Lupe Wong Won't Dance Page 9

  “We need you to defend the Forest of Endor.” I motion at the surrounding trees. “You are the perfect person to guard the magical hoard from the evil Orcs.”

  He tilts his head in confusion, then throws up his hands. “If that’s what you think is best,” Gordon says, moping back to the flag.

  Niles is on the front line; legs squatted like a sumo wrestler, hands on his waist. He closes his eyes and is whispering to himself. I recognize it instantly as the meditation technique Niles uses to “get in the zone” before sparring. Zola glances over at him, then takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, doing the same.

  A girl named Becca who runs track and two other boys are just standing around because they have no other choice. Even though none of them would act like they even know me out in the school halls, we all know what we have to do.

  “What do you guys say, the four of us go in for the kill?” I ask.

  “Whatever,” Becca shrugs.

  “We have to be fast,” I continue. “They’re probably going to send Blake in for our flag. I say we split up. If enough of us make it inside their camp, only one of us has to grab it. We can hot-potato the flag out of there with the new rule.”

  The two boys nod.

  Becca yells to a few kids who are standing around in our territory without a job. “Use the boulders for cover! Tag enemy intruders!”

  The whistle goes off. The four of us sprint out, scattering in different directions. The other team has just as many kids sprinting toward our side.

  I’m the first to make it past their front line. Now I just have to avoid getting tagged so I don’t go to jail.

  Andy and Jordyn swipe at Becca and me as we run in. We weasel right by them. I look back to see they’ve tagged our two boys and are already leading them to their jail.

  Up ahead, Blake is peering out from behind a tree. He sees me. He’s not their runner, so this can only mean one thing. Blake’s guarding their flag. He narrows his eyes at me like a puma. I know the look. He uses this glare on hitters when the count is 0-2, thinking he’s intimidating them. He’s letting his emotions get the best of him. I’ve just won.

  I veer off to one side away from him, but I point toward where Blake is standing and yell to Becca, knowing their flag must be close to him. Instead of guarding the flag, Blake takes off after me. Just like I knew he would.

  I let him gain on me then leap onto a boulder, scrambling over the top. I double back toward their flag. Becca’s been tagged and is being led to jail. I have no backup so I’m on my own. But now, no one is guarding their flag.

  A tiny piece of the red flag is sticking out of the dirt where Blake had been standing. They’ve buried it (against the rules). But none of that will matter in ten seconds. Blake’s breathing and footsteps are only a few feet behind me. I run by the flag and snag it between my fingers.

  I’m looking for any other teammate for help, but all three of our fastest kids have been tossed in the pokey, along with almost everyone else.

  I look to my opposite side and see Gordon. He’s sprinting as fast as he can to catch up to me, but still falling behind. His eyes are wide and he’s holding out wiggling fingers, “Here, Lupe!”

  He’s completely abandoned our flag, leaving Niles and Zola alone to guard our territory and the flag he’s left unattended. He has the same desperate look in his eyes he had earlier, telling me how he just wanted a chance.

  If this is what he needs to prove himself …

  He’s all I have, and Blake is right behind me.

  If Blake tags me, it’s all over.

  “Gotcha!” Blake yells. But it’s too late. The flag is out of my hands and flying toward Gordon.

  Blake tackles me (also, against the rules). I fall hard but the ground is mushy with moss. I push myself up so I can see the show.

  Gordon is pumping his arms so high he looks like he’s leading a band. Except his legs move in tiny steps like they’re tied together. It’s not pretty, but he’s got no opposition. He can make it. He glances over his shoulder, mouth so wide he has three chins and one of them is touching his chest. Then … with no one even remotely within twenty feet of him, Gordon’s arms start to windmill, his body lurches forward, and his feet tumble across each other like a hand mixer. He face-plants in a marathon skid, but he’s still got the flag.

  Samantha jogs over and “accidentally” pins Gordon’s arm down with her sparkly sneaker. She stares at him like she’s just stepped barefoot on a cockroach and snatches the flag from his hand. “I got it!” Just as she says it, a shout echoes from behind a tree in our territory.

