Lupe Wong Won't Dance Page 5

  Even the Wiggles are on the list. Five men, each wearing a different color, stand in a row holding fiddles and banjos like five human Skittles at a hoedown.

  “Seriously?” Andy moves closer to the screen like she can’t believe her own eyes. “I used to love them.”

  I think we both feel betrayed. I click on the video.

  They sway from one foot back to the other, arms folded in front of them like a metronome of synchronized ridiculousness. The video cuts to the purple Wiggle. He’s traded in his purple shirt for a fluffy brown turkey suit. He’s clucking around in front of a barn, a big smile on his face.

  When I turn to Andy, her eyes are sagging. “They didn’t seem this stupid when I was younger.”

  “That was when we were kids. We’re pretty much mature adults now.”

  “True. Which video do we pick?” Andy says. “I can’t focus with all that clucking and pecking around in the background.”

  There are others that look really old. It looks like some of them even have different words, but we need to stick to our P.E. class’s version. “Let’s just go with the one with the most views.” I rub my eyes, but the afterimage of the Wiggles remains. “I can’t believe over 200,000 people have watched this.” I hit play.

  For some reason, having music doesn’t make our dancing any better. Andy makes an overenthusiastic arm switch and punches me in the stomach. I get a little too confident on a spin and my forehead pummels into her shoulder. After another ten minutes or so, we take a break to let Andy ice her feet again. We decide we can learn faster if we find a video with someone calling out the instructions.

  Almost all of the clips seem to be from the South or Midwest, and the couples look like they’re straight out of some laundry-detergent TV ad from the fifties. I’m having a hard time figuring out why this dance is the one they’re forcing us to do. None of the dancers even remotely look like me, or any of my grandparents for that matter.

  We find the state square dancing convention of North Dakota. It looks more like a community center filled with seniors faced off in an elderly rumble. Andy hits play and the music starts. If those old fogeys can do this, I figure we can too. We do our best to keep up, but it turns out those geezers can really move.

  The caller yells out over the fiddle. “The lady goes right. The gent goes left.”

  “Lupe! You’re the gent!” Andy yells after our chests slam together yet again.

  “I know.” We face each other holding hands. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to be side by side?”

  After a few more minutes, we both have sweat dripping down our faces.

  “Aces high, deuces low, promenade all the way you go. Little bit o’ heel, little bit o’ toe. Promenade and don’t be slow.”

  A cackle from behind us drowns out the caller’s next words. “Wow! Troglodytes really can dance.” My brother is leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Shut up, Paolo,” I yell.

  We try to ignore him, but now he’s planted himself on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other cramming chicharrones in his mouth. Ironically, just like a troglodyte.

  We nail a singular spin and we high-five. “We’re going to have this down in no time. When Coach sees us dance together—”

  “Ha! Good luck with that,” Paolo mumbles through a full mouth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap back. We continue promenading in perfect sync around the coffee table.

  “It means, who said you two get to choose who you dance with?”

  We turn in a half arc and promenade back the other way. “Why couldn’t we?” Andy asks.

  “Oh, this is too good. You really don’t know?” He shoves another fistful of pork rinds into his mouth.

  We stop in front of him and drop each other’s hands. I turn off the music and glare at him in the silence. “Fine. Tell us then,” I say.

  “It’s gonna cost you.”

  Andy wags her finger at him. “We aren’t giving you anything.”

  Paolo licks chicharrón crumbs off his fingers one by one. “Then I guess you two can go back to wasting your time.”

  I grip Andy’s arm. Paolo doesn’t bluff. But he also drives a hard bargain.

  “Fine, I do dishes tonight,” I say with my opening bid.

  “One week,” he counters. “I unload. You load.”

  We both know loading is way worse. Chiseling cemented food out of the Crock-Pot is worse than using the PedEgg on Abuela Salgado’s scaly bunions.

  “I load, three days. Final offer,” I say.

