Bust a Move Page 3

  Like Gina was going to notice anyone but ill papi.

  Pathetic. Devane shouldn’t be trying to get attention for warming up. Devane was the best dancer in the room. Best girl dancer, anyway. She shouldn’t be trying to get attention at all. No one—including Gina—should be able to look away from Devane when she got krumpin’. She moved that fast. And she had a wall flip that was smokin’.

  Not that anyone knew that. She’d never taken it out of the wrapper in class. Why? Because when you were a Hip Hop Kid, you had to follow Gina’s choreography. Bustin’ out her own moves during a performance was why Devane was on probation right now.

  But Devane could follow ill papi’s example. She could pull out her wall flip right now, before class. She pushed herself to her feet.

  “Okay, let’s start it up,” Gina called as she walked into the class followed by the rest of the kids.

  Too late.

  Gina hit a button on the CD player, and the beats and rhymes of Buckshot & 9th Wonder filled the room. “Top rock. Nice and easy. Just warming up,” Gina instructed. She got right down to work. And when Gina’s dancers were working, no one was talking. That was one of G’s rules. So even if Fridge wanted to ask her about the regionals—now was absolutely not the time.

  The top rock was like breathing to Devane. But just because the footwork was basic didn’t mean it couldn’t have style—and that’s what Devane gave it. She kept her head up and smiled like there was ten times the Disney World audience watching. Gina was more important than any size audience right now.

  “Okay, now we’re going to drop into a down rock,” Gina called out.

  Just baby food, Devane thought as she let herself fall into a push-up position, with her feet wide apart. Gina’s not going to remember how much she needs me onstage watching me do this. Devane circled her legs around her body, lifting up each arm to let her legs pass by.

  She kept her smile on her face and treated each move in the warm-up like it was part of a video that was going to be on TRL. “Nice job, everyone,” Gina said when the track ended. “Today I want to start teaching you a new routine. Same music you just heard.”

  “Fridge like-y,” Fridge said.

  “I’m happy you approve,” Gina told him, getting a tiny bit sarcastic. “Now let me break it down. I’m going to bring you onstage a couple at a time with some fast moves. First off, some forward handsprings. Chloe, I want you to start from upstage left and end up downstage right. And ill papi, I want you to do the opposite. We’re going to have to position it really carefully so you don’t hit each other in the center. To start out, just walk it, okay?”

  Chloe and ill papi nodded.

  “Then Adam and Allan, I want you guys to worm out to center stage. Adam, you start from the right. Allan, from the left. You’re going to start the second Chloe and ill papi cross the center point.”

  “Got it,” Adam and Allan said together.

  Gina turned to Devane. “Can you do a backward handspring? We haven’t worked on them since you new kids joined the group.”

  Oh, yeah. Here it is. My chance to show Gina that Devane is key to Hip Hop Kidz. Wait till she sees this. “I have a backward handspring. I also have one of these if you can use it.” Devane backed up. She gestured Emerson and Ky out of her path. Then, without hesitation, she ran full speed toward the wall across from her.

  “Devane, no!” Gina cried.

  But there was no stopping. She had too much momentum going. Devane hit the wall with her left foot. Her body stretched out almost horizontal. She hit the wall with her right foot. Climbing. Kicking out. Then flipping over. And she was on her feet. And everyone was giving it up for her.

  Everyone except Gina, whose arms were folded across her chest.

  “I don’t want to see any of you do anything like that,” Gina ordered. Her words were as cold as icicles.

  What? It was perfection! But Devane clenched her teeth together.

  “I want mats and spotters the first time you work on a flip,” Gina continued.

  “It wasn’t the first time—” Devane began.

  “It was the first time in my classroom,” Gina said. “Please remember who’s the teacher in here, Devane.”

  “I will,” Devane promised. How many points did I just lose? she wondered. How much time did I just add to my probation?

