My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights (4 page)

“I don’t hate Sarah. I hate Dance-Splosion.”

“Fine. Then prove it. Tell us what they did that was so evil,” Austin said. I shot him a quick glare, but he just glared right back and said, “I’m serious. If she wants you to go through with this, then you deserve to know why, right?”

I forced my eyebrows together a little harder, trying to look angrier. But I was starting to think Austin was right. I kind of wanted to know, too.

Kassie shrank back. I knew she was just going to shake her head and tell us to not worry about it. But then she spoke. “Okay, fine. A month before nationals, our teacher said she was only going to enter one solo for our age group. She picked Sarah just like she always did. But Sarah didn’t want it. The teacher tried to talk her into it, but Sarah wouldn’t budge. So it went to me. The teacher wasn’t happy, but I was so excited. My first solo. I couldn’t believe it.” Kassie was smiling. Like she was feeling the excitement all over again. But then it faded and she slid her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “The week before we left, our teacher pulled me from the competition. She said she’d decided to give the solo to Sarah.”

Carson’s mouth fell open. “And you
don’t
hate her for that?” he asked. “She went behind your back and stole your chance at a national title.”

“Sarah—” Kassie’s mouth stayed open, but nothing more came out. Like the words were just stuck in her throat. “It’s the studio’s fault. They’re the ones who let it happen.”

Carson stole a baby carrot from Austin’s tray. “Keep telling yourself that if you want to. But I know better. That girl is made of evil.”

Kassie bit her lip like she wanted to say something. But then she pushed a stray curl behind her ear and looked at Austin. “Satisfied?”

Austin’s lips were pinched together and he was taking loud breaths through his nose. “Would it matter if I wasn’t? It’s not like I’m a part of the crew, anyway.”

“Austin, yes, you are,” Kassie said.

But Austin just shrugged and went back to mutilating his food.

“So what’s the plan?” Carson asked. “And don’t tell me you don’t have one.”

A tiny smile finally turned up the corners of Kassie’s mouth. “Of course I have a plan.” She slid a sheet of paper out into the middle of the table. It showed the same competition rules from the Dance-Splosion website that I didn’t read the first time I saw them. “It says once you make it to the top three, you’ll have to go to the studio and perform a solo for the teachers. They’ll announce the scholarship winner at the Heartland Dance Challenge on November ninth.”

“Oh, I danced there once!” Carson blurted out. “It’s a really nice competition. Small, but everyone there was so sweet.”

“Carson. Focus.” Kassie pointed down the page a little. “Anyway, it says that at the Heartland contest, the finalists will perform one last solo for the audience. And since this is one of the last competitions of the season, tons of studios will be there.”

“So what do I do?” I asked.

“I thought about writing you a speech.”

“Yes! I want to help,” Carson said. “We’ll make it legendary.”

“Well, don’t get your hopes up,” I said. “I probably won’t make it that far.”

One of Kassie’s eyebrows popped up. “Why wouldn’t you? You’re an amazing dancer. Those judges would be stupid not to pick you.”

I turned the paper over, expecting more to be on the back. And there was. But not a speech. “ ‘Boogie Banditz. Rhythm Force. Dizzee Freekz.’ What are these?”

“Oh yeah!” Kassie grabbed the paper out of my hands. “I came up with these last night. Crew names. If we’re going to find a competition to dance in, we should have one. Carson and I already voted. I want you to pick which one you like.”

She scooted the paper between me and Austin. He glanced at it and went right back to staring at his tray. “Why not just call yourselves the Anti-Sarah League?”

Carson laughed. “I kinda like that, actually.”

I swatted Austin’s arm, making sure he saw the unamused look on my face. I reread the names a few times and made my choice.

“Dizzee Freekz.”

Kassie snatched the paper away, smiling. “That’s what we chose, too!”

“Tell them how you came up with it,” Carson said.

