My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights (20 page)

BEEP!

I scored. DeMarcus set the disc back on the table, scooting it to where he wanted it to rest, and paused. He stood there, his hands pressed on the edge of the game, staring at the bright blue surface. Finally, he took a deep breath. “This is stupid.”

“We don’t have to keep playing if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s not that.” He looked over at Sarah. “It’s her. Or more like
us,
I guess.”

I tried to look surprised, but I wasn’t. I’d figured out he was over Sarah a while ago. “Why don’t you just break up with her?”

A soft laugh broke away from him. “Yeah, right. You know what would happen to my reputation if I did that, man?”

I didn’t. Mostly because I’d never had a reputation other than Tighty Whitey. “You know, if you ever need to talk or something…” My voice trailed off, having no idea what to say next. Not like I was some girlfriend-advice-giving expert.

He pulled off his jacket, his arms flexing under his shirt. “What’s there to talk about?”

“The fact that you actually like someone else?”

He let out a weak laugh. “You don’t know the half of it. You’re right, though. I do like someone else.”

I tossed my paddle back on the table. The last thing I wanted to do was let him think I was okay with him falling in love with Kassie. But I also knew how hanging around Sarah could slowly suck the life out of a person. “I guess I don’t blame you really. She is pretty cool.”

His eyes hit mine for a second, like he was going to say something. But he didn’t. I slid my paddle back and forth on the table a few times before he finally did speak. “It’s tough, man. I can’t even say anything about it. Not while I’m stuck. With them.”

We stood there a few seconds, silent. There wasn’t anything I could say, really. And if there was, I wasn’t sure we were good enough friends for me to offer advice to the guy.

“You want to play a different game?” he finally asked.

“Okay.” I glanced around the arcade, but DeMarcus was already heading over to Vocal Hero.

When I got over there, he was stuffing the quarters into the coin slots. I’d played the game a lot with Austin. On two-player mode, you could choose either guitar or vocals. We’d always end up arguing who got to play the guitar, because neither one of us ever wanted to sing.

I didn’t want to seem like a whiner in front of him, so I said, “I’ll take vocals, I guess.”

DeMarcus snatched up the microphone. “You can have them next round. This one’s all mine.” His eyes reflected the explosions of color blasting from the screen.

The guy actually
wanted
the vocals. The star quarterback with huge biceps, and I felt sorry for him. He was about to make a total fool of himself in front of everyone. “What song do you want?”

“I don’t care. You pick.”

So I did. I scrolled through the list and selected my favorite. The song that had started my entire trip.

“We Will Rock You” by Queen.

The animated people on the screen bobbed their heads to the beat. Luckily, the guitar didn’t come in until later. Which was good because I didn’t want to be the one who got us booed off the imaginary stage. DeMarcus put both hands on the mike as the lyrics inched closer to the “sing zone.”

And when they got there?

He sang.

No, he didn’t sing—he rocked.

DeMarcus belted out the first line of the song with so much power, my hands slipped off the guitar. They’d gone totally numb because all the blood had just rushed to my eyeballs as they tried to explode out of my head. He was incredible. A few strangers crowded around us. Some of them even joined in on the chorus.

I’d never heard anyone who could keep up with Freddie Mercury. Everyone around us was stomp-stomp-clapping away when suddenly the music stopped and the screen flashed red. I was sure the machine must’ve melted, but it turned out that I’d totally forgotten to start playing.

“Oh—I’m sorry! I didn’t even think—”

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling. “It was still fun.”

The small crowd cleared out and I looked back at Sarah, expecting her to be watching DeMarcus with gigantic cartoony hearts in her eyes. She wasn’t, though. She had her fists propped up on her hips, scowling. Troy and Bobby were laughing, pointing our way.

DeMarcus took a deep breath, looking more energized than I’d ever seen. “You want some advice, Dillon?”

I nodded.

“As soon as you can, find out who you are and go for it. Forget what everyone else thinks, because if you don’t—” He glanced at Sarah. Then his eyes fell and he put the mike back on the little stand. “If you don’t, you’re gonna get stuck being someone you’re not.”

