Lupe Wong Won't Dance Page 12

  Everyone stares at me.

  I lower my voice. “Homework.” I kick Paolo under the table.

  “Yeah,” Paolo chimes in. “Algebra.”

  Even though it’s barely seven, I’m pretty sure Mom’s feeling like she’s done her daughterly duty for the month. “Grade papers,” she mumbles, verifying my suspicions.

  Bela makes Paolo eat one more tamal before she leaves so “he’s not too skinny to give me grandchildren someday.” Papa goes out to start the car. While Mom helps Grandma slip on her coat and collect her bags, I retreat to my room to avoid any further cheek pinching.

  “I wanted to say goodbye, Guadalu—” Papa is standing in my doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. “Wait, this is all wrong.”

  “What? Mom made me clean it. I put my stinky clothes in the wash before you got here.”

  “Not what I mean.” He’s already headed toward my bed. “This has to be facing east.”

  I smack my forehead. I know what’s about to happen.

  He pushes my bed from right in front of my door where I’d moved it (so I could run and launch into it) to centered against the back wall.

  He picks up my cactus plant and sets it in the hall. “Plants grow most at night. That …” he points firmly toward where he just evicted my cactus, “… will pull the energy from your sleep.” He mumbles something about my “kua number” and within three minutes, Grandma beeping the horn the entire time, my bedroom is fêng shui’d.

  “It’s not perfect,” he says, “but no wonder things have not been going well. Now you will be able to think clearly and things will improve for you.” He winks and walks out as Grandma Wong lays on the horn.

  Not sure if it was Papa’s talk, Bela’s pozole, or the fêng shui, but fifteen minutes later, after a rest on my bed, it all suddenly makes sense. I’ve come up with the only solution that has a chance of working. Why didn’t I think of it before? A smiling Fu Li stares at me from his rookie card. Desperate times …

  I stand up and tighten my ponytail. I open my bedroom door and go across the hall. I stop in front of Paolo’s door. “He won’t laugh. He won’t laugh,” I quietly lie to myself.

  I knock on the door.

  “Entre, peasant,” he says. “Better be good. I’m working on something important.” Paolo is holding a Mr. Potato Head, who now has Play-Doh boobs and stringy blond hair.

  I’m about to ask where he got the hair but decide it might open up conversation on the boobs too. “I need your help,” I say.

  “Can’t. They haven’t found the cure for ugly yet.”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “It’s important.”

  “What is it?” He raises one eyebrow and squints the other eye like an evil scientist. “It might cost ya.”

  A medley of the day’s horrors flashes through my mind—smashing into Claire, knocking Gordon down, ruining Samantha’s expensive shoes.

  “I need you to dance with me.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Paolo sets Skanky Potato Head down. He’s completely straight-faced. “I don’t dance.”

  “Please,” I beg. “It’s square dancing. I need a good grade.”

  “Oh yeah. Your deal with Uncle Hector to meet Fu Li. Straight As. How funny is it that P.E. is the prob—”

  “I know! I know. Will you help me? I need to practice.”

  Paolo isn’t budging. He’s never going to go for this.

  I turn to leave, then stop in his doorway. “You know, it’s sort of your fault.”

  “How is it my fault?” His voice is higher than usual.

  “You could’ve said something when you had square dancing in seventh grade. I would’ve had warning. Why would you keep it a secret?”

  His face looks like the time Buddy Turner pantsed him in the cafeteria line. And then, I know.

  Paolo too has been traumatized by square dancing.

  He looks away. “It’s … it’s not important. It was a long time ago.” He looks back at me. “What about your partner, the kid who was here the other night? Go force him to practice with you.”

  “Teeeeechnically, Gordon’s not my partner.”

  “Then who is?” he asks.

  My stomach is churning again like it was right before P.E. I can’t say it out loud.

  “Awww, crap. You were the last one standing, weren’t you?” He sits on his bed. “That really does suck.”

  I push a graphic novel over and plop down next to him. “Thanks. That makes it all better.”

  “It could be worse,” Paolo says. “You know who Joey Stewart is?”