  “Okay.” Gina went on laying out the moves. Devane did everything she could to be exactly the kind of student Gina wanted as the class continued. But she kept getting distracted by the same question: How much time did I just add to my probation? It kept repeating itself, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. How much time did I just add to my probation? How much time did I just add to my probation?

  Devane felt like she was being stung by a wasp each time the question buzzed through her brain. She was relieved when Gina called the group over to her for announcements at the end of the class, and usually Devane never wanted class to end.

  “I just wanted to say again what a great job you did at the Disney World show,” Gina began.

  Devane felt her face heat up. She was the only one in the group who hadn’t been there.

  “And you’re going to get the chance to show your stuff again,” Gina continued.

  Max covered her mouth, but a little squeal came out anyway.

  Say it, Devane silently pleaded. Say the Kidz are going to the Southeast regionals.

  “Because Maddy and I have signed up for the group to take part in the Southeast regionals,” Gina finished.

  “Flippin’ sweet!” M.J. yelled.

  Max leapt onto Fridge’s back and pounded him on the head with her fists. Sophie hugged Emerson.

  Devane wanted to holler and screech and do her victory dance and hug every single person in the room. But she couldn’t speak or move. This was beyond huge.

  “If we’re selected as one of the top three varsity crews—that’s groups with members ages twelve to seventeen—we get to move on to the nationals. Six varsity crews from the nationals move on—”

  “We’re going to the World Hip-Hop Championship!” Becca shouted, doing a split-leg cheerleader-style jump. “Yay, us!”

  “There’s no guarantee we’ll make it all the way to the championship,” Gina cautioned. “But if you keep working as hard as you have been, I think we have a real shot. Now, we’re going to need to fit in some extra rehearsal time—because regionals are in just about two weeks!”

  “Who are we competing against?” Emerson asked.

  “She means who are we bringing down,” Ky added.

  “You’re going up against about sixty other hip-hop groups from all over our side of the South. That’s Louisiana on over and up to Virginia,” Gina told them. “The judges will be Joe O’Neal—”

  “He choreographed Fly Girl,” Becca exclaimed. “I saw that movie about a gazillion times.”

  “Not to mention Miami’s very own J-Bang,” Gina went on, smiling at ill papi. He didn’t smile back.

  “You mean ill papi’s own J-Bang!” Max leapt off Fridge.

  “Papi, your papi’s one of the judges. We’ve got this thing locked,” M.J. said. He fist-bumped ill papi.

  “Come on, now,” Gina said. “You know we can’t expect any special treatment from J-Bang because he’s ill papi’s father.”

  “Yeah, my dad doesn’t play that way,” ill papi agreed.

  “And we don’t need it. We can win this thing on our own, right?” Gina cried.

  “You know it!” Devane called, getting her voice back.

  “Where’s the championship going to be this year?” Chloe asked, smoothing down her “Pale Is the New Tan” T-shirt.

  “You’re gonna love this,” Gina told them. “Los Angeles. The nationals are there, and then the winners move right on into the world championship a couple of days later. And the whole thing is going to be televised.”

  This is it. This is IT. If I can’t get discovered in Los Angeles —on TV—then I am not Devane.

  And I am
sooo Devane.

  She began her victory dance. Hands high, hips rocking, feet flicking. Forget the three-year plan. She wasn’t going to need much more than three months!

  Her hands dropped to her sides. Her body went dead.

  Unless she was still on probation.

  She’d never even considered that as a possibility. But she’d just lost points with Gina today for pulling out her wall flip. Why couldn’t she learn to just be patient? After today, she could still be on probation for the world championship.

  Devane shook her head. Huh-uh. No. That would not happen to her. She hadn’t done anything so bad in class. And she’d already been on probation for weeks.

  She waited until the practice room emptied out, then she approached Gina. “I will be off probation by the nationals and the championship” is what she wanted to say. But she made it a question. “Gina, I’ll be off probation by the nationals and the championship, won’t I?”

  Gina hesitated. “It’s definitely a possibility.”

