Lupe Wong Won't Dance Read online

  I put my hand into my glove where they can’t see I’ve slipped my grip back. I cup the ball to make a circle with my thumb and pointer finger, and put my middle finger down the center. Just like Moyer.

  Blake shifts his glove to the outside corner of the box. Just like I knew he would, he signals for a fastball on the outside corner. Do they really think I don’t notice Marcus moving toward the plate? I nod and keep a straight face.

  I tune them out and listen only to my dad’s voice. It’s 0-2. Think, Lupe. Command is as important as speed. Pick the right spot for this batter.

  Marcus is a decent hitter, but he only likes to pull. Low and outside, I answer my dad in my head. I take a small step back and center my weight.

  Be deliberate in your windup, Dad says.

  Yep, I answer. I lift my hands to my head, making sure to hide my grip on the ball. I bend back for balance.

  Dad’s voice is clear. You got this.

  I let it go.

  What they don’t expect … my circle change is at least ten miles per hour slower than the previous pitch. Marcus swings. A second later the pitch crosses the plate low and outside. Even Blake is caught off guard, has to do a double clutch to get his mitt on it, and drops the ball. He scrambles to pick it up.

  “What was that!” Coach Frankie yells. “Blake, you need to be in tune with your pitcher.”

  They are too sheepish to even glare at me, but if they had, they would’ve seen my teeth gritting.

  I’m still first in the rotation. I won’t let them break me. This will only make me better.

  * * *

  I jump in the shower at home and barely have enough time to scrub off the muddy, red dirt rings around my ankles. I greet Gordon at the door. He makes a deep bow and when he straightens back up, his eyes are squinted shut from his chipmunk smile. Any other time I might think it’s silly. But after what’s going on with Andy … and my entire baseball team, I sorta want to give Gordon a hug.

  I bow back. This will be worth it when Coach lets us be partners.

  Of course, Gordon passes over the cacao-and-coconut probiotic bar I got for him. We finish our Cheetos and lemon-lime Otter Pops, and I try not to imagine the color of sludge that might come back up if Gordon jumps around too much. Then we get set up in the living room with “Turkey in the Straw” blaring out of the old computer speakers.

  We face each other and hold hands. Gordon makes a formal bow that looks like we are about to waltz instead of square dance. I make a quick bow back. We begin with a swing, followed by the promenade. We each put out our heel, then toe, then promenade again. Gordon goes right and I go left. Everything is going well, then …

  Gordon flings one arm straight out as he pops me under his arm.

  “Gordon! That’s not part of the routine.”

  He throws his leg and arm out even further, making a jazz hand. “It’s called flourith.”

  “Flourish?”

  “Yeah, flourith.” He lifts his hands like pointed swan wings and looks toward the sky. “Grandma says great dancers aren’t great because of their technique, they’re great because of their passion.”

  “But there are rules.” I say, hoping we won’t get marked off for Gordon’s ad libs.

  “Well, the rules are debatable. And if I’m going to be your partner, Lupe, I suggest you keep up with the flourith,” he says, dipping me.

  My stomach dips with the rest of me. But I’m desperate. So if this is what I have to do to get my A, I will take some Pepto-Bismol and let Gordon flourish.

  * * *

  After a weekend of practicing with Gordon, I’m flourished out. But if the cost of having Gordon as my partner is a little motion sickness, it’s worth it.

  Monday morning, Coach Solden is drinking her morning coffee when I walk in. She sets down her Starbucks cup—it has “Bucky” written on it instead of “Becky”—and clears her throat. I can already imagine how they’re going to butcher my name someday.

  “Well, I’m starting to think you need your own desk in here. Can I offer you a cup of joe?” she asks.

  This might go better than I’d thought. Grown-ups drink coffee with each other when they discuss stuff as equals. I look around for a mug. “Really?”

  “Nah.” She laughs like she’s just made a hilarious joke. “But you can have some water out of the fountain.” She points to the community spit-swapper.

  “No thanks,” I say.

