Lupe Wong Won't Dance Read online

  “Touché, Coach Solden,” Gordon whispers. “Maybe we just will.”

  I clench soggy socks between my toes. What’s done is done. All of it was for nothing. I look around and find Andy. I know she can see me, but she doesn’t look back.

  “Ahem. The first couple I hope can work a little harder and pull it together before Friday.” Coach peeks out from behind her clipboard. “Samantha and Blake.”

  A few sporadic claps come from people who aren’t sure how we’re supposed to react to the winners. But mostly it’s awkward silence.

  Samantha and Blake were a given. Samantha could dance with an elephant and still be a finalist.

  Blake smiles at Samantha, and she makes her signature flutter-eye-roll that looks more like she’s having some sort of seizure.

  “For best teamwork—” Coach stares up and down the line, one side of her mouth turned up higher than the other. She raises an eyebrow. “Niles and Andalusia.”

  Niles’s eyes go as wide as jumbo eggs, and Andy makes a noise sounding oddly like, “Meep.”

  Andy smiles at Jordyn, but I can’t help but notice Jordyn doesn’t smile back. Andy and Niles turn to face each other. “You did it!” they say at the same time. “Jinx!” they yell, then laugh.

  Gordon pats Niles’s shoulder. “Good job, buddy.” But Gordon’s voice doesn’t have its normal enthusiasm.

  Kids are mumbling but I think it has more to do with what they are going to do after school than who won the square dancing competition. I’m pretty sure Gordon and I are the only ones who care about who will be announced next.

  Coach blows her whistle and it quiets down a bit. “For style and flair above and beyond a typical spin or promenade—” She looks at her clipboard like we don’t already know she’s stalling to be funny. “Gordon and Zola!”

  Gordon’s unswollen eye starts to water. He clenches his fist into his body. “Yes!”

  “Congratulations, Gordon and Zola,” Coach says.

  I fidget with my hands and bend my knees. My shorts ride up higher. In all the rush to clean my shoes, I forgot my spandex. My hair is spitting out in different directions. And there’s a tiny water puddle by each of my feet. Today’s vibe feels totally off from Friday, when I danced so well. If Papa’s fêng shui thing applies to P.E. too, it’s not looking promising.

  “Last but not least. My favorite category.” Coach snickers. “Most improved couple.”

  Couple?

  My stomach pits out like I took a line drive straight to the gut. It’s over. The final winner isn’t some loser who convinced her brother to help her, or practiced alone in front of her mirror like a fool, thinking she could somehow win. I stare at my slushy feet. My shoes are getting blurry. I force myself not to blink.

  Everyone is chattering. No one else even cares about what Coach is about to say.

  Gordon’s hand brushes my arm. “Sorry, Lupe.”

  I don’t look up. The babbling is getting louder.

  Coach blows her whistle. “Quiet! Next one to talk is running laps.”

  Now, not only is it dead silent, no one is even breathing. I hold perfectly still.

  “Like I said, for most improved …” From the crumpling noise, she’s obviously shuffling papers around needlessly. “… and I might add this also applies to attitude,” she says. “The final winner … Lupe Wong!”

  I blink. A tear rolls down each cheek. Mouth ajar, I turn my head toward Gordon and Niles.

  Gordon makes a fist pump and starts laughing.

  Jordyn and the soccer girls are laughing too, but not in the same way Gordon is. Niles leans out of line and beams a huge grin at me.

  I glance over at Andy. I think I even see her smile a little, but she doesn’t look at me.

  “Are you kidding?” Samantha Pinkerton steps out of line and points at me. “Lupe doesn’t even have a partner.”

  Coach walks toward the bleachers and sets down her clipboard, sniffing deeply. “Well thanks to Lupe, hopefully that will never happen again. From now on, people can switch up any time we need to even things out. And people will be able to choose whomever they want to dance with.”

  Samantha jostles her head from side to side. “Well, maybe I choose to dance with someone more professional.”

