My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights (26 page)

DeMarcus wasn’t lying about having a secret crush on someone.

And it was Carson all along.

Suddenly a lot of things made sense. Why DeMarcus never seemed all swoony over Sarah. Why Sarah kept mentioning things like his reputation. Even why she got all weird over Carson taking his picture. Everyone sort of expects a dancer could be gay. The quarterback with the cannon? Yeah, not so much.

I guessed she was just trying to get him to play by the rules, too.

But maybe some things weren’t supposed to have rules. And if there were, maybe some rules were supposed to be broken.

Someone grabbed my wrist. I looked down at Kassie’s fingers locking over mine. Every cell in my hand exploded in a firework of happiness. The surge of electricity rushed up my arm into my chest, making the already-manic butterflies in my stomach go nuts.

Kassie smiled. “I’m
really
glad we added in that lift.”

We both laughed. That single stray curl hung down over one of her eyes. I reached up and tucked it behind her ear.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Austin was beside my parents, recording the whole thing with his phone. “This is totally going in the music video!”

I looked back at Kassie and we laughed.
Go ahead and post it,
I thought.
No masks. This is one I don’t care if the world sees.

O
n Monday, I walked into the school, ready to get the first half of my seventh-grade year over with.

I hadn’t even gotten halfway to my locker before
Tighty Whitey
started rolling off people’s lips. I wasn’t surprised. When you flash the entire digital world, it has a tendency to be something people don’t forget.

But that was okay. There was a pretty good chance I’d be retiring my blue shirt for an actual jersey. And maybe a pair of unstained football pants.

I walked down that hallway, hearing my nickname bounce around from one person to the next. There was still part of me that wondered what people would be saying if I’d won all those free lessons at Dance-Splosion. But that thought was slowly dying away. I actually didn’t mind being known as someone who danced his jeans off.

On my way to lunch, I spotted Sarah with her Barbies. She had her nose in the air like she ruled the place. I wondered if we’d ever talk again. I didn’t think we would. Eighth-grade club presidents didn’t associate with moppy-haired seventh graders with pimples on their chin after all.

But as I passed her by, I caught her eyes. She smiled. Not a
Hey, buddy, come over here and hang out with me and my lipstick legion!
No, it was just a quick grin. A little moment we shared like we were keeping our own secret from the whole world.

And in a way, we were, I guess.

The best part of the day was actually getting to eat lunch with my friends. Without Patrick and his hipster crew. We even saved a seat for DeMarcus. But he didn’t sit down.

“Thanks, guys.” He glanced over his shoulder at the football table. Sarah was there. “But maybe I should—”

He was interrupted by a pair of low, gravelly giggles.

“Hey, is this the official gay table now?” Bobby said, stopping right behind DeMarcus.

Before DeMarcus could say anything, Troy stepped forward. “Kaylee showed us your little video. You and your boyfriend holding hands.”

Austin let out a groan. It must’ve been the one he posted. DeMarcus opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then shut it.

“That why you decided to play football in the first place?” Troy asked. “To watch us in the locker room?”

DeMarcus and Troy both lowered their trays, and for a second I was sure they were going to throw them down and start pounding on each other. Bobby slithered up beside them, smiling like the idea of a fight was the most exciting thing ever.

But then DeMarcus shook his head. “Whatever, man.” He sat down, his eyes never leaving the table in front of him.

Troy finally took a step back. “Better be glad football season’s over. I never would’ve blocked all them guys from running over you if I’d known.”

Bobby grunted out a laugh and walked off behind Troy.

For a while we just sat there. Quiet.

Then DeMarcus peeled open his milk. “Not like he did an awesome job of blocking before now anyway.”

I laughed with everyone else, but it felt awkward and forced. Austin buried his head in his hands. “Dude, I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked before I posted it. I didn’t even think. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t. Really.”

“Those guys are idiots,” Kassie said.

Carson nodded. “I can think of a few stronger words. What they said was horrible.”

I looked past DeMarcus at the football table. Troy and Bobby were still laughing. Some of the other football players had joined in, but a few were picking up their trays and moving to another table. Led by Sarah.

“Carson’s right,” I said. “Those two don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I know. It’s kinda weird, though. People have been looking at me and whispering. I know they know, but—” DeMarcus sighed. “I feel okay. Scared, yeah. But better than I’ve felt in a while, actually.”

Carson smiled. “You know we’ll always have your back.”

“Hey, you think we have room for an honorary member?” I asked Kassie. “I think he’s earned it, don’t you?”

Her eyes lit up. “Totally.” She took off her Dizzee Freekz pin and handed it to DeMarcus. “I know it doesn’t make up for what those two said, but Dillon’s right. You earned it. You found the moves that fit you. Welcome to the crew.”

He stared at the pin, grinning. “Thank you.” He stuck it on his shirt and sat up a little straighter. “All of you.”

We spent the rest of lunch checking out our music video. Austin cringed a little at the part he’d added in with DeMarcus and Carson, but DeMarcus just laughed and asked him why he didn’t get more screen time.

The video already had four comments. And the first one? Avery. It was practically a novel. I got some weird looks from everyone when she mentioned how thankful she was for my string. But when we got to the part about how she thought we were robbed (getting another “Exactly!” from Austin) and how DeMarcus did such an awesome job, Kassie came up with the idea for him to sing with our crew from then on.