  Gordon still isn’t here, even though we agreed on meeting at 7:54 sharp. It barely gives us six minutes to present our case. The clock clicks to 7:56.

  “Can I assume this visit has something to do with the new gender-neutral policy from your Change.org campaign?” she asks. “I mean, it makes sense. If we’d had this when I was …” She glances off like she’s seeing something I can’t. She shakes her head like she’s erasing an Etch A Sketch. “Let’s just say I think you got this one right.”

  “That policy doesn’t even start technically until next year,” I say. “And how do you know it was me?”

  Coach tilts her head to one side and smiles. She knows.

  “But that’s not why I’m here.” I scan the field outside her window. Still no Gordon.

  “Oh?” She sets her cup down. “I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear what you have up your sleeve now.”

  7:57. I can’t wait for Gordon any longer. “So, let’s say someone isn’t happy with their choice in partners, and they want to switch.”

  “Nope,” she says without hesitating.

  “But Coach, what if the boy’s other partner isn’t enthusiastic about square dancing?”

  She laughs. “Really? Says the girl who single-handedly got an eighty-year-old policy changed because she’s so enthusiastic about it.”

  She’s got a point. Partnerless again, I sag into the chair.

  “Listen Lupe, life presents us with a few hurdles. But hurdles are there to make us jump higher.” Coach is suddenly very focused picking something off the rim of her cup. “Even with something as fun as square dancing, there’s always someone left out.”

  I squint at the spot on her mug where she’s picking, but there’s nothing there.

  “I’m sorry about Carl,” she says. “I didn’t plan on that.”

  “Not sure anyone ever plans on warts, Coach. So, what now? I’ll be running instead, right?” Getting an A and meeting Fu Li will be impossible even if I run all class. Fu Li was within my grasp, but now … “Is there anything I can do to get extra credit? Scrape gum off the bleachers? Scrub scuff marks off the floor?”

  “What are you talking about? You’re still going to be dancing. I only said there’s always someone left out.”

  “You said to get an A—”

  Coach interrupts. “Oh, you can still get an A. But you’re not going to steal someone else’s partner.”

  The sound of my name echoes like a tiny mouse screaming through a straw. “Lupe!”

  I look in the direction of the scream. From across the track outside, Gordon is pumping his arms but running like his legs are superglued together again. He stops, pulls out his lunch sack to dump all the contents on the ground, and starts breathing in and out of the bag.

  Coach stands and bows toward the wall. She starts prancing around like a magical unicorn at a Renaissance dance, pretending to hold someone’s hand and twirling the imaginary person around.

  Even though she’s not my favorite person right now, it makes me sick to my stomach to watch her disgrace herself like this.

  She finally stops mid-clomp and turns to me. “Ever heard of an invisible partner?”

  I can’t feel my toes.

  I can just imagine the crap I’ll get from everyone in P.E. for curtsying to the air. I jump up from my seat. “Please, Coach. I’ll run all class long. Every day.”

  The bell rings and Coach walks toward the gym. “You’re an athlete. A strong will to learn is just as important as strong muscles, squirt.”

  She leaves me alone in her offic
e. I’m no squirt. I reach over and grab Coach’s cup.

  I take a huge gulp … then promptly jump up and spit it into the garbage can. Maybe I’m not that grown up.

  Why would an athlete need to have a strong will to learn square dancing when there are perfectly good sports to play? All I know is I’m still dancing alone.

  CHAPTER 14

  Gordon, Niles, and I settle in at our usual table in the cafeteria. Andy passes right by us without even a glance. She sits at the table with Jordyn and the soccer kids. She starts sharing her chips with Jordyn. It’s the first time in four years Andy and I haven’t shared our lunch.

  In between bites, Gordon explains to Niles how he uses counting to help him keep his rhythm while learning a new dance.

  “Could I count in Klingon?” Niles asks, putting his new Amulet graphic novel away in his backpack and giving Gordon his full attention.

  “Whatever system works.” Gordon counts in what I can only assume is Klingon. “Wa’, cha’, wej, loS.” He smiles. “See. That’s the beauty of music and dance. It works in any language.”

