Bring It On (10 page)

“We need to talk to you. Come backstage, please,” Gina said when she and Maddy reached Devane.

gets invited to be in what group,
Devane thought as she followed Gina around to the backstage area. It had pretty much cleared out.

“I can't believe what I saw from you during the show,” Gina burst out.

“Thank—”

“What you did showed no respect for me. It showed no respect for the team,” Gina rushed on. “It was complete diva behavior.”

Devane felt like she'd been slapped. “Everyone loved it. Didn't you hear them? I got the most applause of anyone.”

“We talked about teamwork the very first day you were in my class, remember?” Gina asked. “Devane, it's clear I can't trust you. I can't send you out onstage not knowing what you're going to do. You could have ruined the entire show with that little improv. Your behavior might have thrown everyone else off. Did you even think of that?”

“But it didn't,” Devane said.

“That's because Emerson saved you. She covered for you.”

“I knew she'd get what I was doing. I saw her and Sophie doing almost the same thing once.” Devane turned to Maddy. “Remember? That day you were watching their class.”

“I remember,” Maddy answered. “But Devane, Gina's right. Everyone in the Performance Group has to be a team player. I'm sorry, but we're going to have to put you on probation.”

A wave of dizziness swept through Devane. “What?” That was the only word she could get out. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, then opened them. “But I'm the best dancer. Maybe M.J. is better than me. But I'm the best girl.”

“You're a phenomenal dancer, Devane. But talent isn't all that it takes to perform with a crew,” Gina answered. “You'll be able to keep coming to class. But no performing until further notice.”

No performing? Why not just tell me no breathing?
Devane thought. She felt her eyes begin to burn, and she ordered herself not to cry.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Gina and Maddy needed her. And they knew it. “No,” she told them.

“I beg your pardon?” Gina said.

“No. No probation. I won't stay in the group if I'm on probation,” Devane told Gina and Maddy.

Maddy raised her eyebrows. “Then you aren't giving me any choice, Devane. You won't be able to stay in Hip Hop Kidz.”

Sammi spotted Sophie and ill papi halfway across the lobby. Ill papi was looking at Sophie and laughing. Sophie could always make guys laugh. Guys and everyone else.

She rushed over to Sophie and gave her a hug. “You were fab up there. I was telling everyone you're my little sister.”

Impulsively she turned toward ill papi. She was going to give him a hug, too. It wouldn't seem too strange. She'd just hugged Sophie to say congrats. And the theater people at her school were always hugging each other all the time. “You were amazing, too.”

Ill papi tensed up as soon as her arms went around him. What was with the guy? He'd seemed all relaxed and cool when he was talking to Sophie a minute ago. Did he not like Sammi for some reason? She let him go and took a step away. She needed to be the one to step away first.

“Is that the same show you're going to be doing at Disney World?” she asked, looking mostly at Sophie, although she did a low-level hair flip in ill papi's direction. She thought he noticed it, but she wasn't sure.

“Part of it,” Sophie answered.

“I gotta go,” ill papi said. “There's a bus in fifteen.”

“Our dad's going to swing by and pick us up in his cab,” Sammi told him. “I'm sure he could drop you off.”

“It's no big. See you, Soph.” And there he went. All, “See you, Soph.” Like there was no Sammi.

Sammi stared after him. She didn't get it. It's like she'd become the “before” in a deodorant commercial or something. And it was sort of like Sophie was the “after.” At least ill papi didn't run screaming every time Sammi's sister was around. The way he did with Sammi.

“What were you and ill papi talking about when I came up?” she asked.

“I don't even remember,” Sophie said. “What did you think of my solo?”

“Supah-fly,” Sammi answered. “That combo that started with the side kick—it ruled. Even more than the four hundred times I saw it at home.” She knocked shoulders with her sister. “So what were you guys talking about? You had the boy practically giggling like a little girl.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I was asking him how he got the name ill papi. I was asking if was because he broke the record for projectile vomiting.”

“You did not!” Sammi fake-shrieked.

“You know me. I'll ask anything.” Sophie shrugged.

The way to get to ill papi couldn't be by talking about puke. Sammi would not accept that.

“Hey, here comes Maddy,” Sophie said. “I hope she liked the show.”

“There's no way she didn't,” Sammi answered.

“Hi, there, Qian girls,” Ms. Caulder said when she came to a stop in front of them. “Sophie, I just wanted to say what a great job I thought you did in your very first show. I'm so glad you agreed to be part of the Performance Group.”

“You're glad? I'm the one who's glad. Ecstatic, thrilled, overjoyed . . . I can't even think of enough words,” Sophie told her. She smiled so big, Sammi thought she might crack her face open. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen Sophie so happy.

“Good to hear it. And I think your sister might be just as talented.” Maddy turned to Sammi. “It looks like we're going to have an opening in the Performance Group much sooner than I thought. I'm not going to make any decisions about filling it right now. But after seeing you in class the other day, I have to say, I'm thinking about you as a possibility.”

“Really?” Sammi couldn't believe this. How cool would it be to get all
TRL
onstage? How cool would it be to be able to see ill papi a lot more?