  He smiles like he’s weaseled me out of my entire year’s allowance. “Deal.”

  “Okay then, tell us,” I say.

  He closes his eyes. But now, he doesn’t look so smug. Paolo winces like he’s reliving some awful nightmare.

  “Not only do you have to say yes to whoever asks you …” Paolo opens his eyes and slowly looks each of us in the face. “… but square dancing at school is boy-ask-girl.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “What did you say?”

  “You two thought you were getting off that easy?” Paolo leans toward us. The entire world is suddenly in slow motion. “I said … You. Have. To. Dance. With. A. Boy.” A cocky grin spreads over his face. “Ha!” He laughs so hard he snorts.

  I try to move, but I can’t. Someone just freeze-dried my brain. The idea that the school can force me to hold hands with a boy and spin around like a dented hula-hoop is so completely unfair, I’d scream except I don’t want to give Paolo the satisfaction.

  Andy grabs my arm and pulls me outside. Rain drizzle beads up on her hair as we just stare at each other.

  “Coach never said anything about boys asking girls,” I say. “Why doesn’t anyone tell us about this stuff?”

  “Yeah. It’s like getting our boobs or periods. They keep it a secret, then, Whammo! Here’s another life twist you just have to accept.”

  I nod like I understand, but I’m still pretty much flat as a tortilla. And the period thing … There’s gotta be a way to stop that from happening. “What do we do now?” I say.

  The rain that was a sprinkle a second ago is now coming down in glops.

  Andy looks up at the clouds like they peed in her Cap’n Crunch. She pulls out her phone and types a text to her mom. “I gotta go. It’s family cleaning night, and if I don’t call dibs on the kitchen, I get stuck with my little brother’s dribble on the bathroom floor.”

  She hits send. We sit in silence waiting. I think we’re both in shock. Her mom eventually pulls up and rolls down the window.

  “Hi, Mrs. Washington,” I yell out over the rain.

  “¡Buenas noches, Guadalupe!” she yells back.

  “Vámonos, Andalusia,” Mrs. Washington says. “Don’t forget you have twenty minutes of piano, then thirty of coding practice before cleaning duty!”

  Andy rolls her eyes. “See you tomorrow.”

  I boop her on the nose. She boops me back. This time I feel a sharp pain from what must be a sprouting stress zit inside my nose.

  I walk back in the house. Thank God, Paolo’s off the couch and the bathroom door is closed. I hear a flush from inside Azteca and I sprint to my room so I don’t have to talk to him anymore.

  I’m more tired after an hour of square dancing than I was after the timed 5K in P.E. Maybe this is what Coach was talking about: how some things that don’t look like sports actually are. But, it’s still dancing. And it’s become exponentially worse now that I’m supposed to dance with a boy.

  * * *

  Coach Solden greets me cheerily the next day in her office. “Morning, Guadalupe. What can I do for you?”

  “Just a quick question if you have time.”

  She takes a big swallow of coffee. “Shoot.”

  “So, Paolo said something, and I can’t believe something so ridiculous could be true.”

  She nods. “Yep. I have a brother. What was it? Mine told me one in ten thousand births is from the anus instead of the uterus, and I was one
of those butt babies.”

  My mouth drops and I’m pretty sure my eyes have expanded to three times their normal size.

  She bites her lower lip and averts her eyes. “So … Nothing like that? Well, why don’t you just tell me what Paolo told you?”

  I plop down in the seat across from her. “Paolo says square dancing is boy-ask-girl.”

  “Yep,” she says, like it’s common knowledge.

  A cherry bomb goes off in my stomach. “Why can’t we just dance with a friend?”

  “Like any sport, there are rules,” she says. “This is one of them.”

  My brain immediately leaps to Niles. I gotta check with him what he decided with Mr. Lambert in LRC, but if he’s going to dance, we could do it together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dance, and he’s definitely never seen me dance, but we’re good enough athletes that we could probably make it work. There’s no guarantee we would get that A, though.