  “Shut up, Samantha!” Blake says, like someone who’s just realized he’s about to dance alone.

  Coach snaps her head toward Samantha. “I believe I said next one to talk …”

  Samantha’s mouth drops open.

  “Get to running,” Coach says. “The rest of you, partner up.”

  Samantha stomps off for show, then paces into the slowest jog humanly possible. Everyone moves onto the gym floor with their partners and splits off into groups.

  Blake walks toward Coach. “Can I practice with Lupe if Samantha can’t be my partner?”

  Coach Solden looks over at me. I’m still in shock from the announcement and haven’t moved.

  For a second it looks like she’s going to make me dance with Blake. Then … “I think you’re both good on your own today,” she says, giving me a quick wink.

  She’s right. I am good on my own.

  Blake sulks away to try a full class of air-dancing. At least he won’t have anyone to stomp on now that he’s on his own.

  But I can’t do it. Even if he didn’t have my back, I have his. “Blake,” I call after him. I run up to him, and put my arm through his elbow. His slouch straightens, and he has a huge grin on his face.

  Coach shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. The phone on the wall rings. Coach hits play on the stereo. “Get to work everyone!”

  People are already in groups and start dancing around.

  Coach jogs over to the phone and picks it up. “Yes?” She shifts her body away, and I can’t hear what she’s saying.

  When she turns back around she’s staring at me with her brow furrowed. “What?” That part I can hear. She pauses. “I had no idea.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Of course. Let me work on this. Thank you for letting me know.” Coach scans across the gym like she’s mulling something over, then stops. Her eyes shift toward Carl, who’s reaching above his head, chiseling who-knows-what from under the bleachers. She smiles, hanging up the phone. “Trondson, front and center!” Carl walks slowly toward her, gum bucket and chisel in hand.

  Carl’s eyes get wider the closer he gets to Coach, and his limp is suddenly more exaggerated.

  She puts a hand on his shoulder like she did to me when she was giving me a pep talk.

  Shoulders slumped, Carl hands her the chisel and bucket.

  Coach catches me staring. “Blake, Lupe!” she yells. “Get going.”

  I jump. In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten. I grin like I just busted open my birthday piñata. I think for a second Coach is mad, but when I glance at her, she has a satisfied grin on her face.

  That’s it. I did it. I got my A in P.E. I already have As in all the rest of my classes. I’m going to meet Fu Li. The only thing left—

  My legs turn to Jell-O. How did I forget? Now, I have to square dance alone in front of the entire school.

  CHAPTER 22

  After a class of epic dancing with me leading Blake, I’m filled with a mix of terror and complete happiness. I also can’t stop wondering what change Principal Singh has planned. Zola and I are the last ones walking toward the locker room because Gordon insisted on trying an added dip-spin at the end of the dance. He said I needed to try the move as well to see how it would play out on stage.

  Zola pats my shoulder. “This is going to be awesome, Lupe.”

  My instinct is to glance at the spot on my shoulder she just touched. I don’t, so I must be getting better at thinking she isn’t just that kid who picks her nose every second of the day.

  We round the corner into the locker room. I see Jordyn tossing an empty can of Hawaiian Breeze shaving cream to Andy. Andy catches it, looking confused, but quickly throws it in the trash.

  Jordyn ma
kes an exaggerated wave. “Oh hi, Lupe.”

  Giggles echo through the locker room. I half expected a little teasing, but something feels off.

  The closer I get to my locker, the stronger the scent of coconut gets. I look toward it, knowing it won’t be good. The word Guadapoopy trails vertically down the center, the letters blending together. Fluffy white globs drip on the tile floor in front of my locker.

  My face turns hot. Zola isn’t laughing.

  Zola whispers, her voice quivering, “They’re just jealous.”

  I turn to look at her. Her eyes are welling up. “Sorry,” she says. “I know how it feels.”

