The Secret Talent (11 page)

The next image was again of Toddler Ryan, but this time he was wearing lipstick and chewing on it at the same time. After that was one of him about to kiss a girl who was screaming and trying to escape.

Brooke flipped through several more photos of Ryan through the years in different ridiculous situations, even a picture where he was clearly trying to be cool while wearing a fake mustache and leather jacket.

“Where did you get all these?” I asked between fits of laughter.

“They were in his aunt's bedroom,” she said. “She had a whole box of photos labeled ‘Precious
Memories.' So I was thinking,” said Brooke, “that we take these precious memories and make a slideshow with silly music of our own. We can send it to Ryan and let him know two can play his game.” She smiled triumphantly.

“Mission accomplished!” said Abel, high-fiving her.

“Man, I hope he calls our bluff,” said Brooke, zooming in on one of the photos. “I'd love to embarrass him.”

“Yeah,” I said with a smile.

But for some reason, I didn't really share her enthusiasm.

Later that afternoon I lay on my bed, staring at my phone. Brooke had texted me the pictures of Ryan, but I hadn't done anything with them, even though I knew exactly which song I'd set them to (“Bibbidy Bobbidi Boo”).

I could hear noise from downstairs as Gabby came back from folk dance practice, and a minute
later, she was thundering up to the second floor.

“You're here!” she said, bouncing onto the bed beside me. “Everybody missed you at practice.”

“Really? How was it?” I asked.

“Oh, it was great,” she said. “My invisible dance partner has the best form.” She gave me a pointed look, and I winced.

“Sorry,” I said. “I had to take care of something important. Is Uncle Theo mad?”

“That you've missed almost every practice the last couple weeks?” She smirked. “What do you think?”

I sat up. “I should talk to him.”

Gabby shook her head. “He already took off. Something about a meeting with the show choreographer. How was . . . whatever you were up to?”

“Good,” I said, nodding over and over.

“Then what's with the frown?” She poked the corner of my mouth with her finger, and I squirmed away.

“Things just aren't turning out like I'd hoped,” I said.

“Gee, can you make that any vaguer?” she asked.

I sighed. “Ryan's the one who took the video of me and shared it with the school.” I paused for an explosive reaction, but all Gabby did was nod.

“Yeah, I already pieced that together myself.”

“And you're not going on a murderous rampage?” I marveled.

“Nah. He was nice enough to blur your face out of the video,” she said.

“Because he's blackmailing me with the unblurred version.”

Gabby sat up straight, eyes narrowing. “
That
I did not know. What's this jerk's address?”

I smirked. “Two days ago you were gushing about how cute he was.”

“He can be both,” she informed me, hopping
off the bed. “Now how are we going to take this cute jerk down?”

I flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Don't bother. I already have what I need to get revenge.”

“And you seem thrilled about it,” she noted with a wry smile. “So what's the problem?”

“Now that I have a chance,” I said, shaking my head, “I can't go through with it.”

Gabby pursed her lips and nodded. “Because it's not you. You might be a liar and a loud eater and a huge flirt and . . . a great brother,” she finished after a glare from me. “But you're not out to hurt anyone, even if they deserve it.”

“But if I don't beat Ryan at his own game, he'll always win.” I punched a pillow with my fist.

“Not if you don't play his game,” she said, sitting back down.

I propped myself on an elbow. “It's not that easy. I can't quit this, just like I can't quit folk
dancing. The consequences are too disastrous. I'm trying to make friends with the guys, and if they find out the truth . . .”

“Well, you can't keep letting Ryan blackmail you.”

“I know.”

“Then you have to have your revenge,” Gabby reasoned.

“But I can't!” I said.

Gabby gave an exasperated sigh. “Tim, it's a mess all around, but unless you have a third option, you either have to get out or get even.”

It wasn't the advice I wanted to hear, but I didn't have much of a choice. I spent Sunday weighing my options and trying to think of other ones, but they all required bribing Ryan in some way.

On Monday morning my friends pounced as soon as I walked into the student lounge.

“I'm so excited!” Brooke gushed. “Please,
please, please let me be there when you tell Ryan.”

“Or did you already do it?” asked Vanessa.

Heather studied my face. “If Tim did, I'm guessing it didn't go well.”

“No.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Guys, I appreciate all the hard work you put into this, but . . . I can't go through with it.” I turned to Abel, who was standing next to Brooke. “Sorry. It was a good idea.”

“It's cool,” he said.

The girls were not as okay with it.

“What?!” all three of them cried.

“He tried to destroy you!” said Brooke.

I shook my head. “It doesn't matter. I can't stoop to his level.”

