Bust a Move Page 4

  But she would find out eventually. Both Emerson’s parents would.

  They’d show up at the annual performance of the Nutcracker—and Emerson wouldn’t be anywhere onstage. Or someone would see Emerson on television—performing in L.A.—and that would pretty much let the cat out of the bag.

  “I’m sorry,” Emerson told her mother. “I guess I got distracted thinking about school and everything.”

  “Maybe you should try using a day planner instead of the calendar on your computer,” her mom answered. “Now, let’s get a move on. Maybe we’ll have time for a little fun shopping after we finish up at Dégage.”

  I have to tell her the truth, Emerson thought. And then somehow I’ll make her understand how important hip-hop is to me.

  I have to tell her the truth, Emerson thought again as she modeled the lilac costume for her mother. And then somehow I’ll make her understand how important hip-hop is to me.

  “You look lovely,” her mom said, spreading out the long tutu that fell softly from the tightly fitted satin bodice.

  “Mom, are you—you’re not crying, are you?” Emerson asked.

  Her mother waved one hand in front of her eyes. “I just got a little teary. You suddenly look so grown up in that dress, sweetie-poo. We’re going to have to take a million pictures.”

  For the Arts Council newsletter? Emerson couldn’t stop the mean little thought from racing across her mind. Even though her mom really was all choked up.

  I have to tell her the truth, Emerson thought for the hundredth time since her mother had met her at the door. But I can’t. Not right this second. She might really cry, and then I’ll cry and it will be horrible in every possible way.

  “Let me unzip you,” Emerson’s mother said. Emerson turned around. “Aren’t you glad your dad and I convinced you to stay with ballet and give up the hip-hop? It really was the mature, responsible decision. You’ve put so much time into your ballet. Years and years. And you’re so good at it.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Emerson managed. She kept her back to her mother as she slid off the dress. She was sure the expression on her face right at that moment would ring all kinds of alarm bells in her mom’s head.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you. I talked to your grandparents today—both sets.” Emerson’s mother took the dress out of her hands. “And they all want to come to your recital, of course.”

  The recital where Emerson wouldn’t be performing.

  “Maybe they’d rather wait until the Nutcracker,” Emerson said as she pulled on her linen shorts. By then, I’ll have figured a way out of this, she promised herself.

  “They’ll see that, too, silly girl.” Her mother took out her cell and dialed. “Yes, I’d like to make a reservation for seven for Saturday the thirteenth. Seven o’clock.”

  Saturday the thirteenth. The same day as the Southeast regionals.

  Where Emerson absolutely had to be performing.

  CHAPTER 4

  Devane stared at the calendar that took up almost every inch of the wall space over her bed. The big white squares were like mouths laughing at her. “Three years! Ha!” they mocked. “You thought you would be a superstar who didn’t need a last name in three years? You’re going to have to walk around with your full name—Devane April Edwards—and your address and phone number pinned on your shirt for the rest of your born days.”

  “Shut up!” Devane muttered.

  “I didn’t say anything,” her ten-year-old brother, Tamal, grumbled from his side of the room. “But now that you mention it, I do have a question. We’re going to have a party for Coach Jamison when school starts up. Hot dogs or hamburg—”

  “I wasn’t talking to you when I said shut up,” Devane told him, turning away from the calendar to face him.

  “I’m the only one in here, crazy girl.” He blew an orange bubble gum bubble the size of his head. Devane had this urge to reach over and pop it.

  She picked up her Spanish book again. The first time she’d opened the book, she’d caught sight of the calendar out of the corner of her eye. Then the only thing she’d been able to think about was how probation had burned all her plans.

  But that wouldn’t help her in Mrs. Ramirez’s class tomorrow. So Devane flipped to the list of vocabulary words her teacher had assigned as homework. “Oh, please,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Tamal complained. “But I still want to know about the hot dogs or hamburgers. And how do you make dip for chips? You’ve made it before, right? We don’t want the kind from the container.”