  Devane wanted to walk. She wanted to walk out the door and slam it behind her. If they didn’t want her in the group—as burnin’ as she was—then fine. She would just find herself another—

  Don’t you go there again, fool, she told herself. She took a long, slow breath. “Can you tell me what I have to do to get off probation? Is there a list of things?” Devane could work with a list. With a list and her calendar, she could have a plan tonight.

  “Maddy and I just need to feel sure that there won’t ever be a repeat of what happened at the Gulliver Academy show. We want to know that you’re committed to being a team player,” Gina answered. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve been trying these last few weeks. I really appreciate it, Devane.”

  Appreciation. Yeah. Appreciation wasn’t going to get Devane and her mom and little brother out of Overtown and onto Hibiscus Island. It wouldn’t even pay for the bus ride.

  Devane needed to be discovered. She needed to be a star. That’s when things would change.

  She needed to be in that championship.

  You can make it happen, Devane thought. You will make it happen.

  But how?

  “Cool beanz about the championship, right?” Sophie asked ill papi as they headed down the hall after class. He gave a kind of half grunt for an answer.

  “I don’t really get that expression—cool beanz—do you?” Sophie rambled, her heart doing this freaky skittering thing in her chest. Ever since she’d had that I-LIKE-him-like-him flash at Disney World, it had been hard to talk to ill papi. Maybe the words were the same. But she felt different saying them. Clumsy—but in her mouth.

  “Cool beanz. What’s cool about them?” she stumbled on. “They’re beans. Even with the z on the end, they’re just beans. Pinto, kidney, even garbanzo. I’m just not finding the coolness.”

  Ill papi didn’t answer. Or smile. Or tell her she was whack. It was like she wasn’t even there.

  He was treating her the way he treated Sammi. Not fun. Ill papi ducked into the boys’ locker room without saying “bye” or “see ya” or even “never come near me again.”

  “Bye, ills,” Sophie muttered. “Yeah, I agree. We’ve become great friends since I joined the group. Uh, well, love to chat, but I got to go.” She waved at the closed door of the boys’ locker room and headed into the girls’.

  Lots of talking in there. And all about the competitions.

  “We need some new costumes for sure,” Rachel said. “Ours are getting tired.”

  “There’s this girl at my school who designs her own stuff,” Chloe answered, pulling on a long, gauzy skirt as black as her dyed hair. “Maybe she could come up with—”

  “We don’t all want to look like vampires,” Becca interrupted, teasing. “Vamps don’t come shaped like me anyway. You don’t get curves like these drinking blood.” She slapped her behind.

  Sophie smiled. “Where do you think we’re going to stay in L.A.?” she asked, trying to get ill papi’s silent treatment out of her head. “Do you think we’ll be in Hollywood?”

  “Hollywood’s actually not all that great,” Emerson said. “I vote for Santa Monica! But first we have to get there.”

  Devane’s eyes flicked over to Emerson. “Some people have already gotten there by themselves. Money does that, I guess.”

  Emerson flushed and leaned into her locker looking for—something that didn’t exist, Sophie suspected.

  Ouch. Sophie thought Devane had lost her attitude about Emerson. At first, Devane had completely blamed Emerson for getting her put on probation. She’d been sure if Emerson hadn’t gotten so steamed about her hogging part of Em’s solo, she would have just been handed a lecture.

  But later, Devane had apologized to Emerson. She’d made it clear she understood her probation was caused by her own diva style.

  Guess there’s still a little attitude in Devane after all, Sophie thought. It wasn’t always that easy to know what was going on with somebody from looking at the outside.

  Take ill papi. He looked the same as he always had. But something had changed big time.

  Max jumped up on one of the wooden benches. “Devane, you stayed after to talk to Gina. Did you ask her about your probation? Are you going to be able to dance at the regionals or what?”

  “Don’t count on it,” Devane answered. “Gina made it sound like I might be off probation.”

  That’s probably why you went all cobra on Emerson, Sophie thought. You’re mad at Gina. Not that it was a good excuse.

  “We’re doomed,” Chloe said.

