My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights (12 page)

Kassie pointed to the guys’ side of the dressing room. “You better go get changed. Carson’s already in there.”

I walked in, expecting a room full of tall, deerlike dancers to be decked out in unitards and sequined shirts. But the only people in there were Carson and some old janitor with a broom.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, pulling out my football pants and mask.

“This is it,” Carson said. “Unless everyone’s taking the fashionably late approach.”

When we finished suiting up, we walked back out into the hallway. Kassie pulled the bottom of my shirt down. Her hand grazed my butt and I almost yelped like a Chihuahua.

“At least the stain’s nearly gone,” she said, nodding and walking off. Thankfully, my face was hidden behind a ninja mask. If it hadn’t been, the entire mall would’ve seen it go supernova red.

The stage was about a foot off the ground, sort of like the one our school dragged out when we had assemblies. The entire backdrop was an ad for Smoothietopia and had a picture of a family all smiling and laughing, holding their not-even-touched smoothies.

The announcer walked to the middle and grabbed the microphone. He was an older guy dressed in a full suit with no tie. His shirt was unbuttoned enough so a poof of chest hair stuck out. He tapped his microphone and the crowd quieted down. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first annual Smoothietopia Dance-Off!”

I spotted the tiny table in front with the judges. A man and a woman, both wearing Smoothietopia polos.

“We have a great show for you today. And remember, the winners each get a twenty-dollar gift certificate to Smoothietopia, where the only thing sweeter than your first smoothie is your next one!” He laughed like their slogan was the cutest thing he’d ever heard. “And judging today’s competition we have Mr. and Mrs. Smoothietopia, Vincent Damico and Margaret Goldman!”

They stood and waved. I’d seen their pictures on the commercials. Good to know we were about to get judged by a pair of milkshake experts.

“So let’s get started, everyone! Be sure to cheer on your favorites, and don’t forget to stop by Smoothietopia on the way home today!”

A bored-looking girl wearing a headset walked over to us. “You competing today?”

“Yeah,” Kassie said. “We’re the Dizzee Freekz. I already signed us up.” I could hear the worry in her voice.

“Okay. Follow me.” She led us behind the stage. “So what’s with the masks? Your faces all burnt or something?” the girl said, smacking a piece of chewing gum.

“Uh, no. It’s just part of our costumes. I’m the Kung Fu Kid.” I pointed at the others while I fastened my new Dizzee Freekz pin to my shirt. “And that’s Misstik and C-Note. Dr. Doom’s in the audience filming—”

“Whatever,” the girl said, rolling her eyes. “Stay back here. I’ll give you the thumbs-up when it’s your turn.”

She walked off and parked herself at the corner of the stage. The butterflies in my stomach were shaking the morning puke from their wings and fluttering around. I took a deep breath and looked at the rest of my crew. Nobody spoke. They looked about as nervous as I felt.

“Okay, Sunnydale Mall, put your hands together and help me welcome our first contestants. The Geriatrics!”

Some soft, jazzy music started up and I poked my head around the corner to check out our competition. A bunch of old people. And one of them was the janitor I’d seen in the changing room. He still had his broom and was shuffling around behind four old ladies in dresses.

For a bunch of grandmas, they were pretty lively. They’d do a little turn here, a little kick there. Wiggle right, jiggle left, smile to the crowd, let Gramps pop out in front to dip the broom like a dancer. Not bad at all.

The crowd applauded and the silver-headed dancers took a bow. I turned back around. The others were right behind me, watching.

“They were so cute!” Carson said.

Kassie stepped back, shaking out her hands. “Okay, we’re third on the list. One more and we’ll be up.”

We rushed back to the edge of the stage. About a dozen men and women walked up, each one carrying a tiny baby. The adults sat down in a line, placing the toddlers in front of them.

“And now, for our second act, please welcome the Eastbrook Community Center’s ‘My Baby and Me’ Program!”