  Devane ignored him. She couldn’t believe the words she had to memorize. It wasn’t enough she had the calendar looming over her. Now she practically had a second one in her Spanish book. “Enero, febrero, marzo, abril, mayo, junio, julio . . .” July, as in the month when she’d been chosen to be a member of the Performance Group and thought her life was right on track. “Julio . . .” As in the month she brought her three-year plan crumbling down by getting probation. “Agosto, septiembre . . .” September. The month she’d either be on her way to getting everything she wanted, or on her way to nowhere.

  Thinking about all that is a waste, Devane told herself. All you need right now is one very simple, very short-term plan. A plan to get yourself off probation.

  Like . . . showing up in class wearing wings and a little gold halo and promising Gina and everybody in the class she’d be good forever and ever?

  Huh-uh. Not this girl. Not this lifetime.

  She could come up with a flamin’ combination to teach the class. She choreographed routines for herself all the time. She’d have to remember to take it down a notch so everyone in the group could handle the moves, but she could definitely have a lil’ somethin’-somethin’ ready for next class.

  But at the last class, Gina had had to remind her who the teacher was. And bringing in fresh combinations was definitely a teacher thing.

  Next.

  Gina wanted Devane to show that she’d never pull another stunt like the one she had at the Gulliver Academy show. She wanted to know for sure that Devane was a team player.

  “Your coach? The one you’re making all the plans for? You know how the parents loved the way he got you guys to cheer for each other and help each other with homework and all? What was his deal? I mean, how did he get you guys to do that?”

  Her brother didn’t answer. Devane threw a pillow at his head. “Tamal!”

  “Were you talking to me?” He opened his eyes wide, pretending to be all innocent.

  She just looked at him. He looked back. Devane sighed. She was going to have to bribe him. She didn’t have time for anything else. “Tell me and I’ll make as much dip as you want for the banquet.”

  “Onion and bacon and whatever the other guys want,” Tamal said.

  “Fine.”

  “I don’t know what he did exactly,” Tamal told her.

  “That’s not getting you anything.”

  Tamal stared up at the ceiling for a second, thinking. “He let us swim in his pool sometimes. That was cool.”

  Devane didn’t have a pool. Not even one of those plastic wading ones.

  Next.

  “Andrew Packer always pretended to drown. Every time,” Tamal went on. “And one time, Mike Finn floated this Baby Ruth in the pool. It looked exactly like a turd. He got the idea from some movie his dad has on tape. After that, we put a Baby Ruth somewhere at every football game.”

  Why was Tamal still talking? Couldn’t he tell she was trying to think?

  “On the bench. In his helmet. Once we put one in his Gatorade!” Tamal cracked up. “Even the coach thought that was pretty funny. He pretended he didn’t. But we all knew he did.”

  Devane got it. Tamal’s team had been tight because the coach had them do stuff together. Stuff besides practice and play.

  “Thank you, Tamal,” Devane said. “In three years, I might just buy you a car.”

  “That doesn’t mean you don’t have to do the dip,” Tamal warn
ed her.

  “Okay, okay.” Devane grabbed the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group contact sheet out of her backpack. Gina had given one to everybody a few weeks ago.

  Emerson Lane was the first name on the list. Devane just wasn’t ready to dial that 305 Hibiscus Island area code. Would a maid answer the phone, or a butler? Did people in America have butlers? Maybe on H. Island. She decided to start at the bottom of the list.

  The Qians. They lived in Miami Springs. Devane could deal. She dialed the number, and Sammi answered.

  “It’s Devane.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  Devane hesitated. She hadn’t done something like this before. With her crew, yeah. But not with people she didn’t really know that well.

  “Hey. I was thinking that it would be fun to have a picnic in the park—you know that one almost across from dance—before rehearsal on Saturday. Like at two?” The words came out in a rush.

  “That sounds great.” Sammi seemed psyched.

  “So, okay. I’ll bring soda and chips. You and Sophie just bring your sandwiches,” Devane said.

  “We’ll bring cookies or something for everyone, too. Sophie needs her sugar rush,” Sammi answered.

  No perspiration, Devane thought. “See you over there.”

  “See you at the park,” Sammi said.

