than the dance audition,” Lourdes said, her lashes batting furiously as she looked from Mila to Jenna.

  It seemed everybody was desperately pulling pieces together, trying to understand what they’d gotten themselves into. Mila was glad she wasn’t the only one. She added what little she knew to the conversation.

  “I keep hearing that passion and heart mean a lot to the judges.” She exhaled deeply, then smiled as confidently as she could. “We just have to go full out.”

  Jenna giggled. “You sound like my dance teacher.”

  “It’s ’cause they’re all the same,” Lourdes said, grinning.

  The door opened a peep. An older gentleman, tall and thin, peeked his head out. His eyes instinctively looked at the wall across from the door. For a second he frowned, perplexed, then realized the girls were beside the door on the floor. “Oh, ladies. Very good.” He looked down at the chart in his hand. “I need Jamila Phillips.”