  And besides, that wouldn’t solve the problem that the whole thing is just wrong on so many levels.

  “Dumb rules should be changed, right?” My voice is cracking. I normally hold myself together better than this. “And this is definitely a dumb rule.”

  “Square dancing will teach you to work as a team with someone you might not have worked with before. Besides, it’s been done this way—”

  “I know, I know. Since 1938.”

  She sets her cup down. “Whether you like it or not, tomorrow each boy will ask a girl.”

  “Tomorrow?” I choke out.

  “Yes, Lupe,” she says. “We’ve already had a day’s delay with the song change.”

  How did I screw this up so much? Can I tell Coach why it’s so important? How I need to meet Fu Li and maybe figure out some stuff about my dad? If I say it out loud, it sounds too stupid.

  I slump in the chair. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I stare downward and force my chin to stop shaking.

  “Can’t Andy and I dance together? The caller says grab your partner, not your boy partner, or girl partner.” My eyes are starting to burn. “Please.”

  Coach’s face softens, almost like she understands. She stares out the window. But she doesn’t speak.

  We sit in silence for forever, or maybe like ten seconds.

  When she finally talks, she’s quiet.

  “Lupe. You can do this.”

  * * *

  After school, I watch Niles kick our rock three times without me before he kicks it back. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.

  I’m still digesting everything Coach said.

  I know I should just tell Niles what I found out about boys asking girls in front of the entire gym class. Except … I’m not sure it’s my place. Maybe that’s a Mr. Lambert and LRC thing. But, what if they just made sure Niles was okay with the dancing part and didn’t warn him about the other stuff?

  I jump in front of him to face him. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Paolo told Andy and me that square dancing is going to be boy-ask-girl,” I blurt out. “I verified it with Coach Solden today.”

  Niles’s facial expression doesn’t change.

  “I should have told you earlier.” Time to rip off the Band-Aid. “And there’s more.” I let out a breath. “Coach is making the boys ask the girls tomorrow.”

  He shrugs. “I know.”

  “What do you mean, you know?”

  “I mean, I already talked about it with Mr. Lambert.”

  “And you’re okay with it?”

  “Well, I don’t mind the dancing so much. It’s not so different from learning my form in martial arts.” He bends one elbow into his body and he swipes the other in front of him, one leg back. I see his point, but square dancing is nowhere as cool.

  “It’s my choice,” he says. “And I’m in control of how I’ll be touching people and who I ask. That’s why I went to LRC to work it all out.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

  “Sorry. I thought you knew.”

  I step back to the side of him and continue walking. “No.” I sigh. “What a crappy day.”

  “Soooo, which part did you think was best?” he asks.

  I think of my conversation with Coach and how the day never really improved. “It was all pretty bad.”

  He stops for a moment, his forehead crinkled. “I thought it was a great episode.”

  I realize we aren’t talking about the same thing. “Do you mean Doctor Who?”

  “Yeah, we haven’t had a chance to catch up yet.” He continues walking, and I have to admit I’m grateful to think about something else for a minute.

  “Oh, well,” I say. “I liked how when the rotting meatball creatures were about to be obliterated by the Furwimpians, they morphed into one giant meatball.”

  He nods. “Yeah, that was pretty cool.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer immediately. “Well, I liked how the Doctor took time to understand them and what they were trying to say. Even with their differences and when things got chaotic, he waited until things calmed down and found a way to listen and understand them.”

  “I get that,” I say.

  When we get to my gate, Niles picks up our rock. “See ya in the morning.”

  “Bye, Furwimpian.”

  “Bye, rotting meatball,” he says, waving over his head.

  Next door, Delia is filling birdseed into a feeder that’s swaying from a metal garden hook. The Nuñez’s cat is sitting directly under the falling seed, looking up expectantly.

  “What do you think, Fletcher?” she says to the cat. “Won’t this make for beautiful bird-watching?”

  I’m almost positive I see Fletcher lick his lips in response.