A bunch of people in the crowd jumped up, cheering like they were at a concert. A cutsey-pootsy song with way too many cartoon sound effects blared out over the speakers, and the babies waved back and forth, sidestepping and hopping. Of course, their parents were doing all the work. The most I saw one of the little ones do was try to stick an entire foot in his mouth and then ugly-cry when it wouldn’t fit.

My eyes met Austin’s and we both exchanged a
What in the world is going on?
expression. The song ended and the moms and dads walked offstage with the babies in tow. The girl with the headset gave us an unenthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Okay, guys,” Kassie said, huddling us up. “This is it. Let’s get out there and blow their minds.”

Carson and I nodded, both giving Kassie a high five at the same time.

I took all the stray thoughts that had to do with the scholarship, the studio, and Kassie’s plan and wadded them up in the back of my mind. I didn’t have time to worry about that stuff.

The Kung Fu Kid had some faces to melt.

T
he announcer glanced at the stack of cards in his hands. “And for our last performance today—”

Me and Carson looked at each other like we were both asking the same question:
Did he say “last”?

“—the…Dizzy…Freakies!” The announcer stumbled over the name like he was trying to read a foreign language.

I waited for Kassie to react, too, but she was in the zone. Eyes closed, breathing controlled, shoulders relaxed. Her skin looked almost golden under the food court lights. I took a deep breath, visualizing my toes pointing, my legs straight, and my shoulders lowered. I imagined a long neck and loose hands. Sarah had told me I danced with my hands too clenched up, but when I told her that’s because I do all those punches, she’d remind me that I shouldn’t be doing all those punches.

Too bad there wasn’t a French dance word for
ninja attack.

We all took our spots. My parents were in the third row and Mom had her phone out, recording everything.

I tested out my calves. Not too bad. It didn’t look like Kassie was having any trouble, either. She was spinning in place like a ballerina in a music box, her black curls trying to keep up.

My eyes found her face. She never wore makeup. She didn’t need any. She’d rock the dark eyeliner every now and then at school, but never when she danced. No, when she was moving to music, she was just Kassie. No glitter, no product. Just—

I shook my head.

What was I doing? I’d missed my cue! I jumped in, already half a beat behind. I cut out a jump to make up for lost time and hit my mark behind Kassie. I was supposed to grab her arms, but I hesitated. My hands were sweaty. She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and I didn’t want to gross her out. Kassie leaned left and I snapped my hands up, forcing them down on her shoulders. She’d felt my sweaty hands a million times before. Why was I all of a sudden so worried about it?

Sarah’s drill-sergeant scream clawed into my brain.
CONCENTRATE, STUPID! AND POINT YOUR TOES!

I spun, forcing my back into a stiff-as-a-board position. Normally I’d land and whip out a series of jabs and chops. I raised my arms, ready to hack the air in front of me. And hesitated. Real dancers didn’t punch.

Nothing I’d learned from Sarah would’ve fit, so I sliced through a field of imaginary boards toward the other end of the stage. Except I let my hands fall loose like Sarah had taught me. It felt so wrong. It looked like I was swatting away a wasp. My hands flapped and wiggled through the air like I had pieces of uncooked bacon on the ends of my wrists.

I caught a glimpse of Carson. He’d just come out of a spin and he was frowning, watching me wiggle around the stage like a moron. I pulled my arms back down. No more punches. I lowered my shoulders and wedgie-walked over to Kassie. I even added in a sissonne.

It didn’t feel half bad.

Didn’t feel half good, either.

Especially since I was so busy trying to be stiff and professional that I landed on Kassie’s foot.

She growled, pulled her shoe free, and side-glided away. I mirrored her moves as best I could, but it was no use. My mind was as far away from the music and the rhythm as it could possibly be. For the next two and a half minutes, I stumbled through moves, second-guessing every step I made. The only thing I didn’t mess up was when we all froze at the end.