  Jordyn appears from behind the tree, a blue flag gripped in her fist. Without Gordon guarding it, she’s found a way to sneak in.

  Jordyn sprints like a gazelle toward Niles, who rises slowly from his squatted pose like Godzilla out of the ocean. At the exact moment she passes him, Niles jumps out, making an impossible launch through the air. Like something out of a movie, his hand arrowheads out to tag her, his body perpendicular to the ground. There are roars of triumph from our side.

  But Jordyn has simultaneously thrown our flag toward her territory. Coach Armstrong doesn’t blow the whistle, which means the game is still on. The sub smiles like a smug banana in his yellow tracksuit. Niles is already back on his feet.

  I follow the blue flag as it soars high in the air, and right into Andy’s hands.

  It’s too late. Niles is too far to catch her.

  Andy’s waving our blue flag as she runs. She’s halfway to their boundary line in the same amount of time it took Gordon to fall. Andy spikes the flag inside their territory at their base. Samantha and Jordyn high-five her. Yells echo through the field and trees.

  Andy runs over to me with a huge smile, sweat dripping down her face, and boops me on the nose.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Sorry, Lupe. I didn’t even think about it,” Andy says.

  “Obviously.” I don’t even slow down, heading straight from the Capture the Flag catastrophe into the danger of a busy hallway day. “It’s almost like you want to humiliate me on top of everything else I’ve been through.”

  “Are you being for real right now?” she says, stopping at her classroom door.

  I poke myself. “I sure feel real. But you …” My mind flashes back to her high-fiving Samantha and Jordyn. I reach out and boop her a little too hard on her nose. “… feel like a joiner.”

  Andy puts her hands on her hips. Her nostrils flare. I’ve never seen her this mad.

  Maybe if I’d been more open with her about how much I miss Dad, and why meeting Fu Li is so important, she would have remembered to let me win for the points. My heart is speeding up, but I narrow my eyes and lift my chin. She’s the one who’s suddenly trying to impress Jordyn and Samantha.

  “You know what?” Andy says. “You’re a whiner and you’re selfish, Lupe.”

  “I’m selfish? You’re the one who just had to show off with your new friends and win the stupid game.”

  Her head is either steaming from all that running on a cold day or actual steam is really coming out of her ears.

  “Lately, all you care about are your own ridiculous causes,” she says. “I’m starting to wonder if you just use everyone around you to get what you want.” Andy’s cheeks are suddenly darker. “Have you ever thought that other people might have issues and need good grades too?”

  I think she’s talking about stuff with her mom. But, her issues with her mom are not going to change anytime soon, and my getting to meet Fu Li is a little more pressing at the moment.

  “I thought you wanted to help me get an A,” I say.

  Her hands are on her hips and she juts her chest out. “Well, your mom is a teacher. She can pull strings to get you help, unlike the rest of us.”

  I squint and lean in. “How soon you forget who covered for you when you peed your pants.” I don’t mean to say it as loud as it comes out. But it’s too late, and a few kids turn and laugh.

  Andy takes t
he tiniest step toward me. “At least I don’t smell like dugout and jockstrap.”

  Now my nostrils flare. I know I should stop, but … “My mom might talk to other teachers, but you can’t even stand up to yours. I’ll be halfway to the majors and you’ll still be kicking soccer balls and writing computer code just to make her happy.”

  Andy’s hands drop to her sides and she stares at the ground. She won’t even look at me.

  There’s only one tiny snicker from one of the bunheads; then everything suddenly goes way too quiet.

  When Andy looks up, her face looks like an abandoned dog’s.

  The kids are still watching. Why am I not taking it back? She’s picking at her nail.

  I’m waiting too long.

  “You know what, Lupe? Go find a new best friend.” She throws the owl sweatshirt I gave her for her birthday on the ground.

  Niles backs away, swaying. He’s shifting from one foot to the other, and now I feel even worse.

  Andy stomps into her classroom, leaving me and him in an awkward silence.

  What did I just do?

