Lupe Wong Won't Dance Page 17

  “The Original Series.”

  “It’ll be okay. No one will even notice the weird dudes with how far away we’ll be from the audience.”

  “Maybe.” Andy holds up the skirt, and it bumps into my head. “But I’ll take up half the stage in this thing.”

  She has a point. She plops down next to me. After her third awkward sigh, she says, “Lupe, why’d you say it was you?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Can we just talk about it later?”

  “I know Jordyn was going to let me take the blame,” she says.

  I jerk my head toward her. I only mentioned Jordyn’s threat to one person. “How’d you know that?”

  “Niles told me.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why though?” she asks again.

  I can’t help the quick glance at my glove at the end of my bed. I try not to imagine sitting the bench and watching Marcus pitch. “I guess I thought you had more to lose than me,” I say, dropping my head to my chest. “And I’m really sorry about what I said about your mom, and coding classes, and soccer, and peeing your pants—”

  “Well, I quit the soccer team,” Andy interrupts.

  “What?” I should be happy. But now I can only think that maybe what I did for Andy was for nothing.

  Andy stares at the floor, picking her thumbnail. “I told Jordyn not to speak to me again, so of course, no one else will talk to me either.”

  She doesn’t have to say any more. Andy just self-destructed her social status.

  “What about your mom? Didn’t she say you had to play?”

  “My mom had her chance to be a middle-schooler. Even though the way you said it was pretty mean, you were a little bit right. If my mom is only proud about the things she wants me to do, that’s on her. But, I think dancing in front of the school today will make up for it a little.”

  I hope she’s right and New Yack is intact.

  We sit in silence for a bit.

  “Being alone is no fun,” I finally say.

  Andy sniffs but I can’t see her face.

  “Sorry I didn’t appreciate you,” I say. “I won’t do it again.”

  Andy takes my pillow and wipes her nose. I make a mental note to flip it inside out before I go to sleep.

  She turns toward me, and boops me on the nose. I boop her back.

  I reach into my bedside table, pull out a Ziploc bag, and hand it to Andy. Inside, there are two miniature landscape boulders, a shell I thought she could use as a dinner plate, and a mouse-sized white cowhide coat I cut out of a baseball cover I found at the field.

  Andy grins, but now she’s picking at her nail so hard I think she might hit bone any second. Her mouth opens and closes a few times like she can’t spit out what she wants to say.

  “What is it?”

  Andy takes a deep breath. “I was wondering …” She stops.

  I think of how her dad works so much. How her mom won’t listen to her. “What were you going to say?” I ask.

  The corners of her mouth turn up in a small smile. “There’s a raptor convention at Seattle Center next weekend. Wanna go?”

  I smile, teeth clenched. I’d rather lick a frog. “Sure. If that’s what you feel like.”

  She sets her hands calmly in her lap. “It is.”

  If I’m going to be a better friend to Andy and Niles, I’ll need to get used to owl puke and Comic-Con for them. She nudges me, and I stand holding my hand out for her. She takes it smiling, and I pull her up.

  We lay her dress out on the floor, ruffles down. Andy holds my hand for balance, stepping one foot at a time into the waist hole like a game of Twister. I change her shoes for her because once the dress is on, she can’t see her feet. We shove her through my door and into the living room.

  Mom walks in and she flinches back when she sees Andy’s dress. “Oh my!”

  I lean back so Andy can’t see me. I shake my head frantically at my mom.

  Luckily my mom catches the hint. “What a lovely dress,” she says.

  Andy gives her a weak smile.

  “You know, I’m going in your direction,” Mom says.

  I know it’s a lie. Even my mom can see the torture we’d endure if we have to ride the bus.

  I walk out the front door and find Niles standing at the gate waiting. He’s wearing a button-up shirt with the same fabric as Andy’s. He shrugs and makes a half smile when we see each other. Then Andy walks out after me. Niles fidgets a bit then walks quickly to stand next to her. He has the Star Trek pin on his shirt that matches her skirt. Next to each other, they look like lemon and blueberry Jolly Ranchers melded into a swirly human glob.