“Well,
I
can,” Brooke said with a deep scowl. “If you won't blackmail Ryan into silence, then I will.”

I glanced at Abel, who reached over and
snatched Brooke's phone away.

“Abel! Give it!” She jumped up and down, trying to wrest it from him while he went through each image and deleted it. When he was done, he handed Brooke her phone.

“Sorry, but that was for your own good,” he said. “‘If once you start down the dark path—'”

“Don't quote
Star Wars
at me,” she said with a pout, searching through her photos.

“It's
The Empire Strikes Back
, actually,” he said. “And I permanently deleted those pics so there's no point in looking.”

Instead of raging at him, Brooke shook her phone at me. “Dang it, Tim! We had him!”

Heather grabbed her arm. “No, Tim's right. Revenge was a bad idea. It's better to take the high road.”

I gave her a grateful smile and tried to remember her words when Ryan caught up with me later and handed me both of the shirts that
Vanessa had handed
him
on Saturday.

“I think you know what to do,” he said with a wink.

I sighed and twirled the shirts on their hangers. If I knew what to do, I sure wouldn't be holding his laundry.

That afternoon, when Uncle Theo picked me and Gabby up for practice, he greeted us with a soft smile and a mild, “Hello, you two. How was school?”

Gabby and I exchanged a look. Was my sadness spreading?

“Uh . . . fine,” I said. “Are you okay, Uncle Theo?”

“Or are you mad at Tim for missing practices?” added Gabby.

I elbowed her.

“What, like nobody was thinking that?” she asked.

“Actually,” said Uncle Theo, “this does concern
Tim missing practices.”

“I know I'm behind,” I said, “but when we get to the studio, I'll pick up right where we left off.”

Uncle Theo sighed. “You won't be going to the studio, Timotheos. I'm dropping you off at home.”

“What?” I leaned forward in my seat. “Why?”

He was quiet for a moment, but I could see his lips moving, as if he was trying to find the right way to answer.

“The choreographer is kicking you out of the holiday show.”

CHAPTER

“W
hat?” cried Gabby.

“You're kidding, right?” I asked with a nervous grin. “This is a joke.”

Uncle Theo shook his head. “Mr. Humphries never jokes when it comes to dance.”

“So I don't get to perform at the museum?” I could hear my voice coming out as a whine, but couldn't stop it. “Why not?”

“He said you're not up to grade-A performance standards, and . . . I have to agree with him.” Uncle Theo gave me a pained look. “Right now, you're barely a C level.”

“But . . . I'm really good! People at the dance studio told me!” I pointed at him. “You've told me!”

Uncle Theo pulled into traffic. “You
are
a great dancer, Timotheos. But you don't know all the moves, and you missed practices. Mr. Humphries wants to give the Museum of Science and Industry our very best.”

“I can do that!” I jabbed myself in the chest. “I know I had a bunch of stuff going on that got in the way, but I'm committed now. Please let me do this!”

“Unfortunately, it's not up to me.” Uncle Theo glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his expression close to disbelief. “And I had no idea this meant so much to you.”

I fell back against my seat, silent.

To be honest, I hadn't known it meant so much either. But now that it was being taken from me, I realized that I wanted to dance the
sirtaki
and
the
hasapiko
and the
kalamatiano
. I wanted to kick and twirl and have everyone watch and clap along. I wanted to be a Greek folk dancer.

I stretched forward with renewed purpose and grabbed Uncle Theo's shoulder. “Please, let me talk to Mr. Humphries and try to convince him. If I practice really hard, like, every free hour, I can make this work. I was wrong to goof off so much, but I really do want this.”

“I can train him at home, too!” piped up Gabby.

We reached the intersection where the dance building and our neighborhood went in opposite directions. Uncle Theo pulled to the side of the road and twisted in his seat to look back at me.

“It's less than a week until the performance. You will have to work very hard. I can plead your case, but you can't let me down.”

I nodded emphatically. “I promise.”

Uncle Theo regarded me solemnly and then
faced forward, put the car into gear, and drove toward the studio. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the window.

Once we reached the studio, Uncle Theo filled the other dancers in on what was happening. They seemed as shocked as I was and agreed to train me as fast as they could. Their overwhelming support might have actually choked me up if one of the men hadn't immediately pointed to the dance floor and demanded a
hasapiko
.

“Uh . . . sure,” I said, very aware that all eyes were on me. “Could I get some music, though?”

Someone turned on the stereo, and I held my arms out by my sides, slowly doing a step-hop onto my left foot before raising my right leg and stepping back with it. Then I raised my left leg before stepping back into a cross kick. The other dancers clapped while I moved, and Gabby put an arm across one of my shoulders, falling into step beside me. We smiled at each other as the
tempo picked up and we started to dance faster. Soon, a woman had joined me on the other side and then a man stepped in next to her. By the end of the song, everyone was dancing and smiling, and this time when Uncle Theo smiled at me, I understood.

