Lupe Wong Won't Dance Read online

  But I have no idea how to keep it from happening.

  I imagine what would happen if I was the one Jordyn was targeting. Detention for me would be even worse.

  If I had a week of detention, I’d miss practice. Our new coach was clear: miss three practices, and we lose our starting positions. I’d have to stare at Marcus’s smug face from the bench most of the season if I was #2 in the rotation. There can’t be much worse than that.

  But what about Andy? All she wants is to make her mom proud of her.

  I’m not sure what I can do to help. Papa said I don’t always have to fight. Sometimes I have to overcome. How can I fight against Jordyn, but still find a way to overcome this so Andy doesn’t get in trouble?

  Suddenly everything I’ve been so focused on is nowhere close to as important as helping Andy. I’d give up anything to get her out of this. I lie on my side, staring at the sleeved Fu Li card on the wall. What would my dad do?

  I’m not even pitching, but he comes in loud and clear.

  Pitching to contact might not get you a perfect game, but making sacrifices to do what’s best for your team is the most important thing.

  I take deep breaths. I’m not sure if it’s Dad’s words, or Papa’s fêng shui.

  But I know what I have to do.

  CHAPTER 23

  I barely have time to brush my teeth. If I wait for Niles to walk to school, there’ll be too many kids and too much commotion by the time we get there. I need Principal Singh to have her focus on me.

  I call Niles and tell him I’m going early to school so his mom or dad can drive him instead. I leave Mom a note telling her I had to leave early for a study group. It’s a mini lie, but too much is at stake to worry about a few fibs today. I run most of the way.

  I wipe the sweat from my forehead before I knock on her door. Déjà vu.

  “Yes?” Principal Singh says.

  I’ve brought every last manner I have with me for this one. I open the door a tiny bit and poke my head in. “It’s Lupe again. May I please talk to you?”

  She’s rolling up her mat, so she looks extra calm. “Of course.” She motions for me to come in. “Is this about what happened in P.E. yesterday?”

  I put one hand in my pocket and cross my fingers, even though I know it doesn’t make what I’m about to say less of a lie. I decide to blurt it out before she tells me her side of the story first. “I’m the one who put the shaving cream on my locker.”

  Principal Singh takes an extremely long drink from her water bottle and folds her hands on her desk. “You did, did you?”

  “Yes.” I keep my voice steady. “Whoever told you Andy did it lied. Andy didn’t do it.”

  She leans way back in her big leather chair and narrows her eyes at me. “Interesting. I don’t think I ever brought up Andalusia’s name to anyone.”

  Pinpricks run up my scalp. I have one shot at this, and I’m blowing it. “Well, it was me. I did it.”

  “To your own locker?” she asks.

  “I know it seems pointless,” I say. “But I’ve looked it up. My frontal cortex isn’t fully formed. I’m expected to make poor choices.”

  She sighs and shakes her head. “Lupe, you do know I have to give detention to the person responsible?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  What kid admits to trashing their own locker? Especially when everyone knows it wasn’t them. I probably just guaranteed my outcast status for the next two years as well.

  “Are you sure it was you?” she asks.

  I can’t look her in the eye. “I thought if I trashed my own locker …”

  “Yes?” She motions for me to finish my statement.

  “That …”

  “Yes?”

  “That, people would feel bad for me, and realize baseball was better than soccer.”

  Principal Singh’s brow furrows. “What does that even mean?”

  I think I was doing great up until the last part. I need to just keep to the facts—I acted alone.

  “I know. It’s a dumb reason. But I did it, by myself, so I have to pay the price.” I bow my head and pretend to be ashamed.

  “Well, I can’t say I’m not baffled. But I don’t have a choice,” she says. “You’ll have detention after school this week for destruction of school property.”

  I smile, but quickly bite my lips together, like the grin was a nervous reaction. “I understand.”

  Principal Singh writes up a detention slip and pushes it in front of me.