  Devane punched in Ky’s number next. She knew him from school.

  “Yeah,” Ky answered.

  “Hey, it’s Devane.”

  “Of course it is, baby,” he teased. “All the pretty girls call Ky.”

  “Fool,” Devane said. “We’re having a picnic before rehearsal on Saturday. Bring however many sandwiches you eat. Everything else will be there.”

  “Uh, is Sammi gonna be there?” Ky suddenly sounded like a shy little kid.

  Devane rolled her eyes. Hip Hop Kidz was turning into a soap opera. Ky liked Sammi, who liked ill papi, who didn’t seem to like anyone, even though most of the girls at the studio seemed to like him. Was she the only one who had her priorities in line?

  “Yeah, she’ll be there,” Devane told him. She hung up before he could ask any more pointless questions. She liked the boy. But she just did not have the time for any silliness.

  Sammi smoothed the edge of the beach towel she’d spread out on the grass in the park, then looked over at ill papi. Again. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop herself. It wasn’t that ill papi was so cute. Or rather, he was extremely cute—light caramel skin, deep Hershey Kisses eyes, lots of lean muscles from all the hip-hop. But Sammi had been around gorgeous guys before. They didn’t usually take control of her eyes.

  Ky—and his basketball—plopped down on the grass in front of her, blocking her view. He handed her a napkin. “I have one already,” Sammi said.

  “I know. But you looked like you were about to start drooling, so I thought you might need another one,” Ky answered, jerking his chin in ill papi’s direction.

  “Funny,” Sammi said sourly.

  Ky grinned. “Give me half your sandwich and I’ll make ill papi jealous for you again.”

  “Again?” Sammi repeated. “There was no first time.” But she handed him half of her sandwich anyway. Sophie had deserted her to go talk to Emerson—Sophie spent practically every second at dance with Emerson—and Sammi didn’t want to eat by herself.

  “Well, maybe that’s because you need to look slightly interested in me,” Ky answered. “It shouldn’t be too hard. The majority of girls at my school manage it without a problem.”

  Sammi laughed. How could he come out with lines like that with a straight face—the big goofball? Then she gave her hair a mid-level flip, just in case ill papi was watching.

  “The hair flip. Good choice,” Ky said.

  Sammi felt her eyes widen.

  “I have sisters,” Ky explained. “Four sisters.”

  “Ah.” Sammi leaned forward a little. If she was going to show an interest, she was going to do it right. “So what’s with the basketball?” She gave it a little tap. “I’ve never seen you without the thing.”

  “My dad put one in my hand practically the second I was born. And I used to like to have one with me for a pickup game.” Ky’s eyes darkened.

  “Used to?” Sammi asked.

  “Yeah. I got fouled in a game last year and landed on my wrist wrong.“ He shook his head. “I can still play, but no chance at the big time. Sorry, Pops.”

  “That’s messed up.” The words didn’t feel strong enough, but Sammi didn’t know what else to say.

  Ky shrugged. “Got me into hip-hop more seriously. I always fooled around with it a little, but now . . . It’s like when my dad looks at me and I know he’s thinking about my wrist or whatever, I just put on some music and go. And it all comes out of me. It cleans me out. You know?”

  “I guess I haven’t gotten that deep with it,” Sammi admitted.

  “Are you two a team?”

  Sammi looked up and saw Devane standing over them.

  “Yes,” Ky immediately said.

  “A team for what?” Sammi asked.

  “Blind fetch,” Devane answered. “All the teams put a ball in the middle of that patch of grass.” She pointed behind her. “You two can use that basketball. Then one of you gets blindfolded and the other one yells out directions on how to find the ball. Whichever team gets to their ball first wins.”

  “You have to be the blindfolded one,” Sammi told Ky.

  “Fine.” Ky grabbed his basketball, stood up, and took what looked like a strip of cloth from a pillowcase out of Devane’s hand.

  “We need a strategy,” Ky said as they walked across the grass. “What we do is, first you yell directions to get me over to the really good players. Forget about the ball. I’ll get in some elbows and knees. Do some damage. Then, once I have the field to myself, we worry about getting me to this.” He spun the basketball on his finger.