  They move on to discussing animals called tauntauns and banthas, but I tune them out completely after the talk shifts to the banthas’ herbivore diet.

  My best friend won’t even look at me. My other best friend appears to have a new friend. My teammates are annoyed with me. I have to air dance in front of everyone.

  It can’t get any worse.

  I bet throughout history, everyone has wished for P.E. to disappear at least once. I never have. But today, I wish as hard as I ever have for an earthquake, zombie attack, or an overflowing toilet. Still, fifth period arrives.

  Andy gets dressed in silence, her back to mine. Of course, I forgot my shorts again, and I can’t ask Andy. I pull on the scratchy loaners. I’m not saying I wouldn’t do almost anything for Andy’s extra shorts, but I miss Andy way more than her shorts. This is what Papa calls a life lesson. Although suddenly losing your best friend on top of sandpaper wedgies is sort of a harsh way to learn you can’t use people, or forget about their feelings too. I reach out to tap her on the shoulder, but she makes a quick eye roll at me before she slams her locker and runs ahead.

  “Hey Jordyn,” Andy calls out, disappearing into the gym, leaving me behind.

  I look around the locker room, suddenly self-conscious without her. I fold my arms over my chest and walk out into the gym feeling very alone.

  Coach pairs us off in five groups—four sets of partners in each section. Naturally, I end up with Samantha and Blake first. We all face each other. Me, the only partnerless person.

  How hard can this be? I hold the records for pull-ups, shuttle run, and the peg wall. Those are all individual tests too.

  Samantha’s eyes shift to my shorts. “Let me guess. Goodwill?”

  I really need to pull them down in the back, but this might not be the best time.

  The music starts, drowning out her voice, but I clearly hear Samantha ask Claire if stupid is contagious.

  “Grab your partners!” Farmer John hollers out just like he does every time the song starts blaring. The words echo loudly in the gym. I glance at Niles, who hurries to put in his earplugs. Blake and Samantha take each other’s hands. My stomach churns and I’m happy my mom doesn’t make breakfast burritos. I reach my hand out like everyone else, but mine is dangling midair. Do I wrap my fingers around an imaginary hand? I hold my fingers straight, then try curving them. Samantha and Claire see me and laugh, so I flex my fingers like they’re sore and I was doing it on purpose.

  We start with a promenade. I think about dancing with Gordon the night before and anticipate what’s coming up. I’m going to have to twirl next, hand over my head. Not only will I look like one of those goofy plastic ballerinas in a jewelry box, my shorts will ride even higher.

  If I don’t have a partner, what will it matter to Coach if I lead? I quickly jump to the other side. We bow to our partners and line up across from one another. Banjos twang out, and one couple at a time we go to the center do-si-do. Without someone to lead, I guesstimate when to back up. I smash right into Claire.

  “Watch it, klutz!” she says.

  When I’m in the middle with my elbow out, spinning around an imaginary partner, everyone laughs. Blake actually winces. I know he’s angry with me. But the look on his face right now is worse than if he were laughing at me. I think he might pity me.

  The caller yells out, “Switch partners.” For one twirl, I’m with Samantha. Now Blake has to pretend he has a partner. But it’s not the same. He has someone to go back to in a few seconds, and no one’s laughing at him.

  Samantha and I are locked at our elbows, spinning in a circle. She glides around, her feet barely touching the floor. My feet hit the ground with thuds. It’s not enough time for her to insult me, but she reaches up with her arm still connected to mine and pinches her nose.

  Claire laughs, and when we switch again she does the same.

  Now it’s caught on, and every time I have a new bunhead as a partner, they pinch their noses too.

  “Word is her parents found her at the dump,” Samantha whispers in the loudest whisper ever. “That’s why she smells like blowout diaper.”

  The caller yells out, “Ladies and gents. Weave the ring.”

  Now, I’m right next to Niles and Andy’s group, so I know Andy can hear what’s going on. Niles is counting in Klingon along with the music, so between Gordon’s method and the earplugs he’s too focused to notice Samantha’s comments.