  The back of my neck is suddenly flaming hot, and my chin starts to tremble. I try to make it stop by biting the inside of my cheeks. Niles and I stand off to the side in the hall until he’s no longer swaying and I stop shaking. While the wait helps Niles, it just gives me more time to feel horrible about what I’ve done.

  The warning bell rings and Niles nudges me. “Lupe?”

  I don’t look at him, afraid I’ll break down in front of him. He digs into his backpack. He’s quickly pulling something out and unwrapping it. He lifts it up to my mouth, and I smell something amazing.

  “What is this?” I barely get out before I take a bite and instantly taste something sweet.

  “Dark chocolate. It really helps.” Niles gently pulls at my elbow, and we walk in silence to science class.

  The classroom is dim, and it takes a second for my eyes to adapt. But I’m thankful for the darkness so no one can see my face. And the chocolate really does help.

  Mr. Lundgren is setting up a video of what has to be less boring than his lessons.

  Gordon is standing at our station, hands cupped on his cheeks. “Sorry I blew the game for us,” Gordon says. “They aren’t broken in yet.” Gordon motions to his brand-new sneakers.

  I was so focused on the game, I hadn’t even noticed his new neon-green tennis shoes. If my shoes had a little splatter after his breakfast-burrito explosion, his must’ve been soaked. He plops down in his chair, taking quick breaths.

  I’ve never seen Gordon this upset. I knew he wanted to do good, but I didn’t realize that Capture the Flag was so important to him. His goggles start to fog up. His face is normally kinda blotchy so I can’t tell if he’s hot and hyperventilating, or crying. This is all because of me. This day has gone from horrible to mass destruction. Gordon looks even worse than I feel right now after what happened with Andy.

  I lean in to see if he’s okay. “Next time we’ll try to pass a little sooner.” How is this happening again? I can’t do anything right. I pat him on the shoulder, even though we’ve never been close. “I know you wanted to win at something. You shouldn’t be so upset though. It’s just a game.”

  Gordon’s brow scrunches over the top of his goggles. “Huh?”

  “You’re upset about Capture the Flag, right?” I ask.

  He snorts. “Of course not. I’m used to losing at team sports.”

  “Oh …”

  Gordon breathes in through his mouth. His lower lip makes that stuttery f-f-f-f-f noise. At this rate, he’s not going to recuperate in time to be quiet during the video, the title of which is now projected on the screen: “I’m a Little Quarky—A Subatomic Particle’s Confession.”

  “Umm, do you want to talk about it?” I say.

  “It’s my grandma …”

  “Oh no. Something happened?”

  “Yes,” he wipes his nose with his sleeve. “The worst thing you could ever imagine.”

  And I thought what just happened with Andy was bad. Poor Gordon. “I’m so sorry. Why are you even here? You should be with your family.”

  He turns toward me. “Why would I need to do that?”

  “Your grandma didn’t … uh … die or something, did she?”

  “No.” He stands and takes a dramatic step back. “Worse. She got a boyfriend.” He grabs his pencil by both ends and tries to snap it. When it doesn’t break, he sighs and throws it on his composition book. “She took him to the senior center to dance last night instead of me. On top of that, Zola won’t practice with me after school. She says she doesn’t trust my gag reflex. It’s the worst week ever.”

  “Sorry about your grandma falling in love,” I say. “But maybe this can be okay.” I don’t know anyone more enthusiastic about dancing than Gordon. He might just be the perfect partner. And if Zola won’t dance with him …

  “How?”

  “You were right. We would make good partners,” I say. “What if I was your partner?”

  “What about Zola?”

  “I’ll practice with you. She won’t. We’ll tell Coach that Zola isn’t pulling her weight.”

  Gordon’s head ambles back and forth like a turtle checking for traffic. “I don’t know …”

  I debate pulling the Zola/Green Goblin thing with Gordon, but he doesn’t seem the type to care about boogers. What angle would work best with him? Maybe Andy was right about me using people to meet my goals. But what if I’m doing them a favor, too?