  “What do you think?” Niles asks nervously.

  Andy puts out her fist with a fierce squint in her eyes. “We got this.”

  Niles smiles and fist bumps her.

  My mom unlocks the car doors. “Pile in, troops.”

  We stuff Andy in, and Niles and I sit on either side. Andy’s skirt keeps scratching against my arm, so I tuck my jacket in between us.

  When we get to school, we park in front, and Niles opens the door.

  “Wait,” I reach over and pull the door handle back. Kids are already walking in and the halls are filling up. I’m not ready.

  Mom turns around in her seat. “You’ll be fine. You all look wonderful.” She activates her superpower and starts jiggling around and singing “Old Dan Tucker.” For some reason, it’s not as embarrassing as it would have been a few weeks ago.

  Andy reaches over Niles and pushes the door further open. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Niles nods at me. “She’s right. You can stall all you want. Today is still gonna happen.”

  Andy shrugs behind him. “He’s right.”

  We pull Andy out of the car. Her skirt expands like a gigantic Chinese fan.

  Drop-off kids pass by. Most stare and smile. I know it’s because they’re glad they aren’t us. Mr. Lundgren walks by wearing a fluorescent yellow shirt that says, “Think Like a Proton. Stay Positive!” He gives us the thumbs-up. Not exactly the endorsement I was looking for.

  A boy walks by and says, “Niiiiice.” The three of us just look at each other and smile.

  We stand in a row facing the school. The front windows stare back. And the double doors open wide like a mouth that wants to gobble us up for daring to come to school dressed like this.

  CHAPTER 25

  The curtain is closed. We’re huddled together backstage. Of course, the four “couples” in our class are assigned to the front. I wonder if there’s a fêng shui arrangement for square dancing.

  Blake and Samantha stand next to each other. They’re wearing what looks like a custom-order Dancing with the Stars ensemble. Samantha must have dance-outfit connections. And she obviously used them here. They both have the school colors of blue and green, cut like opposing diagonals across their bodies. Standing together, their outfits form a green triangle in the center. But they’re no team. She yanks her shoulder away from him, and their triangle sags into a rhombus.

  Coach is on the side of the stage giving instructions to Carl and another kid who is running the music. Apparently the mysterious phone call in P.E. was Principal Singh telling Coach about the bad lyrics I’d shown her and asking Coach if she had any ideas on how to help. Coach knew just the wart-footed victim who could add their own touch to “Turkey in the Straw.” She even gave Carl “creative freedom” to write what he wants, as long as there are no cusswords or derogatory lyrics.

  Zola’s arms are wrapped around her waist. She’s wearing blue gingham and looks like a recycled Dorothy from a Wizard of Oz Halloween costume. She’s tapping her foot. “Where is he?” she mumbles.

  Andy faces Niles, whispering to him. “We’ve done this a million times. We just pretend we’re back in class, right?”

  He gives her little nods. “Am I starting the count, or you?”

  Andy takes two deep breaths. “I think you’d better do it.”

  I stand alone, w
ringing my hands. I close my eyes and visualize I’m dancing with Paolo.

  “Hey guys.” Gordon runs up, out of breath. He is the only one not wearing something countrified by his mom, grandma, or a professional seamstress. He has on black pants and a Sammy Sockeye sweatshirt. His hair is jutting out from beneath the science goggles on top of his head. He motions to Niles and Andy. “Well done. I see you’re representing Starfleet.” The swelling in Gordon’s eye is down, but a crescent of black sits over his cheek.

  Niles grins. He presses his pin, and it chirps.

  Gordon slips the goggles onto his face.

  “How’s the eye?” I ask.

  “It will heal. There’s always a price for a man’s growth, I suppose.”

  Niles nods in agreement.

  Gordon pulls a red glittery hair bow out of his pocket. He presents it in both hands to Zola. “May I?”

  She stops tapping her foot. She blushes as he pins it to her braid.

  The bell for first period rings.

  Coach Solden, wearing a purple shirt to match her cast, blows her whistle from the front of the stage. She tries to tuck in her shirt but can’t with her one good arm, and gives up. “All right, everyone. You all know your positions. We have about …” She looks at her watch. “… eight-and-a-half minutes.”