  My face gets even hotter. If Zola felt the same punch to the gut in the second grade that I’m feeling right now, it was my fault. She’s looking at me like she and I are members of some club only we understand. And she’s right. The rotten taste in my mouth must be from knowing I’m the one who put her in that club in the first place. Principal Singh’s words suddenly make sense. I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.

  I stare around the room, not knowing what “better” should be. I meet Andy’s eyes and she looks away. I’ve never felt so alone. I wish a sinkhole would suddenly open beneath me and swallow me whole.

  Not everyone finds my locker as funny as Samantha, Claire, Jordyn, and their squads, but they’re all still staring. The word Guadapoopy is now just a long streak going down my locker.

  Coach walks in from the gym. The laughing suddenly stops. She stands behind Zola and me. She points at my locker. “Who did this?”

  I open my locker to grab my towel, and dripping foam flings all over the floor. I start mopping up the tropical puddle.

  Coach takes the towel from me. “Go ahead and change, Wong. I’ll take care of this.”

  I try to keep my voice from shaking. “No, Coach. I can clean it up.” I reach for the towel. “No big deal.”

  She ignores me and wipes down the center. The top layer of paint fades in one long streak.

  “It is a big deal,” she says loudly, staring back at the rest of the class. “I will find out who did this.”

  Coach spins back around and one foot slips on remnant shaving cream. Her foot flies up in the air, and she tries to catch herself with one arm. She falls to the floor with a thump and a small crack. Lips pursed together, noises burble from her mouth that sound like cusswords in an alien language.

  Her garbles are mixed with giggling from around the locker room.

  Why are some of them still laughing? She’s hurt.

  Zola and I aren’t laughing. Neither is Andy. Andy is hurrying to get dressed, but I’m not sure if it’s because she’s trying to avoid me after helping trash my locker, or if she gets that this just went from a little prank to something more serious.

  Coach cradles her left arm against her body. “When I find out who did this they’ll pay with a week of detention!” She grunts, pushing herself to a seated position. “Everyone out!”

  Now, everyone is shuffling to get dressed. Half the girls are already out the door. But I’m frozen. I stare down at Coach. It’s one thing when you see a kid fall at school; when a grown-up who’s supposed to be taking care of us gets hurt, it’s a different kind of scary.

  She’s leaning against the bench, eyes closed, holding her arm. Andy grabs her things and runs after everyone else without even looking at me.

  Coach cracks open an eye and sees me. “Go to class, Wong.”

  “Okay. I will,” I lie.

  I know I don’t have permission, but I go to Coach’s office and push the “Principal Singh” button on her phone.

  “Yes, Becky?” Principal Singh answers.

  “Not Becky. It’s Lupe,” I whisper. “We need help. Coach is hurt. I think she’s delusional from the pain. Don’t tell her I called you. But hurry up.”

  “On my way,” she says, hanging up.

  I stall, taking my time to get dressed. Principal Singh is there in less than two minutes, but the rest of the girls have already gone to their next class.

  When Principal Singh runs toward her, Coach is still trying to wipe up shaving cream.

  “Stop that, Becky,” Principal Singh says.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Coach argues. But her face looks as pale as a chalk line on the field.

  I pick up my backpack to leave and scurry out of the locker room.

  Jordyn is waiting, blocking my way. The scent of coconut surrounds her.

  “What now?” I ask. “Haven’t you done enough?”

  She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes. “If you say it was me, I’ll say Andy was behind it.”

  My heart plummets to my ankles. “Why would you do that?”

  She shrugs and walks toward the main building. “You heard Coach Solden. Someone has to pay the price.”

  * * *

  Even though I know Andy was probably a little involved, and she isn’t talking to me, the idea of her getting the entire blame for this makes me resent Jordyn, and Samantha, and all the follower bunheads, and the soccer club kids even more.

  The day has had so many ups and downs, if I were Gordon, I’d for sure toss my breakfast back up.

  I don’t stop to chat with Delia, even when I see a new cat sitting in the middle of her catnip pot.

  I take a shower and put on my PJs.