  “Listen, you want to prove you’re good at something. I need to find a partner who can get me onstage during the Salmon Days assembly,” I say. “We can even practice this weekend.”

  His eyes light up.

  “I have my first baseball practice today, but after dinner, you can come to my house,” I say. “I’ll even provide snacks.”

  He finally smiles and gives me a thumbs-up. “All right, but I need to recondition my stomach lining. Do you have anything rich in probiotics?”

  It’s been a pretty horrible day so far, but I have hope now that I’m dancing with Gordon.

  CHAPTER 13

  My first baseball practice sucks.

  The red dirt is still damp from earlier rain, and the chalk lines are hard and grey. The cut grass is soggy enough to where I can’t smell it.

  Our new coach, Coach Frankie, starts with his bullet points of “disclaimers.”

  1.  Miss more than three practices and lose your starting position for the season. We don’t play that many games, so this is a big deal. You start, you get to play in the biggest games. (I can’t think of anything worse than losing my #1 spot to Marcus and having to listen to him gloat. Even if I get Ebola, I’m not missing a single practice.)

  2.  No metal cleats.

  3.  Only approved batting helmets.

  4.  Mandatory athletic supporters for all players.

  I raise my hand at the last one to tell the coach that the last time I checked, I wouldn’t be needing one of those. No one laughs with me, and the coach just turns a shade pinker. I’m pretty sure this means Blake and Marcus have fully gotten to the rest of the team.

  Coach Frankie decides we need to take our conditioning up a notch this season, so we have to run a mile before we even play. Normally Blake and I run together, leading the rest. But today, he purposely falls behind. No one else will even look me in the eye so I jog ahead alone.

  Blake breaks the ice halfway through our second lap. “Thanks to Lupe …” He yells ahead. “… we don’t even get to have Field Day.”

  “My mom keeps making me dance with her, and it’s all Lupe’s fault,” Marcus says.

  I turn and run backward. “How is that my fault? I didn’t invent square dancing.”

  They push past me and keep running. Some things aren’t worth arguing. I’m pretty sure if Blake or Marcus got lice from the batting helmets, it would somehow be my fault. I fall back, running behind them until we finish our laps and
take the field.

  No one covered the mound so there’s a tiny puddle in front of the rubber. I kick water out with my foot and some seeps into my cleat. Just before I throw each warm-up pitch, Blake starts to shift his mitt off to one side. I still hit the zone each time.

  Marcus saunters up to the box and hits the bottom of his cleat with the bat even though there’s no caked mud yet to knock off. Blake pushes up his catcher’s mask and whispers something to Marcus. They both laugh. He narrows his puma eyes at me.

  I hear Dad’s voice from behind me and the mound. Don’t let them rattle you. I know he’s not real, but still it calms me down.

  Blake signals for a fastball.

  I throw one down the middle and Marcus tips it off.

  It’s just you and the catcher, Dad says.

  What my dad’s voice in my head doesn’t know is that the catcher right now is not on my side.

  You don’t have to be the fastest. Look at Moyer, he continues. I’ve heard this spiel before. Along with Fu Li, and Randy Johnson and a couple others, Jamie Moyer was one of the best pitchers the Mariners ever had. And he wasn’t the fastest. He was pretty old even. But he was smart. He threw a killer changeup.

  Blake throws the ball back to me, but high and to my left so I have to jump way off to one side, my glove barely catching it on the lip.

  He has the nerve to signal for another fastball down the middle. I hope he’s wearing his supporter today. I throw it inside and in the dirt. Marcus still swings and misses. Blake barely scoops it up and gives me a look.

  I shrug. I know they’re somehow setting me up, but I can’t tell if Blake is on to me yet.

  Normally, I’d just waste a fastball next outside one of the corners, to see if Marcus would chase it. But thanks to Blake, who’s supposed to have my back, Marcus will be expecting it. I grip my fingers into a four-seamer.

  Center your weight on the rubber, my dad says.

  I step onto the mound, pushing my cleats down in front to balance on the balls of my feet.

  Don’t show ’em your cards.