  I know the kid. He and his sisters all have some rare disease making them outcasts. “The kid with permanent contagious hemorrhoiditis?”

  “That’s the one,” he says. “He didn’t have that before square dancing.”

  “What does that mean? He caught it in P.E.?” I can’t even believe what I’m hearing. Square dancing does somehow cause diseases!

  “What? No!” Paolo puts both hands in front of him for me to calm down. “Just listen. So, on the first day of class when we were supposed to choose a partner, Joey Stewart said all the girls were equally revolting so he’d just take what was left.”

  “And …?”

  “When the music started, we all paired up. Joey was left without a partner, so he started jogging around the gym. He had the ridiculous idea if there was no one to dance with, Coach would let him run laps or clean gum off the bleachers.”

  I shake my head openmouthed like that’s the stupidest idea ever. “Then what?”

  Paolo snorts. “Coach told him he had to dance. He argued with her at first. She said she’d fail him right there if he didn’t start dancing.” Paolo’s face breaks into a grin. “Joey started spinning all by himself. He had to walk the circle and go down the dance line alone.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” I motion for him to continue.

  Paolo raises his eyebrows. “Then, he bumped into the wrong person.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Joey doesn’t actually have permanent contagious hemorrhoiditis.”

  “What? But … but … his whole family has it.”

  “There’s no such thing. That rumor was started after he barreled into Sabrina Pinkerton during a square-through maneuver and broke the cell phone hidden in her pocket.”

  “Samantha Pinkerton’s sister?” I slap my hand over my eyes.

  “Rumors have a way of spreading,” he says. “And with a ticked-off Sabrina Pinkerton behind the wheel, it was bad.” He pats my knee. “See? It coulda been worse.”

  My mind flashes to Samantha grabbing her foot and squealing like a pig. These are Pinnacle Stardusts! echoes in my mind.

  This just got way worse than I thought.

  But then it dawns on me. If I’m about to have a butt disease, Paolo is too.

  “Soooooo … Joey’s whole family has hemorrhoiditis because of what happened with him and Sabrina?” I click my tongue. “I’m sure Samantha Pinkerton is coming up with something good for me right now after I ruined her fancy shoes today.”

  Paolo suddenly looks like he has acute anal inflammation already. But there’s also something else on his face I haven’t figured out yet. He pauses for a few moments.

  “Lupe. Out of the kindness of my heart, I won’t let that happen to you,” he says. “We can fix this. But you’ll owe me.”

  “What’s it gonna cost?” I ask.

  “We can work out the details later,” he says.

  I’m desperate for a partner even though Paolo couldn’t have been all that great when he had to dance. “Wait. Who was your partner?” I ask.

  He cringes like a bee stung him. His face slackens but he doesn’t open his eyes.

  “Just tell me,” I say quietly. I think it’s the nicest I’ve ever spoken to Paolo.

  His voice squeaks out, “Sabrina Pinkerton.”

  “What?! Why would you do that, Paolo?”

  He smacks his head over and over like he’s trying to knock out the memo
ry. “I was so dumb. As soon as the music started, I just rushed out.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I thought if I asked her,” he says, “and she had to dance with me, she’d get to know me and like me. I might be popular.” Paolo falls back onto his bed. “I don’t think she even knew who I was.”

  Now I realize why Paolo ran out of the kitchen like it was on fire when Delia came over for dinner.

  “The entire time, my hands were sweaty,” he says.

  “So? Everyone’s hands are sweaty,” I say.

  “Oh, that’s not all.” He swallows, then breathes through his nose and out his mouth slowly. “It was right after Dad left to work in Alaska. You remember when Mom went back to work. Crock-Pot leftovers for lunch …”

  I cringe. “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, I had P.E. right after lunch.”

  I remember what fifth grade post-lunch was like. Uncontrollable explosions like an assembly line of champagne corks.

  “Oh no.”