  “Hey Delia,” I call out.

  She turns toward me and a dusting of birdseed from the feeder embeds in her hair. “Good afternoon, Lupe. Anything thought-provoking happen at school?”

  I think of the boys I’m going to be spinning around with. “The opposite of thought-provoking.”

  She tilts her head in concern. “Anything you care to discuss?”

  I consider for a moment the conversation we’d have. Every last ounce of Delia’s psychology can’t help me process this. I sigh. “No thanks. Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind,” she says.

  I drag my feet into the house and to my room. I drop my backpack and flop onto my bed. I stare at the ceiling. The shadows begin to shift as it gets darker outside. By the time I hear my mom’s car rattle into the driveway, I’ve still come up with nothing to help my situation. The front door squeaks open a minute later, followed by her footsteps.

  Mom comes in and sits on the edge of my bed. “Becky Solden called me.”

  “Again? Do teachers have an app, so you can tell each other what your own kids did during the day?” I cover my face with my pillow. “If I have to dance, it shouldn’t have to be with a boy.”

  “I’m not saying I disagree with you,” she replies. I can tell by the tone of her voice, she sorta does agree with me. “But it’s not going to kill you to dance with a boy. You play sports with these same boys all the time.”

  “That’s different,” I say.

  What she doesn’t know is that by now even my teammates have heard about the song change and probably think I’m a loser. But that’s not the important thing. I should be able to choose who I have to twirl around with in front of everyone. If we don’t have a choice, we shouldn’t have to dance at all.

  “I mean, what if I’m gay?” I ask. “Shouldn’t I be able to dance with a girl?”

  “Are you gay?”

  “I don’t know. I’m only twelve. I thought I’d figure it out in a few years.”

  She pulls the pillow off my face and rubs my head. “So, is this about not wanting to square dance, or not wanting to dance with boys?”

  “Both.” I am suddenly missing my dad. I try to pull the pillow ba
ck over my head but she stops me. “Everything,” I say. “My life’s a disaster. I’m probably going to get a boob or two any day now, and I have a zit ready to explode inside my nostril. Do they have to make middle school worse with square dancing?”

  Behind Mom, Fu Li’s rookie card hangs on my wall. I know Fu Li isn’t Dad or anything. But his smile sparkles just like Dad’s when he still played ball.

  Fu Li didn’t quit to go work on some fishing boat, though. My dad did. And that’s not going to be me.

  I’m afraid to tell my mom about why I need to meet Fu Li so badly. She’s done so much to make sure Paolo and I are okay. I’d never want her to think she wasn’t enough.

  I wonder for a moment what my dad would say about all this.

  “I miss Dad.” My voice cracks a little. “A lot.”

  “Me too,” she answers quietly. “Every day.” It’s silent for a moment before she continues. “But you know he’s always with us.”

  I look right into her eyes. So far her feelings don’t seem hurt. I take a deep breath. “Mom?”

  “Yes?” She leans in smiling.

  I’m still nervous to come right out and say it. “There’s something I can’t explain.”

  “Try,” Mom says.

  “Something about Dad … and Fu Li.” My stomach pretzels. “Meeting him is not just about baseball.” There’s no way I can say out loud that I need to meet someone who didn’t compromise on their dream, without sounding like I’m beating up on my dad.

  My mom tilts her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I just need to meet Fu Li. I think it will help me with some other stuff about Dad.”

  My mom hugs me, and when she sits back up, her eyes are watery. “Then make it happen,” she says.

  I sit up quickly, knocking the pillow to the ground. “Then you agree with me?”

  She takes a deep breath. “Understanding how someone feels and agreeing with them aren’t the same. I know you work hard to get As in all your classes. I just think you might be going about this the wrong way.” She pats my head. “You know, dancing is good for the soul.” She’s up now and doing some sort of ripply belly dance. She slowly returns to normal human mode and lays her hand on my head. “Figure out another way to get your A in P.E. so you can meet Fu Li.”