“Oh yeah! Okay, so you know my dad’s Haitian and he speaks a ton of French. My mom’s family is all from Greece. Well,
French
plus
Greek
equals
Freek
! Then I thought of the Dizzy Feet Foundation that Nigel’s always talking about on
So You Think You Can Dance
and I got
Dizzee Freekz
! It’s perfect!”

It
was
perfect.

And just like that we officially had our name: the Dizzee Freekz.

On my way to Mrs. Kellerman’s history class, Sarah Middleton popped out of the bathroom with her two cheerleader besties, Red-Haired Barbie and Black-Haired Barbie. All three of them had their hair pulled back into ponytails, stretching their faces into tight half-surprised, half-irritated looks.

I stopped in the middle of the hallway. Students brushed by me on either side, tossing out my new nickname like it was a toll they had to pay just to walk by.

As soon as I took a step forward, a sharp pinch of pain zipped up my backside.

“ ’Sup, Tighty Whitey!”

I didn’t have to turn around. The stench that crawled over my head told me who had a death grip on my underwear. Troy Pemberton, the Sunnydale Sharks’ starting center. “Show me some of them moves, Parker!”

He wrenched my briefs up in his hand like he was wringing out a beach towel and then let go. The waistband snapped back into place and I stumbled forward, falling headfirst right into Sarah Middleton’s chest. “Ow!” she yelled. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

Great. Headbutting one of Sarah’s boobs definitely wasn’t how I wanted to start the conversation. I drew in a quick breath, inhaling about a gallon of her vanilla perfume. “I’m so sorry!”

Troy roared out a laugh and stomped up next to me. “That was awesome! Hey, you should add that move in your next video!”

“Don’t you have some classes you have to go fail?” Sarah hissed.

That tore the smile right off the toad’s face. Sarah’s blue eyes zeroed in on me over her perfect little nose. “Mind telling me what
that
was about?”

“I swear it was an accident. I just didn’t see you there,” I said, doing a quick wedgie-out-of-the-crack dance.

Black-Haired Barbie planted her hands on her hips. “What do you mean you didn’t see us? How could you not
see
us?”

“Come on, Sarah, we’re gonna be late,” Red-Haired Barbie groaned.

“Wait!” I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them from shaking. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

Sarah gave me a quick up-and-down look.

“I entered this scholarship contest Dance-Splosion is having and—”

“Stop,” she said, throwing a hand out in front of her. “Aren’t you on the football team? No, wait, you’re that Tighty Whitey kid.” She laughed, with her Barbie horde joining in with her.

My entire body deflated. So much for ninja-kicking the door to dance awesomeness down. “Both actually.”

“Since when do you dance?”

“Me? Uh, since, like, forever. Or since I quit karate last year, anyway. I never got past the green belt.”

“That explains all the kicks and punches, then.”

“Yeah, I call it…” I shrank a little lower, like my body was trying to curl into a ball and roll away from the embarrassment. “Ninja freestyle.”

“Cute.” Sarah checked the neon-blue polish on her fingernails. “So, what did you want?”

“Like I said, that video was my audition for Dance-Splosion’s summer scholarship contest. And I was wondering…” My voice trailed off like a song fading out at the end.

“We don’t have all day, Tighty Whitey,” Black-Haired Barbie spat.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. “Oh my God, Kaylee, would you shut up?” She snapped her head back toward me, whacking the girls behind her with her fluffy blond ponytail. A smile spread over her glossy lips. “Let me guess. You want me to help you.”

“Please! I’ll work my butt off, I promise. I really need this, Sarah.”

“Do you still dance with Kassie?”

My mind raced. I had a foot in the door, but one wrong word and that door could slam shut and crush it. I decided to play it safe. “Um, why?” Nothing safer than playing dumb.

“Well, if you are, I’m just wondering why you’d go behind her back and ask for my help.”

Playing dumb had worked once. So I tried it again. “Um, I don’t know?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at me. Probably wondering why my IQ had suddenly dropped fifty points. “Sorry, Tighty Whitey. Competition season’s still going on. I don’t have time to babysit.”