  “You know if you sign that, you are saying it was you. I have to believe you if you say so.”

  “Yes.” I take the paper and pen a little too eagerly and sign the bottom before she changes her mind. Even as I’m signing the paper, a burning pain twists in my gut knowing what else this means besides helping Andy. What’s best for my team is the most important thing …

  And just like that, I’ve sacrificed my #1 spot for the year.

  * * *

  Even though I only tell Niles about my fake confession, and he doesn’t breathe a word, by Wednesday morning, word somehow gets around that I confessed. Word also gets around that it was a complete lie. At least ten people saw Jordyn do it. The result is not what I expected. Almost everyone, including my baseball team (even Marcus, but not because he feels sorry for me), is being a little nicer to me.

  Principal Singh says “what I did” has nothing to do with the assembly, so I’m still dancing solo on stage Friday morning. She still hasn’t revealed what her plan is to make square dancing any better.

  On the way to P.E., Zola walks with me, Gordon, and Niles like we’re all old buddies. Zola holds up a Snapchat of a kid do-si-do spinning his dog. And we see two seventh graders promenading before a math test for good luck. We’ve all been infected. Eventually, we’ll be clomping around and terrorizing our children just like our parents.

  I know now. I never stood a chance against square dancing.

  Andy is already dressed and standing by our gym lockers when I get to P.E. Her face is droopy, but for now at least she’s looking me in the eye. She’s picking at her hangnail.

  “Why would you confess to something we both know you didn’t do?”

  I drop my backpack and open my striped locker, which smells mildly of coconut. I bet Andy doesn’t even know Jordyn tried to throw her under the bus. “I don’t know. I guess …”

  Coach blows one long, louder-than-usual blast on her whistle. Thank goodness for her timing. I have no idea what I was going to say to Andy.

  Coach is standing in her office doorway holding the whistle with her one good hand, a UW purple-and-gold-striped cast on the other. “Listen up. As you all know, we will end the square dancing section with our grand finale Salmon Days assembly Friday morning.”

  Everyone cheers, but I’m not sure if it’s for the cool stuff we get to do on Salmon Days, or because we won’t be square dancing anymore in P.E. “So take your stinky clothes home, as we won’t be having P.E. tomorrow.” She drops the whistle and points to me. “Wong! In my office!”

  I hurry to yank on the loaners because I forgot mine. Again. Some things actually don’t ever change.

  Andy grins at me. It’s just a small smile, but I haven’t seen her look at me that way in a while. “Hold on.” Andy reaches in her locker and hands me her soccer shorts.

  I look away and blink back tears. “Thanks,” I say, taking the shorts from her hand.

  “My mom got the email from Principal Singh,” she says, closing her locker. “You were the student who found the song?”

  I nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks.

  “We haven’t exactly been talking.” I pretend to tie my shoe, so I don’t have to look Andy in the eye. “And … the words were really bad.”

  “I heard,” she says.

  I look up and she holds my eyes. In the few seconds our eyes meet, a lot more passes between us than any words we might try to say.

  “I’m just glad you told someo
ne.” She bends down to lock her locker. “Thanks, Lupe.” She glances up and smiles.

  I can tell we aren’t even close to our old selves. But we’ll get there.

  “Wong!” rings in my ears from the direction of Coach’s office.

  “Coming, Coach!”

  I’m pretty sure Coach knows I didn’t coconut-cream my own locker. But if she does think I did it, then she also thinks I’m responsible for her broken arm.

  I’m nervous about what to expect, but Coach doesn’t look mad at all. I don’t say anything. I stand in front of her, not knowing what to do with my hands, so I tuck them under my armpits.

  “I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d admit to something I know you didn’t do.” She takes a pencil and scratches the inside of her cast. “Tell me this, did you have a good reason?”

  I dig my hands into my sweaty armpits. “If I say anything, it doesn’t mean I’m saying I didn’t do it. Right?”

  “Sure,” she says. “Whatever.”