Our dancing wasn't just silly leg kicks and skirts. It was tradition and family and friends, celebrating our heritage together.

“Excuse me,” Uncle Theo told the rest of the dancers. “I have to make a phone call.” He winked at me and stepped out of the studio.

Before someone could tell me what to dance again, I asked, “Can we practice the
divaratikos
?”

I was so swept up in the movements that I didn't even see Uncle Theo return until we took a water break. Thankfully, he was smiling.

I rushed over to him, wiping sweat off my face. “Am I back in?”

Uncle Theo crossed his arms over his chest.
“I told Mr. Humphries we needed to show future generations that our way of life isn't just the old way; it is the way for all!”

“And?” asked Gabby, who had followed me over.

Uncle Theo leaned toward us. “If Tim can impress Mr. Humphries at Friday's rehearsal, he's in.”

“Yes!” I jumped up and hugged Uncle Theo. “I won't let you down, I promise!”

Uncle Theo chuckled and patted my back. “Come, Timotheos. Let's see what you've learned.”

We practiced for another half hour before a different group, who had booked the room, arrived. My family and I had to leave, but I wasn't ready to stop. As soon as we got back to the house, I started pushing furniture aside in the living room.

“Can you guys help me?” I asked Gabby and
Uncle Theo. “The couch is really heavy.”

“Your parents aren't going to like this,” said Uncle Theo. He squatted and picked up the couch all by himself.

“Sure they are,” I said, swinging my arms and cracking my neck. “I'm embracing my roots!”

Gabby found some Greek music on her phone and cranked it up. We practiced our full routine, and even though there were a few places I stumbled and got mixed up, overall I had most of it down. While Gabby and I danced, Uncle Theo coached.

“Again,” I said when the last note played.

Uncle Theo restarted the music.

The second time was a little better, but I stumbled a bit when my phone started to vibrate with text messages and calls from Ryan. Luckily, Uncle Theo knew right away what the distraction was and danced my phone into the other room.

“Tonight, there is only Greece!” he hollered.
“Opa!”

“Opa!”
Gabby and I shouted back.

Shortly after, the front door opened and Mom and Dad walked in with groceries. Like I thought, they weren't upset at all about the dust we were making. Mom was watching in amusement, and Dad dropped his bag and jumped in on my other side, grabbing my hand and side-stepping like he'd been doing it his whole life . . . which he probably had.

When the music stopped, I panted and shouted, “Again!”

Gabby shook her head and made a time-out gesture with her hands. “I need water! And food!”

“That's a good idea,” Dad said, clapping a hand on Uncle Theo's back. “What say we fire up the grill?”

“But it's thirty degrees outside!” Mom said with a laugh.

“I've got to have some kabobs,” Dad said over his shoulder. “I'm feeling inspired!”

Mom looked from me to Gabby. “So what brought on this sudden surge in dancing?”

“We're trying to make sure Tim gets in the performance.”

Mom frowned. “Why wouldn't he?”

“It's a long story,” I said, shaking my head.

“Okay.” She kissed the top of my head. “You'll tell us when you're ready, I know.” A grin spread over her face. “For now, do you want to see if we can make s'mores before Dad and Uncle Theo throw any meat on the grill?”

The next morning it felt like I'd dislocated a rib. My entire body ached as I rolled out of bed, but it was Tuesday, which meant I only had three days
to perfect my performance.

With every step down the staircase I groaned and whined. “Can we please put a fireman's pole in this place?” I asked my parents, who were already in the kitchen.

“How can a kid who plays so many sports be so out of shape?” asked Dad.

“Dancing doesn't exactly work the same muscles as football,” I said.

When Gabby hobbled downstairs, she looked almost as rough as I felt. “Tim, I'm going to kill you if you don't make it into the show,” she said.

“You guys just need to stretch out,” Mom said, rubbing one of Gabby's arms.

“We'll have plenty of time to do that today,” I said, giving my sister an evil grin. “Because there's even more practicing to do!”

Gabby moaned and buried her head in Mom's shoulder. “Save me, Mommy.”

“You know, technically, Gabby knows all the
dance moves, so she can just watch while you do them,” said Dad.

“No,” Gabby said with a forlorn sigh. “It works better with two people.” She pointed at me. “You'd better be getting me a really great Christmas present!”

“Oh shoot!” I gulped down my orange juice. “I promised Brooke I'd help with gift requests before school.”