  “Uhhhh … yeah. It’s hard to hide a fart when you do-si-do and spin around in a mini cyclone for an hour. It wasn’t as bad as if I’d broken Sabrina’s cell phone like Joey Stewart, but between the hand sweat and farting … she told everyone. Sabrina sure knew who I was after that.” Paolo stands up and faces me. “It’s taken two years for everyone to stop calling me Flutterbutt. I’ve suffered enough. I can’t risk you ruining that for me.” He holds his hand out for me.

  A weird little sob ekes out and I cover my eyes.

  “Awww, crap,” he says. “Are you gonna get all emo now?”

  I wipe my nose. “No.”

  “Stand up, Lupe. It’s just hormones. They’ll go away in a minute.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t have those.”

  He laughs. “Oh yes, you do.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I can help you with the dancing part. But the rest … Kids can be evil. Teenage girls are especially scary. Just smile and pretend like you’re having the best time of your life.”

  I think of Samantha and Claire, and everyone else plugging their noses at me. I have nothing to lose.

  “Joey Stewart … and me … we let them get in our heads.” He taps my forehead. “Don’t let them get in yours.”

  For a split second I think Paolo might actually be okay, but I know I’ll probably end up scrubbing the toilet for a year with this deal.

  “Let’s do this,” he says.

  I jump to the other side. “Fine. I lead.”

  CHAPTER 17

  A boy walks up to our lunch table on Wednesday and sits down. He must be new. Out of the side of my vision, I can see he has nice clothes and perfect, gelled hair. It’s a stark contrast to Niles’s jutting-up hair and “Frilled Dogwinkle Snail—Adorable Next Victim of Ocean Warming!” T-shirt, and my loose ponytail and Mariners jersey with a mustard stain down the I on the front.

  It’s not so weird for the new kid to sit at the cafeteria table with the least popular kids. I don’t look over. New kid will figure out soon enough about us and find cooler kids to sit with.

  “Hey guys,” New Kid says.

  “Hi,” I say. But I don’t look up, and continue focusing on dance moves in my mind.

  Niles wipes hummus off his mouth. “What’s up, Gordon?”

  I yank my head toward the new kid. What I’m seeing is very wrong. “Gordon?” I say. “What happened?”

  Gordon Schnelly looks like he stepped off the cover of Tween GQ. He’s wearing dark jeans and an untucked dress shirt. “My grandma’s new boyfriend took me out for a guy’s day.”

  “Your hair …” I say. Not only is his hair slicked with gel, his goggles are missing.

  He rubs his hand over his head, but with all that hair product it doesn’t budge. “He took me for a haircut at Julio Marquez Salon and then for new duds for the new man,” Gordon says in a gravelly voice.

  “Do you like it?” Niles asks him.

  Gordon shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels … too … polished.”

  Niles nods and removes a baby carrot from the vegetable bridge he’s constructed in his hummus. “Would you rather have a cloak of invisibility, or work as an engineer on the starship Enterprise?”

  Gordon puts his hand on his chin. Then he unbuttons his fancy new shirt to reveal a glow-in-the-dark Millennium Falcon underneath without saying a word. He’s still him.

  “Starship Enterprise, of course. But as you know, if I had my choice, I’d cruise the galaxy in an Imperial Star Destroy—”

  “Gordon,” I interrupt. “Say ‘starship Enterprise’ again.”

  He sighs. “Sally sells seashells by the seashore,” he says, his lisp completely gone. He makes a fake smile and taps on two perfect front teeth. “Grandma’s boyfriend is a maxillofacial specialist, so my prosthetic tooth retainer barely took him an hour.” Gordon doesn’t look happy about something people normally spend a ton of money on. “I’m having a hard time saying my name.”

  “You can’t say Gordon?” Niles asks.

  “No,” Gordon says. “Snelly.”

  “Schnelly,” Niles corrects.

  “I know.” Gordon crumples up his napkin. “I can’t say it anymore. It’s these new teeth.”

  “I liked you better the other way,” Niles says, pulling out his apple juice.

  “Shhhhh.” I tap Niles under the table.

  “You did?” Gordon asks Niles.

  “Yeah. It’s who you are.” Niles takes a long drink from his juice box, then says quietly, “Nature doesn’t make mistakes.”