He said yes.

We’d be the first middle school dance crew with a singing quarterback.

When everyone was at my house for practice that Saturday, Dad brought a letter downstairs. It was from a place I’d never heard of: the Knoxville Dance Academy. Even though it was addressed to me, the top of the letter had all of our names on it.

“Dude, maybe it’s another competition!” Austin said, snatching the envelope out of my hands. I stood beside him as he ripped it open. A familiar fluttery tickle of excitement hatched in my gut.

“Cool! I’d be up for that,” DeMarcus said.

“No way,” Austin said as I scanned the first few lines. “This is totally better! It’s—”

“Nothing. Not a competition.” I took the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope, the tingling sensation in my stomach fizzling out.

“Well, what is it, then?” Carson grabbed for it.

“It’s nothing,” I said, pulling it out of his reach. “Trust me.”

He grabbed for it again. “I saw my name at the top, too. Now hand it over before I go all spider monkey on you.”

Kassie laughed and yanked the envelope away from me.

“Kass, don’t—” It was too late. She already had it out, reading it. Her smile faded.

“Oh my gosh, are you all trying to torture me?” Carson asked. “What does it say?”

Kassie let her hands fall against her legs. “It’s an invitation. For some free classes at a new studio.”

Carson’s hands shot to his mouth like he’d just won best performance at the Tony Awards.

I looked at the letter in Kassie’s hands. I could just make out the studio director’s picture—Mrs. Smiley. “Like I said, it’s nothing.” I reached out to take it back.

Kassie pulled it up in front of her. “They’re asking us to go to this place for an entire week. Apparently it’s some new sister studio of Dance-Splosion’s.”

The mood in the room went south. And fast. Even DeMarcus lowered his eyes like he was having a moment of silence for the opportunity.

“You all know my rule. My
only
rule. Right?”

We nodded. I felt like a boot camp soldier about to be chewed out by a drill sergeant.

“Good,” she said, walking over to me. It took every bit of energy I had just to look her in the eyes. And when I did, I saw something hiding in there. A smile. She took my hand, putting the letter back in it. “Then maybe we can all agree how stupid it is.”

My eyes popped open. Austin blurted out exactly what I was thinking. “Is dating Dill, like, messing with your brain or something?”

“Shush, Austin. And no, it’s not.” She shrugged, her eyes falling to the letter. “I just—maybe I wasn’t being fair with that rule. I had a bad experience at a studio, sure. And I’m beginning to think it wasn’t totally their fault. I might’ve been a little stubborn back then.”

“Back then?” Carson said.

Kassie stuck her tongue out at him. “What I’m saying is, my whole deal was how I thought Dance-Splosion was forcing me to learn new moves. I guess, in a way, I was doing the same thing by keeping Dillon from learning what he wanted to learn.”

At that exact second, my heart nearly exploded, because that’s when every
I like you, Kassie
feeling I had turned into something even bigger.

“Dillon totally gave up a shot at doing something he wanted because of that rule. I’m not going to let that happen again.”

She gave me a quick kiss on my cheek and my entire face died and went to heaven.

“If this is a trick or something, I’ll cry,” Carson said. “And it’ll be ugly, too, I swear.”

Kassie shook her head. “It’s not a trick.”

“You mean we’re going for it?” Austin asked.

“It’s not my decision. Not this time.” Kassie looked at me like she was waiting for me to answer. So was everyone else.

That’s when it happened. A tingle worked its way up my legs and crawled over my body like a warm blanket.

My liftoff out of the wannabe-dancer universe.

And not because we had a week of studio classes in our sights. It was because right then—with all of my friends looking at me—I didn’t care if we danced in that studio or stuck to making up our own routines in a smelly basement. All I wanted to do was dance.

I took a deep breath. “As long as we get to dance together, I’m happy.”

The basement ceiling nearly caved in from our cheers.

We got into our positions and I felt better than I’d ever felt in my life. The music started and my head-lid opened up, ready to soak up the fuel my body needed. And as soon as I rocked out my first flurry of punches and kicks with the straightest lines I’d ever had…

I finally understood it all.

Studios aren’t the enemy. But they’re not the only answer, either. Sure, the technique is important. So are the rules. They’re not there to hold you back. They’re there to help you do the
really
important stuff:

To tell the story you want to tell with your dance.

My dad had told me that every team needs its support players. And for the longest time, I sort of assumed that the support players were the ones who weren’t really needed. They were the “just in case” people.

But they’re more than that. They’re the “just as important as” people.

They might not be the same, but they’re still needed. Like the people in the Army Reserves. Like the blue shirts. Like me.

It took me almost half a school year and three pairs of tights to finally understand. But I got there. And I wasn’t about to go back. Maybe I’d never get rid of Tighty Whitey. But that was okay. I was more than just that.

I was a member of the Dizzee Freekz.

I was the Kung Fu Kid.

I was Dillon Parker, the dancer.

A
real
dancer.

I’ve had so many amazing partners throughout this process. I’ve been learning a whole new routine during this journey and you’ve all made sure I haven’t had to learn it alone. So to every person I’ve shared the literary floor with in one way or another, I can’t thank you enough.