  But Claire talks loud enough where everyone in our group can overhear. “Science experiment gone wrong. Almost too short to be human.”

  I’ve learned to ignore comments and people like that. But when I see Carl scraping gum and dried loogies off the undersides of the bleachers …

  I’d give anything to have his foot warts right now.

  I don’t even hear the caller anymore. I slam into someone behind me and stomp on their foot. Whoever it is screams. I turn around and Samantha is grabbing one foot and hopping around. She stares at the scattering of jewels on the floor.

  “These are Pinnacle Stardusts!” Samantha jumps down and collects the pink jewels like they’re diamonds.

  “Get up, Pinkerton!” Coach yells. “And wear gym shoes from now on.”

  The song ends, and we move to another group of four couples. This time I’m with Gordon and Zola. I can breathe again. Even if I’m not Zola’s favorite person, she doesn’t want to kill me.

  If only I could be dancing with a flourishing Gordon instead of holding an invisible hand and tripping over my own feet. We switch partners and I’m with Zola. It comes to the part where we’re supposed to circle around one another. Mid-circle I accidentally pummel Gordon and he falls to the floor. I scramble to help him up. Coach sees me and jots something on her clipboard.

  We switch for the final time and at last I’m with Andy and Niles. Niles counts, “Wa’, cha’, wej, loS,” the entire time. It’s addictive, and I catch myself saying the numbers in my head. He’s holding Andy’s hand, which means he’s comfortable with her.

  When the caller yells out for us to switch, Andy puts out her hand, but she won’t look at me. Her hand is limp in mine. I may as well be dancing with a wet mop.

  Even when Niles dances with my pretend partner, he is in perfect time using Gordon’s counting suggestion. But when they switch back, he accidentally steps on her foot.

  “Ouch, Niles!” Andy yells like she’s reprimanding her younger brother.

  Niles flinches back.

  I reach out to pat him. But before I can, Andy puts her hand on his shoulder and her voice turns notably softer. “Sorry. It’s just, I have a hangnail.”

  By the end of class, the two of them are saying, “Wa’, cha’, wej, loS …” together and laughing. Something in my throat clamps tight.

  We retreat to the locker room, and I’m so distracted I almost hand Andy the school’s loaner shorts out of habit. She has her back turned to me, and
I overhear Jordyn say something about getting açaí bowls after soccer practice. I can’t take it! The Andy I know would never eat antioxidants for fun.

  Andy slams her locker and walks out. I have to talk to her.

  I’m running after her when Coach’s voice echoes in the locker room. “Lupe, can I have a word?” She motions me into her office.

  Andy walks ahead toward the main halls.

  Did Coach figure out I drank out of her coffee mug? I fidget with my backpack.

  “Don’t worry about being late to your class. I’ll give you a note,” Coach sets her clipboard down and taps on it with her pen. “Not as bad as you thought it would be, was it?”

  Does she even know how disastrous that was? “This is torture,” I say under my breath.

  “You’re a strong kid,” she says. “You and I both know you haven’t had it easy.”

  I recognize the look on her face. It’s the one people gave me after Dad died. So I’m pretty sure Coach is talking about that and not all the stuff with Samantha and Claire. I don’t think she even sees most of the stuff they do in class.

  She scribbles my tardy excuse on a note, rips it off the pad, and hands it to me. “Because I know how strong you are, I have faith you can do this.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Our drizzly walk home is silent except for the click … click … click of Niles and me kicking our rock. I know Niles is a better listener than me, but I never realized how much more I must talk and how much more Niles must listen.

  I’ll try to be a better listener to my friends from now on. But today, all I can think of is Andy’s silent treatment … and the things Samantha and Claire said … and how no one, including Andy, stuck up for me. The sadness makes me walk way slower than usual.

  The one day I could use her, there’s no sign of Delia in her yard.

  We get to my gate and our rock ricochets into the gutter. I bend over to pick it up and see another rock caked in mud. It’s the perfect size and shape for a mini landscape boulder in a mouse village. I polish it between my fingers and put it in my pocket for safekeeping.