  Devane shook her head. “You can take the Southeast without me. And you better or I’m gonna have to do some serious booty kicking. I’m counting on you all to get me to Los Angeles. I’ll take care of getting myself off probation in time to dance when we get there.”

  “At Disney World, you were saying you’d seen the Storm Lords,” Max said to Sophie. “They’re one of the crews we’re competing against. So, what do you think? Can we bring them down without Devane?”

  Sophie tried to decide what to say. The Storm Lords were . . . polished. There wasn’t a b-boy in the group who didn’t bring the moves. But in the Hip Hop Kidz, some dancers didn’t have that much experience. New members of the group were still trying to perfect some moves. New members like Sophie.

  “Um, Soph, you’re scaring us.” Emerson nudged Sophie with her elbow. “Say something.”

  “I was just thinking that the Storm Lords seem like they’ve done a lot more battles than some of us. The newbies, I mean,” Sophie said. “But come on, it’s us. Of course we’re going to triumph!”

  She hoped she was telling the truth.

  “I might have to fly out to L.A. and see you win the championship,” Vincent told Emerson as he pulled into her long, curving driveway.

  Emerson wondered if Vincent had ever been to L.A. She’d been there with her parents. But that isn’t my fault, she thought, remembering Devane’s dig in the locker room. Of course it’s not your fault, she told herself. There isn’t any fault in going to L.A. It’s just a . . . a fact, not a fault.

  “We have to make it through the regionals before we even have a shot at the championship,” Emerson reminded Vincent.

  “You will,” he answered.

  Vincent was Emerson’s favorite of her dad’s drivers. And not just because he said things like that. Mostly because he listened to her. When she was seven, he’d listened to the saga of the stolen lunch box for weeks. Weeks.

  And now she was lying to him, too. Vincent thought her schedule had changed with school starting up—which it had. She had stopped going to ballet class. She was supposed to have stopped going to Hip Hop Kidz. All Vincent knew was that her parents were paying him to drive her to dance class, and he was driving her to dance class. Why would Vincent even consider that Emerson—who he had known practically forever—would be lying? And he’d never tell Emerson’s parents, not even accidentally, because they didn’t speak to the help.

  “S
ay it after me—we will go to the world championship,” Vincent encouraged. “And we will win!”

  “It’s just that one of our best dancers is on probation. And there are a bunch of new people in the group and—”

  “Say it!” Vincent urged.

  He was so great. And someday he was going to find out what a liar she was.

  “We will go to the world championship. And we will win,” Emerson said, her voice cracking a little as she thought about the way Vincent would look at her when he realized the truth.

  He met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Say that over and over until you believe it,” he instructed. “See you soon!” he added as she climbed out of the car.

  “Thanks, Vincent! Thanks so much!” Emerson shut the car door. She waved until he was out of sight—like that could make up for anything. Then she headed to the house. She reached to open the door, but her mother got to it first from the other side.

  Uh-oh. Her mother had on her angry face. The face involved her mom’s eyebrows coming together just a fraction, her lips tightening very slightly, and the muscles in her neck tensing somewhat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” her mother asked.

  Okay, she knows, Emerson thought, trying to stay calm. She knows I’ve been lying. But does she know the Big Lie? Or just one of the little ones?

  Did she find out I withdrew a hundred and fifty dollars from my savings account?

  If she did, does she know I spent it on Hip Hop Kidz costumes and a taxi ride part of the way to and from Disney World?

  Does she know I haven’t gone to ballet in weeks—even though she and dad have still been paying for the lessons? If she does, does she know why I’ve been skipping?

  The questions flashed through Emerson’s brain almost too fast to register.

  “Shelby’s mother bought her costumes for the recital weeks ago,” her mother continued. “How could you have forgotten to tell me we needed to shop for them when the recital is scarcely two weeks away? I’ve cleared my schedule for the evening. We’ll have to do it now in case we need to get alterations done.”

  She doesn’t know . . . any of it, Emerson realized. Not a single one of the lies.