  I don’t know what makes me do it, but I check my email. It’s been over a week, but the Change.org responses are up to three thousand total now. One hundred and forty-seven new emails are since last night alone. Subject lines scroll by like, “You have the backing of the ACLU-Florida chapter” and “Aren’t you adorable!” and “I hated square dancing too!” But then, not only do I see more subject lines like, “Eradicate Square Dancing! Then kale!” but pledges. What?! It’s not even supposed to be a fundraising site! Now on top of everything else, what the heck am I supposed to do with a bunch of money I don’t deserve?

  I hit close before I can see any more. I can’t wrap my head around this right now on top of everything else.

  I lie on my bed. I have no idea how to make this problem go away.

  When I open my eyes, Mom is standing in my doorway.

  “Sorry about today,” she says. “Popcorn and Doctor Who?”

  “Let me guess. Coach called.”

  “No, Principal Singh,” she says.

  “How’s Coach?” I cross my arms over my eyes, trying to block out the visual of her lying on the locker room floor.

  “She broke her arm. Six weeks in a cast, but she’ll heal. Apparently there was an anonymous tip implicating someone.”

  This is worse than I thought. Coach breaking a bone just sent this to a code red. And Jordyn has already blamed Andy for what she did.

  I turn onto my side toward Mom. “I’m not feeling so great. I’m going to go to bed early.”

  “You haven’t even had dinner.” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind and puts her hand on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “Please.” I can’t fathom the idea of sitting at dinner when the entire universe is crashing down around me. “I’m not hungry.”

  Mom rubs my head. “Principal Singh emailed the link to the report you showed her. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I still feel like I have moldy sardines in my mouth from the words in the song. “And have you see it too? You love all that dancing stuff. I don’t want to ruin square dancing for everyone.”

  “Principal Singh sending the email was the right decision,” she says. “It should be left for all the parents to decide whether or not to discuss it with their children.”

  Ice water runs up the back of my neck. “She sent it to all the parents?” I think of how hearing it made me feel, and imagine parents showing it to my classmates that very minute.

  “Lupe, what you uncovered was a scab that needed to be peeled off. The most difficult issues to tackle are often the most uncomfortable to talk about. Do you think Principal Singh should approach this quietly?
Or should we unveil what we’ve discovered so that everyone can learn and be more aware?”

  I pull a pillow over my eyes. “Do you think Andy saw it?”

  She peels the pillow away. “Andy’s mom isn’t the type to keep things from her, thinking she’s protecting her. You guys should be given credit to see the good and the bad and try to find answers too.”

  But I don’t have any answers to this one.

  Mom tucks my hair behind my ear. “The past is confusing. A lot of those people who did things like that just didn’t know better. Kids called me names and teased me for being Mexican when I was young.”

  I think of the Krueger brothers calling me names and wonder why I’ve never told Mom about it.

  “All we can do is give people a chance to learn and become better.” Mom sighs. “Some will choose to do better. Some will never listen. But we can’t ignore how some of those songs began, or no one will learn.”

  I think of Gordon, and how much he loves square dancing. And someone like Gordon would never say or do anything that might hurt anyone. “I guess square dancing isn’t all bad,” I say.

  “It’s not.” Mom makes a cringeworthy kick out with her legs. “A partially crummy past isn’t going to stop people from square dancing. We take the good parts, make them our own, and never repeat the bad parts.”

  I know she’s probably right. And I feel a little better. But Guadapoopy is still etched in shaving cream in my mind too. I roll over. “Well, right now, I just want to sleep.”

  Mom leans down and kisses the side of my head. “Okay.” She stops at my door on the way out. “You know, tomorrow will be better.”

  But something tells me it won’t be.

  If what my mom says is true, Andy is already in trouble.

  Now, she’ll get kicked off the soccer team. And on top of that, she’ll probably get a week’s detention and have to rebuild New Yack after her mom obliterates it. Andy will be in the doghouse with her mom until she’s old like our parents. I can’t let this happen to her.