She walked off, her Barbie army trailing behind her. The door hadn’t just slammed on my foot. It had cut off both legs and every chance I had at getting any better.

But then something happened. The dance gods reared back and tossed down a lightning bolt of brilliance. A heavenly Hail Mary pass of Second Chancery.

“Well, maybe Kassie will change her mind and help me, since she sent in a video, too.”

Sarah spun around. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, I said Kassie sent in a video, too. She’s been thinking about getting back into Dance-Splosion. Maybe she’ll help me out.”

“You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

I pulled out my phone. “Wanna call her and ask?”

For what seemed like forever, Sarah just stood there, freezing me in place with her Ice Queen stare of death. Red-Haired Barbie leaned over and whispered something in Sarah’s ear. Her face lit up. I almost expected to see a little cartoon lightbulb pop up over her head.

“Fine. I’ll help.”

My heart skipped a beat, sending a wave of first-drop roller coaster excitement into my stomach. “Seriously?”

“We’ll practice every Monday. Four o’clock in the gym. Don’t be late.” Sarah stomped off down the hall, the strutty hip-swinging gone from her step. She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “Oh, and Tighty Whitey? Do yourself a favor and drop the wannabe dancers. The less of your bad dancing I have to fix, the better.”

“Y
eah, these look like a really fast pair.”

Dad pulled the box of cleats down off the shelf. “Here, try these on. They’re a half size bigger. You’ll need some growing room.”

“They look like all the others,” I said. And they did. We’d been cleats shopping for an hour and I’d given up trying to convince him to get me jeans. Every one of my toes curled up at the thought of having to shove my feet into another pair of the stiff shoes. “Dad, I really don’t want to play anymore.”

“Son, we’ve talked about this. You committed yourself to the team. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

“I don’t even play! Like, ever!”

“So you’re saying you’re only important if you’re out there on that field?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m not doing any good taking up space on the bench.”

Dad crossed his arms. Which was a really bad sign. It meant he was three seconds away from saying something he thought was wise. “You remember Aunt Brenda, don’t you?”

There it was. I nodded.

“For a while she was in the Army Reserves. She signed up right after she graduated high school. Went through all kinds of training, but she never did get called to active duty.” Dad sat down next to me and took one of the cleats out of my hands. “Was she not important?”

“Yes. She was. But I’m talking about football, Dad. I really wanna focus on my dancing this year. The Dizzee Freekz need me more than the Sunnydale Sharks do.”

“Dizzy Freaks?”

“Yeah, we, um—we named our dance crew the Dizzee Freekz. With a
Z.
”

He shook his head like I’d told him we named ourselves the Fart Blossoms. “Karate, football—every team’s got to have its support players. All this quitting worries me, Dillon.”

“Seriously, Dad, you’re making it sound like I’m about to drop out of school or something. It’s just football. Plus, I’m twelve. Aren’t I supposed to be quitting things, trying to figure out what I like and stuff?”

He stood and walked over to a wall of shoe boxes, staring at them for a while. When he turned to me, he was smiling. “Remember when you were five and you made Austin wrap you up in the garden hose?”

“Ugh.” I let my head fall back against the shelf behind me. But I was smiling, too.

“From head to toe. And you told him to pull the end to see if you’d spin like a top. You went, ‘One, two, three, pull!’ and jumped and you just—” Now he was laughing. Hard. Which got me laughing. Hard. He held his forearm up and let it fall. Just like I did.

“That’s not funny,” I said, tears forming in my eyes from giggling so much.

“I probably should’ve stopped you, but—”

“You saw it? I thought you were in the house or something!”

He shook his head. “Garage. I think I just wanted to see if it would really work.”

I wadded up a piece of tissue paper from the shoe box and threw it at him. But I didn’t blame him. I probably would’ve, too.

Dad took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m saying is—you’re right. About trying new things.”