  I imagine Andy’s mom’s disappointment if she thought Andy was involved even a little. “Yep. I had a good reason.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Of course, Coach Solden still rats me out to my mom and tells her she knows I didn’t do it. Mom gives me trash, dishwasher, and Azteca cleaning duty that week for lying to Principal Singh. She says something about consequences.

  Principal Singh announces Thursday morning that instead of replacing the annual Field Day with the Sadie Hawkins gender-neutral square dancing event (which of course was my fault), we’ll be having our school’s first annual Family Celebration of Cultures Night Friday evening to include everyone (in a way, also my fault). But I think Principal Singh’s efforts to make things more inclusive of everyone is a step in the right direction. I think of how when this entire thing started, Andy pointed out that no one culture was any more important than another. What would have happened if I’d listened and we’d just gone to Principal Singh with this revelation in the beginning? Too late now.

  I finish the third day of my detention, trying not to think about Marcus smirking up there on the mound. What’s done is done.

  Friday morning, I wake up way too early without an alarm. I know it’s because I’m anxious for the assembly. I go outside in my PJs. I throw ten curves, ten changeups, and three knuckleballs for focus.

  I know better, but I check my email again. It’s up to 2,874 total. I can’t even look when “I just broke my piggy bank to support your cause!” pops up in the subject line. I close it quickly.

  I scamper into my room to find Mom standing there.

  She has a ridiculous smile on her face. She pulls cowboy boots from behind her back.

  “Nope,” I say.

  “Listen. You have to play the part. The school portal said to wear dancing duds.” She raises the boots up in the air like they are some magical relic.

  I point to my broken-in, Gordon-vomit and mud-christened shoes. “I have a system. I’ll fall off the stage in those things.”

  “Fine, but …” She pulls my overalls off the bed from behind her, goofy smile back. They’re plastered with red-checkered patches.

  “Mawwwwwm! What did you do?” I’d planned on wearing my overalls for the assembly, but now I have no time to plan a new outfit or cut off the patches.

  “We can take them off when it’s over.” She holds them in front of me to put my legs in like when I was a kid. “I didn’t get to do this with Paolo,” she says.

  “Yeah, because they didn’t have a stupid assembly!”

  She ignores me and pulls them up to my waist.

  Paolo walks in carrying a sombrero.

  This isn’t happening.

  Mom waves her hand at him like he’s some incompetent assistant. “No, no! The straw hat.”

  Paolo stomps back toward the garage.

  “How about no hat?!” I say.

  Her voice is way higher than usual, and she claps her hands quickly. “You are going to look so authentic.”

  Just wait till she sees me dancing alone while the rest of the kids are partnered up. She’s way too happy for something that’s going to disappoint her.

  “You do remember I’m going to stick out like a beacon up there by myself.” I stand up and my overalls fall to my knees.

  “Oh, I know.” My mom smiles and helps me pull my pants back up. She buttons the strap on my overalls. “And you will be the most magnificent beacon on that stage.” She kisses my cheek.

  Paolo walks back in. The hat he’s carrying is definitely straw. The edges have twigs darting out like hillbilly tassels.

  “Really, I don’t want a hat.” It’s a fine line between letting moms feel useful and not hurting their feelings. “I mean any other hoedown I would, but I need to be able to see really well.”

  “Pffft,” she mutters, and grabs a brush off my nightstand. You’d think my mom would be more miffed by me dancing alone than me refusing to wear the dumb hat.

  She parts my hair and makes a French braid down each side of my head instead. She reaches in her pocket and holds up a tube of mascara.

  “Nope!”

  She tilts her head, eyes wide, like she can’t believe I’m upset. “It’s for freckles.”

  I fold my arms over my chest.

  “Fine.” She slips it back in her pocket and adjusts the collar on my shirt.

  I run my hands over the patches on my overalls and let out a deep sigh.

  “You know, Becky Solden didn’t have a great experience with square dancing when we were your age.”