  My face prickles like my foot does when it falls asleep.

  Andy’s eyes are closed. She’s breathing slowly in and out, arms straight at her sides like some sort of standing yoga pose. Niles squats just a bit into a modified version of his sumo wrestler pose. His mouth is moving, so I know he’s getting in the zone too. Gordon is whispering to himself. “You are thpethial. You are thtrong.”

  The rumble of voices and footsteps echoes from the other side of the curtain.

  Niles lets out a deep breath and stands upright. “How you feeling, Lupe?”

  I stare through the small opening in the center of the curtain at the filling auditorium. “Pretty freaking scared.”

  “Would you rather hang from a burning rope over the Grand Canyon filled with rattlesnakes or dance on stage in five minutes?” He smiles at me.

  I can’t help grabbing my stomach and closing my eyes. “Rattlesnakes.”

  The next thing I know, I’m nearly bowled over in a bear hug. I open my eyes and see Sammy Sockeye staring back. “It’s okay, Lupe. You are thtrong too.”

  Then Andy is wrapped around Gordon and me. Then Zola. When the huddle breaks, Niles gives me a quick side squeeze.

  That thing my mom told me about … how in middle school, I only needed one good friend to survive?

  I have four.

  Coach’s whistle blows way quieter than usual. “On your marks, everyone.”

  Niles slips his earplugs from his pocket and puts them in. Gordon pulls his sweatshirt off over his head and tosses it dramatically to the side of the stage. Underneath is a black dress shirt. There’s a collective gasp. It’s bedazzled with red and white rhinestones. I squint and realize the rhinestones are in the shape of the Millennium Falcon. He turns his head toward Niles and they both laugh. Gordon puts his hands on his hips and a cape spreads out like butterfly wings between his shoulder blades and his wrists. Zola’s smile and eyes are even bigger than the first time she saw him with his new clothes and hair.

  Coach stares at Gordon’s shirt, brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Style and flair, Coach.” He pushes a button on a little black box clipped to his belt. He lifts his wings and pinpoints of lights fill the black fabric. He spins, and between the stage lights, the rhinestones on Gordon’s shirt, and his shimmering wings, the entire stage fills with magical glow orbs.

  Red and white lights reflect in Coach’s eyes. Her face goes as red as the orbs.

  Gordon hits the button shutting down the power. “Soooo, not yet?”

  Principal Singh’s voice rings over the microphone. “Welcome, students, parents, city leaders, to our kickoff celebration of Issaquah Salmon Days …”

  We all freeze, including Gordon. There’s not a thing Coach can do about him now, so she shoos us into position and takes her spot behind the front left curtain next to me.

  The microphone squeals. “Following Pin the Tail on Sasquatch, we will be bobbing for apples. After a logging demonstration, we’ll break for some local blueberry pie …”

  There are some yums and clapping.

  “And,” her voice rises, “a stroll to the salmon hatchery.” The yums and claps stop abruptly.

  “I’d like to also remind everyone that we come from all over the world,” she continues. “Or have been here for thousands of years. So, as I’ve already announced, in lieu of Field Day or Sadie Hawkins, we’d like to remind and invite you all to our Family Celebration of Cultures Night this evening.”

  Two sets of claps ring out. One is Gordon next to me. Through the gap in the curtain, I see the other is a little old lady with a grey ponytail, sitting in the front row. Even with all her teeth, I’d recognize that smile anywhere. Grandma Schnelly.

  “Yes. Very exciting,” Principal Singh says. “But let’s first take things back a few years, to a time before twerking, and when rap music was a gentleman calling out dance directions.”

  Coach Solden laughs backstage, but the audience is silent.

  “Anyway …” Principal Singh continues, “… without further delay, I present to you …”

  The tune for “Turkey in the Straw” with fiddles screeches in sync with plucked banjos.

  “The Sockeye Square Dancers!”