  Sammi cracked up. Hanging with Ky was actually fun. He’d made her forget about her ill papi obsession.

  But now it was back. She checked the spot where she’d seen ill papi sitting. He wasn’t there. She scanned the park. Where was he?

  “He’s heading toward the studio,” Ky answered, like she’d asked the question out loud.

  Sammi looked toward the Hip Hop Kidz building. Yeah, ill papi was about to go inside. Even though the rehearsal didn’t start for half an hour. “Are you still going to say it’s my fault your jealousy plan isn’t working? I think I managed to look slightly interested,” she told Ky.

  More than that. She probably looked like she was having a good time. Because she was. She just wasn’t getting that twisty, zingy-zappy, nervous feeling she got when she was around ill papi. And she missed it.

  Sammi looked across the street toward the rehearsal space. Too late. Ill papi had disappeared.

  “Can you believe ill papi just disappeared?” Sophie asked Emerson. They sat back down on the grass after the game of blind fetch ended.

  “Maybe he wanted to get in some extra practice time,” Emerson said, distracted. The Southeast regionals were one week away, and she still hadn’t figured out what to do about the fact that her parents and all the grandparents were planning to go to Emerson’s ballet recital. The one she wasn’t going to be in.

  “Yeah, maybe he wants to practice the finale. That tango with the gator,” Sophie agreed.

  “Maybe,” Emerson said.

  Sophie leaned over until her face was about an inch away from Emerson’s. “HEEELLLLO IN THERE!” she yelled.

  Emerson jerked back, startled. “What?” she exclaimed.

  “I thought maybe I’d hear an echo coming out of your nose,” Sophie told her. “Since your brain is clearly gone.”

  “Sorry,” Emerson said. “I guess I missed something, right? Tell me again. I’ll listen.”

  “Nothing important,” Sophie answered. “You’re the one who should be talking. What’s up? Tell me. Spill. I know there’s something.”

  “You know the p
erformance on Saturday?” Emerson asked.

  “The one that’s helping to decide whether or not we get to go to L.A. to be in the nationals and then the championship?” Sophie shook her head. “Nope. Completely forgot about it.”

  Emerson gave a reluctant smile. There was something about Sophie. No matter how bad Emerson was feeling, Sophie could always make her feel at least a little better. “Well, I have a ballet recital the same night.”

  “But you’re not taking ballet anymore,” Sophie said slowly.

  “So you see my problem.” Emerson started plucking blades of grass out of the ground. “Since my parents still think I am.”

  “You think they’d believe the recital was canceled—because there was, like, some dangerous fungus found in the theater?” Sophie didn’t sound very hopeful.

  “No. My mom knows everything about every theater in a hundred miles.” Emerson moved from plucking blades of grass to pulling out handfuls.

  “We’re making this too complicated,” Sophie declared. “Forget fungus—you just have to pretend to be sick. Just sick. You let the loving parents put you to bed and give you juice and aspirin. Then you pretend to fall asleep. Sneak out. Do the performance. Sneak back in. Classic.”

  Emerson frowned. She already felt a little sick to her stomach. “That’s a lot of sneaking with six adults in the house. No, seven. The housekeeper will be there, too. And she has bionic ears.”

  “Gulp,” Sophie said.

  “Yeah, gulp,” Emerson answered. “But I guess I have to at least try it.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Slammin’ picnic, Devane,” Fridge called.

  Devane smiled. Her smile got even bigger when she realized Gina was heading toward her and had heard Fridge giving Devane props.

  She put the Frisbee she’d borrowed from Tamal into her backpack and looked around to see if she’d missed anything else.

  “We should do this before every class,” Max cried. Then she did a row of cartwheels and landed in a split after the last one.

  “A rehearsal with Max pumped up on Oreos and Fanta. Thanks, Devane,” Gina joked quietly. Then she patted Devane on the shoulder. “Really, thanks. This was great. The group hasn’t gotten together much outside of class. It’s good for us. Makes us tight—and that shows onstage.”