The music faded out. Besides the applause from our parents, the most we got from the crowd was a few shrugs and the
I guess we should clap
sort of clapping. We left the stage. The announcer was blabbering on about Smoothietopia and a small break so the judges could make their decision. Not like we had anything to worry about. We were dead last because of me.

Kassie pulled me to the side. “Stop it,” she said, glaring.

“What?”

“Stop stomping around like that. You did great out there.”

I gave her the
Are you being serious right now?
look. She glanced at Carson like she was waiting for him to back her up.

“Oh, yeah,” he finally said. “You did your best. I think. That’s all that matters.”

“Whatever. I don’t have a
best.
I don’t even have a
pretty good.
” I leaned hard against the back of the stage, making the entire thing wobble.

Our first and only dance competition and I’d ruined it.

An achy pinch gripped my throat and I almost lost it. I turned my head away. They didn’t care about winning, but still. Letting them down over and over hurt more than a calf cramp.

Flashes of the Dance-Splosion dancers filled my brain. My head was a ping-pong ball, getting smacked back and forth between a scholarship and a speech.

Kassie’s voice broke through it all, making me jump. “I really am,” she said.

“Huh? You’re what?” I blinked a few times, trying to get the burned-in image of the floor tiles to melt away.

“Proud, you dork. I’m proud of us all. I mean, we put ourselves out there and we should be happy with that.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I messed up our routine. I messed up everything. We’re gonna come in dead last and it’s all my fault.”

Carson slid the fox mask up on top of his head. “Dillon, you didn’t mess up anything. You danced. You can’t mess up dancing.”

Austin came walking around the corner, watching the footage on his camera. “Do I have to use this footage? Because Dillon looks like he’s having a seizure in most of it.”

Kassie slapped his arm, shushing him.

“See?” I said. “I
can
mess up dancing. I broke every dance rule out there.”

“Rules?” Kassie said. “Who told you dance has— Oh, never mind.” Kassie held out her hand. I grabbed it and she yanked me to my feet. “Dance is an art, Dillon. There are no rules to art. And we don’t care about winning. If we get a trophy, then cool. But it’s not why we do this. We do this because we’re proving to everyone out there it doesn’t matter what junk some big studio tries to teach you. If you don’t love it, then it doesn’t mean anything.”

I pried the wad of football pants out of my crack just as the microphone squealed out a quick burst of feedback.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, we have our winner,” the announcer said.

I sat back down. Knowing I was about to hear we lost to either a group of babies or a group of old people made me sick to my stomach. Kassie sat down beside me. Our knees were touching, but it only made me feel a little better.

“It was a close one, folks. Only two points between first and second place. But the winners of our first annual Smoothietopia Dance-Off are—”

I slid my fingers into my ears to block it out. And it worked. Except Kassie jumped up, scaring me so bad that I yanked my fingers out to hear her screaming.

My first thought was that she was crying.

But she wasn’t. She was cheering.

She looked at me and I immediately knew…

We won!

I couldn’t believe it. I wrapped a hug around Kassie without even thinking. As soon as I did, I pulled my arms back, halfway expecting her to draw her face up in disgust. But she didn’t. She bit the corner of her bottom lip. Smiled. Pushed that one stray curl behind her ear. Amazing.

“This is crazy! Come on, guys!” Carson said, pulling us toward the stage.

“There they are, folks,” the announcer said as we walked up, putting our masks back on. “Our winners!” He let the already dwindling clapping come to a complete stop. “Let’s introduce you three to the audience. How about you all take the masks off so we can see—”

“No thanks!” I blurted out, getting a few giggles from the crowd.

“Well, that’s no problem. So, your names?” He stuck the mike under Kassie’s face.

“I’m Misstik.”

“You can call me C-Note!”

I cleared my throat. “The Kung Fu Kid.”

The announcer let out a fake-sounding laugh. “Well, okay. Now, on behalf of our sponsor, we’d like to present your team with these Smoothietopia gift certificates, good for one year at any participating Smoothietopia.”