  By the smile on Gordon’s face, Niles just undid enough damage in those ten seconds that would’ve taken years of counseling with Delia.

  * * *

  It’s been five days and Andy is still giving me the cold shoulder. There’s no time to fix our friendship before I go out to overcome square dancing. Instead, I run to the sink, wet down my hair, and tighten my ponytail. I’ve worn spandex, so today my shorts won’t ride. I even shaved my legs and the two hairs on my armpit. I am ready.

  I hold my chin high and walk into the gym. Gordon (a.k.a. Excessive-Science-Goggle Wearer) has the nerve to arch his eyebrows at the sweatbands on my wrists.

  We pair up, and I’m with Gordon and Zola, Andy and Niles, and two other kids. When Zola sees Gordon, her face looks like she just got asked to prom by the quarterback of the football team. “H-h-hi, Gordon.” Even though he has on his regular old dorky gym shorts, he still looks different with product in his hair and a complete mouth of teeth.

  The music starts almost instantly so we don’t have to listen to Zola falling all over the new Gordon.

  I step on Andy’s foot once. She doesn’t react at all.

  The caller wails out, “Back to your partners!”

  We switch and I’m alone again. We promenade, and I bump into Niles.

  “Sorry, dude.”

  Niles nods and keeps moving. He and Andy aren’t making any mistakes. There’s a twinge in my stomach. I watch them too long and miss a do-si-do.

  I’m losing focus. I spin with just enough room and come back to my position.

  But when I put my hand out to link into Andy’s for an allemande left, I completely miss and trip over my feet. I switch to my invisible partner. If I can’t have a real partner, I need to visualize I’m with Paolo. I swipe my forehead with my wristband.

  I stop and close my eyes. Paolo and I are spinning arm in arm. We switch to the other direction and lock hands in perfect form.

  When I open my eyes, Coach is staring at me.

  I give her a thumbs-up. She’s far away, but I think I see a thumb peek out from behind her clipboard.

  We switch to the next group. Samantha’s eyes shift up and to the right when we make eye contact. I’m sure it means she’s trying to figure out some fake disease for me. Instead, she grunts and flings Blake’s hands off her when he promenades in the wrong direction, nailing her in the calf.

  “You’re horrible!” Samantha shrieks. She stops in the middle of the circl
e and faces him. The rest of us keep clapping with the music and avoid eye contact. “Any professional could see you have zero command of rhythm. You’re about as coordinated as the wacky waving tube man at my dad’s car dealership. Even Lupe’s better than you.”

  For a split second, I think she deserves another Silent But Deadly bombing mission the next time she’s my partner. But it’s also about the nicest thing she’s ever said about me.

  Blake starts up the routine again, spinning her a little too fast. “Well, you’re dumb … and … and you smell like you slept in rotten fruit.”

  “It’s Shower Factory’s Pea Blossom, you caveman,” she says.

  Banjos drown out her voice. “Switch partners.”

  Blake looks relieved, but now I’m on the receiving end of Samantha’s stink-eye.

  “Half sashay.”

  Samantha and I move in an arc around each other. Paolo said to smile and pretend I’m having fun. I smile as big as I can and rock my head from side to side at her the entire time.

  Samantha pulls her entire upper body away. “Stop that! It’s creepy.”

  I keep smiling. If she’s going to give me a disease, I’d rather it be something about how I’m a few McNuggets short of a Happy Meal.

  We move to the next partner. I do the same to Claire. She flinches back, and her mouth is open. I double-time my head-rocking.

  Then I’m back with Samantha. I grin and keep bobbing my head.

  “You’re such a freak.” Samantha stumbles over her feet. “If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Coach Solden you’re smiling at me.”

  I smile even bigger, then bow.

  “Back to your partners!” the caller says.

  I’m back with an invisible Paolo. I do-si-do, then do-pas-so. I’m no flourisher, but I’m catching on. I bet I could even keep up with Gordon.

  Coach is walking around the perimeter of the court. Her clipboard is resting on her hip, and she scribbles marks on a sheet as she watches us. I smile and wave at her.

  The bell rings, ending class. Coach shakes her head and smiles.