  The curtain opens. It’s a packed house. And it’s not just students filling the seats. Lots of people are standing along the aisles with the teachers. They pull out cameras and phones, and little red lights turn on. I focus and stare straight ahead. I remember to smile and hope it doesn’t look like the half-petrified grimace from my kindergarten picture. I count down with the music. We start dancing in three … two …

  The music stops. It’s completely silent.

  Andy and I glance first at each other, then at the side of the stage. Coach is running over to the kid with the stereo. Visible to the crowd, Carl is standing just to the side of the kid holding a microphone. The kid has the disc out and is wiping it on his sleeve. He huffs a breath on it and wipes it again like he’s got all the time in the world.

  Carl’s voice cracks, “We … uh … appreciate your patience, y’all.”

  I stare back out at the audience, manufactured grin back on.

  Jordyn and the other soccer girls are in the fifth row. They’re elbowing each other and pointing toward Andy. She sees them too. She lifts her chin and looks away from them.

  Coach grabs the disc out of the kid’s hand and slips it back in the CD player.

  I scan the audience. My mom didn’t lie. She was going this way. She’s sitting in the third row right in front of me. Paolo, Papa, Grandma Wong, and Bela are with her. I can’t believe she pulled Paolo out of school for this. Paolo smirks and takes a picture of me with his phone. I’m pretty sure he just added to the embarrassing slide show at my wedding someday. Bela is smiling nervously with her hands folded over the huge purse in her lap. Papa Wong is wearing a tie, and Grandma Wong’s had her hair done, which she only does for special occasions. I catch her eye and she gives me a small smile and a nod.

  Half my baseball team is sitting together on the opposite side of the auditorium. They wave at me and Blake.

  I turn to Blake to see if he saw them. He smiles and gives me the signal to hit away. The fiddles start up again, followed by the banjos.

  Gordon hits his black button and lifts his wings for the audience. The audience erupts in “Oooohs, aaaaahs,” and a few snickers.

  I have to lean in past Gordon’s wings to see Niles on the other side of him. Niles is stepping back and forth from one foot to another, and staring out at the audience like it’s filled with velociraptors. I’m worried he might have a meltdown, and my instinct is to break out of line and go to him.

  Andy pats him on the
shoulder. “Are you sure you’re cool with this, Niles?”

  He nods. “Yep.”

  He turns to her, and I realize she’s started counting in Klingon. “Wa’, cha’, wej, loS.”

  Niles mouths the same words back to her and stops swaying.

  Coach holds up her one good hand, fingers counting down, “Three … two … one.”

  I tap my foot with her countdown. Here we go.

  Carl’s voice rings out with the tune. “Honor your partner.”

  The boys and I all bow. The girls curtsy.

  “Twirl your partner.”

  The stage vibrates with our steps. I put out my elbow for my imaginary partner and spin her into our group. We aren’t as precise as Riverdance, but our steps boom through the theater like a bass drum.

  The music is way louder than in the gym and it’s harder to hear, but I know the routine and imagine I’m with Paolo in the living room. I’m actually having fun and almost forget where I am.

  Carl takes a few limped steps toward the center stage, and when the familiar chorus arrives, words not remotely resembling the actual lyrics come out of his mouth …

  “Warts were in my heel, now they’re in a jar. Warts were in my heel, now they’re in a jar, Scoop ’em out, preserve ’em, Shake ’em up like salt.”

  He holds up the glass vial and shakes it. The two chunks slam around in the formaldehyde.

  “Warts were in my heel, but now they’re in a jar.”

  I don’t even know what I’m hearing. The audience looks confused too. Principal Singh did it. I will forever hear Carl’s wart rap any time I hear this tune.

  “Do-si-do, amigos,” Carl calls out.

  Gordon spins, and his rhinestones and lights create little twinkles across the stage. He’s either causing one heck of a laser light show or a room full of migraines. With Zola in her checkered blue-and-white dress, and red-sequined hair bow next to him, they do look a little like Dorothy and a light-up Wizard.

  Niles and Andy are in perfect form as a team, counting in sync with every footstep, spin, and twirl. I get what Niles meant about it being similar to his martial arts form, but they’re a lot more graceful. I twirl my pretend Paolo while Niles spins Andy.