  “Well, it couldn’t have been as bad as dancing in front of the whole school,” I say.

  “Oh, it was worse.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Really.” Mom isn’t smiling.

  She leans over and rolls my pant legs up to my shins. I’ll just have to unroll them later when she’s not watching.

  “Well, are you going to tell me?” I ask.

  She sits next to me. “One by one, as a joke, the boys approached her, then passed her by for other girls. She was the last girl, but a kid named Bruce was still left.”

  With a name like Bruce I already know this can’t end well.

  “Just like the rest, he walked up to her, but he stopped and bowed. She was already mortified, but she still reached out to take his hand like the teacher told us we had to.”

  “What’s the big deal? Lots of people had horrible partners.”

  “It didn’t end there. Just before Becky touched his hand, Bruce jumped back and ran toward the boys’ locker room screaming. Everyone laughed … except Becky.”

  “So? Didn’t he just get in trouble and still have to dance with Coach?” I ask.

  “Well, the teacher told him exactly that—to go run two laps and hustle to get back to dance with Becky. To which Bruce said he’d rather do detention than dance with an ape.”

  Even decades later, my heart aches a little for Coach. “So then what?”

  “Bruce got detention, and Becky was on her own.” Mom’s voice sounds like if they were right there in front of us, she’d hug Coach and kick Bruce in the unmentionables.

  I was left out by default. Coach Solden was humiliated. “That is horrible.” I pick at a checkered patch on my knee. “But it’s still not as bad as having to dance alone in front—”

  “It gets worse. For the entire two weeks we danced, every time a boy danced with Becky, he made monkey noises under his breath. You know, ‘ooh-ooh, eeeeh-eeeeh.’ Even some of the girls made monkey noises and pretended to scratch their armpits.”

  Maybe Coach insisting I dance on my own was the result of some sort of wound she was holding onto for thirty years. Now I know why she had the far-off look when she was talking about “someone always has to dance alone” and all that “it will build your character” stuff.

  Even with what Samantha, Jordyn, and the others did to me, it wasn’t that humiliating. “Wow,” I say.

  “Yeah. Middle school sucked for us too, Lupe
.”

  The doorbell rings.

  “It’s Niles.” My heart pounds. We’d already arranged this. Today more than any other day is one where we need safety in numbers.

  “I’ll get it.” Mom stands and kisses my forehead. “You are going to be amazing, Lupe.” She walks toward the door.

  I sit on the floor, tie my shoes, and unfold the rolled hems. When I look up, Andy’s standing in my doorway holding a puffed-out Hefty bag. Her forehead is all sweaty and she’s biting her lower lip.

  “Hey,” I finally say.

  She doesn’t answer.

  “So … what’s up?” I ask.

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” she says. She reaches in the Hefty bag and pulls out a dress with ruffles wider than the doorframe. A blast of Encouragement hits me in the face.

  “Oh no,” I whisper. “Niles’s mom made this.”

  “How’d you know?”

  The dress is covered in blue and gold. Men’s torsos are tilted in different directions all over the skirt. One guy with straight black bangs plastered to his head is wearing a skintight, Smurf-blue, long-sleeved shirt. I recognize him as one of the people on Niles’s new Star Trek poster in his room. He’s waving … I think. It’s the same hand-cramp gesture Niles signaled to Gordon making his pinky and ring finger look glued together.

  “She was just so excited about the idea. She asked Niles if it was okay … Then he asked me …” Andy sighs. “She was so happy about the outfits, we felt too guilty saying no.”

  This is bad. They are both really going to need me once the kids at school get a look at their outfits.

  I tilt my head sideways, trying to figure out the hand signal. “Is he making dog shadows?”

  The other guy in puke-gold is narrowing his eyes like he’s flirting and holding what looks like an antique flip phone.

  Andy’s voice sounds tiny. “It’s Spock and Captain Kirk.”

  “Star Trek?” I ask.

  “Yes. TOS,” she answers.

  “TOS?”