“Really,” Maddy answered. “The Performance Group class is right after the class you're taking now. Feel free to sit in if you want to. Check it out.”

“That would be the best!” Sammi looped her arms around Sophie's shoulders. “The Qian girls together!”

Sophie smiled at her. Her mouth muscles must have gotten tired, Sammi thought. Because it wasn't the crack-her-face grin Sophie'd had on before.

Emerson headed through the lobby, her gym bag over her shoulder. She'd already changed out of her costume and washed off her stage makeup. She'd gone straight back to the dressing room after her showdown with Devane. There was no one she'd needed to see right after the show.

Not like Sophie,
she thought as she spotted Sophie with her arm around her older sister as they chatted with Maddy.

Emerson's mother had gone to every single ballet recital Emerson had ever had. She lived for them. Emerson wondered if her mother would have come to the show today. If Emerson hadn't needed a French tutor. And if there had been a way for Emerson to do hip-hop and ballet—including the
Nutcracker
—without damaging her GPA. And if Emerson hadn't had to lie just to be here today.

“Your duet was amazing,” a tall guy told Emerson as she reached the door.

“Thanks,” Emerson said, not bothering to mention that her duet was supposed to have been a solo.

“Can I get an autograph?” the guy asked.

“Really?” Emerson asked.

He nodded. “I already got your partner's.”

My partner. Right,
Emerson thought. “Sure,” she said. The guy held out his program and pointed to a spot right next to Devane's lavish one-name-only signature. Her own name looked too neat and prim when she added it.

“Cool. Thanks,” the guy said.

“Thank
you
,” Emerson said. “That was my first autograph ever.”
And giving it should have been a lot more fun,
she thought.

She stepped out into the hall and headed for the main exit. The car would be waiting for her. She hoped Vincent was driving. She could use somebody to talk to about the Devane madness. Their fight kept replaying in her head. And she thought the only way to get it to stop looping was to talk it out. Vincent would be the perfect—

“I'm talking to you!”

The loud voice cut into Emerson's thoughts. She turned around and saw Devane. Perfect. Just what she needed, another confrontation with the Diva.

“Why didn't you stop before?” Devane demanded.

“I didn't hear you,” Emerson said. “I was thinking. You should try it sometime.”

“Yeah, you can make jokes now that you went running to Mama.” Devane took a step closer, getting up in Emerson's face.

“What?”

“What?” Devane repeated. “Don't act all innocent. I know you went crying to Gina and Maddy about how wrong it was for me to steal your solo.”

Emerson shook her head. “Devane, I didn't say anything to them. But it turned out they heard part of that fight we had. I don't know how much.”

“So it's just the same as if you went running to them,” Devane shot back. “They heard you wailing about how I stole some of your spotlight. About how I was so selfish because I didn't let you have it all to yourself. You—”

“Devane, stop,” Emerson ordered, surprising herself. “Gina and Maddy didn't need to hear me say anything. They didn't need me to tell them that what you did was wrong. Everybody in the group knew it was wrong. And Gina definitely didn't need me to tell her you changed the choreography. Did you think she wouldn't notice?”

“Everybody did
not
think it was wrong,” Devane insisted, her eyes hot.

Emerson remembered M.J. telling Devane how tight he thought her moves were. “Okay, not everybody. But if Gina and Maddy did, they came up with it on their own. They don't need me to think for them.”

“So you're telling me you think I'd still be out of the group if they didn't know how upset I'd made precious little Em-er-son?” Devane demanded.

Wait. Emerson's mouth opened, but she couldn't think of what to say. She had mush head again. Why did that keep happening to her around Devane?

“Yeah, you can't deny it's all your fault,” Devane accused. “Or that you're happy about it. It's exactly what you wanted. Now you won't have to deal with me anymore.”

“I didn't—” Emerson started to protest. “I'm not—”

But she was talking to Devane's back. Devane was already rushing away. That kept happening.

Emerson slid on her very appropriate dress, zipped it up, and made sure she hadn't mussed her French braid. There was a light tap on her door. A half a second later, the door swung open, and her mother stepped inside. Her mother always did that—knocked, then came in without waiting for an answer.

“You look lovely, sweetie-poo,” she told Emerson.

At the use of the pet name, Emerson felt something crack inside her. She suddenly wanted to hurl herself at her mom like she was a five-year-old again and sob out the whole story of her horrible, hideous, humiliating day. How Devane had almost ruined the performance. And how Devane had yelled at her. And most of all, how Devane had tried to blame Emerson for Devane's getting kicked out of the group. Even though Emerson had nothing to do with it. At all.

But that would mean telling her mother what a big, fat liar Emerson was. And that's all they'd end up talking about. How wrong it was to lie. And how disappointed her mom— and her dad, because he'd have to be told, of course—were in her. And how she'd ruined her life and her college career by quitting ballet. And how now her mother wouldn't get her picture in the paper. Well, that wasn't true. Her mother was
always
getting her picture in the paper for some charity thing. But how now her mother would get her picture in the paper one less time.