Dad checked his watch. “If you can be ready to go in ten minutes, I can take you on my way to the dentist.”

Despite my screaming muscles, I hurried back up the stairs and into my school clothes, pausing only for a second when I picked up my backpack. I'd never finished Ryan's homework.

“Tim, you ready?” Dad called from downstairs.

“Yep!” I scooped up my bag and followed him out to the car.

Fifteen minutes later I was staggering into the newsroom with a pained expression.

“Oh, come on. Helping out isn't that bad,” said Vanessa.

“It's not that,” I said, shifting the weight of my bag.

“Here, let me.” Heather grabbed it while I rubbed one of my shoulders.

Brooke raised an eyebrow. “You know you don't have to carry the whole library with you.”

I laughed and waved her off. “It's not books; it's lots and lots of dance practice. And I'm guessing you're not mad at me anymore?”

She shrugged and smiled. “At the end of the day it was your choice. But I gotta say it was a fun spy caper.”

“Yeah, it kinda was.” I smiled back. “So how's it going with the gift advice?” I asked, pulling a desk over to my friends. Nobody answered right away.

“It's . . . ,” began Heather.

“Well . . . ,” said V.

“Terrible.” Brooke chewed her lip. “It's a lot harder to pick gifts for strangers than I thought. I keep making a list of five or six options because I'm afraid the first one won't be good enough. And they're
still
not right.”

I nodded. “I've seen articles about what to get your favorite geek or bookworm, and it's never anything
I'd
want.”

“Well, of course not,” said Heather. “You're not just a bookworm. You're also an athlete and a museum lover and a theater buff.”

“Are you guys doing any better at this?” I asked her and Vanessa.

“My go-to answer is a gift card,” V said with a grin.

I chuckled. “Smart.” I looked at the surveys and catalogs strewn across the desk, a valiant but failed attempt to define people by interests. “You
know, I think our extra article for the newspaper is right here.”

“Where?” Brooke asked glumly. “Under the survey where we got a score of negative one million?”

“All of this.” I gestured to the table. “We can do a piece on how we tried giving advice on people, not problems, and how it didn't work.”

Vanessa snorted. “Mary Patrick would love that.”

Brooke's eyes lit up. “She
would
love that! We could even say this was an experiment!” She gripped my shoulders. “Tim, you're brilliant! I wish I'd thought of it.”

I pointed at her. “I'll give you credit for the idea if you write the article.”

“Deal!” Brooke's smile faded. “Uh-oh. Your BFF's here.”

I glanced past her to see Ryan in the doorway.
He was back to his new-and-improved self, minus the smile. “Can I talk to you?” he asked me, not even bothering to acknowledge my friends.

“He looks pretty mad,” whispered Heather. “Do you think he figured out what Brooke did?”

“I put it all back!” said Brooke.

“It's not about that. Give me a sec,” I told my friends, pulling Ryan into the hall.

“You didn't return my calls or texts,” he said with a huff.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said. “I see you're back in Ryan 2.0 mode.” I took in his clean clothes and styled hair. “And I was busy last night.”

He clucked his tongue. “Well, you're just going to have to make up for it today. My house still needs to be vacuumed, and my aunt told me I need to do all the laundry.”

“I can't,” I said. “I've got dance practice.”

Ryan shrugged. “It'll have to wait. Or do I need to remind you of what will happen?”

There it was again. That threat to ruin my life.

Which he was already doing every day.

I wasn't sure if it was because my body felt like it was on fire or because I'd done the right thing and Ryan still treated me badly,
or
if it was simply because I was
so
close to missing out on the museum performance. At that moment, I truly was done.

I took a step forward and stared Ryan down. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he held my gaze.

“I'm sorry your life is hard and your family isn't the greatest,” I said. “And I'm sorry you think I'm spoiled and deserve to be tortured. And for the hundredth time, I'm sorry that I made fun of you in class and everyone laughed!” I shifted even closer to him. “But I will
never
let
you control me again.” I clenched my jaw. “So go ahead. Tell the world.”

Ryan blinked and backed up a few paces. “They're all going to laugh at you.”

“Great,” I said. “I love to make people laugh.”

I crossed my arms, heart pounding a mile a minute in my chest.

“Are you guys done yet?” Brooke poked her head out of the newsroom. “Did I miss the fight?”

For a moment Ryan continued to stand there. Then he smirked. “We're not done. Not by a long shot,” he said, and sauntered away.

Vanessa and Heather crowded the doorway alongside Brooke. “What happened?” V asked as we watched Ryan storm down the hall.

“I'm pretty sure I committed social suicide,” I said with a tight smile. “I just told Ryan he couldn't blackmail me anymore and that I was fine with everyone knowing my secret.”