DeMarcus gave me a slap on the shoulder and grabbed his jacket. He took a few steps and glanced over his shoulder.

“And trust me, man. Nothing feels worse than that.”

M
om’s voice crashed through my door. “Sweetie! We have to leave in an hour and I’m not taking you if you don’t at least brush your teeth!”

As if on cue, the sour taste of morning breath hit my tongue. Gross. I slid my legs over the side of my bed, groaning the whole way. I should’ve been about to pop with excitement. It was the Big Saturday. The day of the Heartland Dance Challenge. But my brain was still crashing into itself trying to piece together the
what I want
s with the
what I need
s.

I scooted the toothbrush around on my teeth for a few seconds, just long enough to paint my mouth with a layer of mint, and hopped in the shower. When I finally got to the kitchen, my parents were standing next to the table. Mom was wearing a smile way too big for how crummy I felt.

“What?” I said, stopping at the edge of the linoleum.

Silence. Mom elbowed Dad in the side. He shot her a quick
Was that necessary?
look and she replied with her own
You’re two seconds away from getting elbowed again
glare.

He took a deep breath. “I think I owe you an apology.” I started to ask what he was talking about, but Dad kept going. “When you started taking karate, I didn’t waste any time making sure you had whatever you needed. When you told me you were trying out for football, I bet I went by every sports store in the county to look at equipment.”

Dad laughed like he was deep in a memory of a relative he’d lost years ago. Probably thinking of when his son wasn’t a friend-dumped, scholarship-chasing dance traitor.

“Your mom and I did a lot of talking. Well, she did most of the talking. Or all of it, really—”

Another elbow.

“—but she made a good point. Our company helps new businesses get their feet off the ground. To find what they need to get started and then support them when they take off. And I haven’t been doing that with you. Or more specifically with your dancing. And I should be.” Dad reached behind him and grabbed something off the counter. “So consider this a small investment in your future.”

Mom pulled a chair out and led me to it. Dad handed her a small box and she placed it in my hands. A present. It should have thrilled me. Especially since it had something to do with dance. But I’d been slowly deflating inside since August.

I peeled off the lid and let it fall to the floor. I pushed the layer of tissue paper to the side and my breath caught in my throat.

No way. My fingers brushed against the smooth fabric. I pinched the corners of the black material and stood. My mouth fell open and a long exhale escaped with a “Whoa.”

I couldn’t believe what I was holding.

Tights.

Not panty hose. Not football pants…

Real
dance tights.

“The website said those should fit a twelve-year-old,” Mom said. “But if they don’t, we can exchange them. Or if you don’t like the style or—”

“They’re perfect.”

Mom let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good. I overheard you talking about dance tights a couple of times. We
were
going to get you the shoes, too, but there were so many different kinds.”

“No, this is enough,” I said. “Really.” I should’ve been running to my bedroom to try them on. And I would’ve if I felt like I deserved them. My legs sort of gave out and I fell into my chair.

Mom put her hand against my forehead. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale, sweetie.”

“I’m fine. Just nervous, I guess.”

“Don’t be. You made it this far. I could tell those judges loved you.”

“You didn’t see their faces, Mom. They thought I was a joke.”

“We saw their faces just fine!”

I rolled the waistband of the tights between my thumb and finger. “Yeah, well, did you hear them when I talked about my audition video?” I couldn’t remember if the judges had actually groaned or if it was just my imagination. But in my head they had practically torn their eyes out when I’d answered their questions about it.

Dad leaned against the counter beside Mom. “Well, maybe if you’d cut the part with your underwear or—”

Mom’s eyes snapped wide.

Dad sighed. “I thought your video was great.”

“Whatever. You’ve never liked me dancing.”

“No, that’s not true.”

“Um, are you forgetting the whole
dancing is risky
thing you said at dinner?”

I’ve never seen my dad nervous. But when Mom dug her knuckles into her hips, he looked like he was two seconds away from breaking out into the biggest freak-out sweat I’d ever witnessed.

Dad shook his head like he was about to come up with an excuse. But then he took a step toward the table, putting the chair in between him and Mom. “Okay, yes. I do remember that. And the truth is it
still
makes me a little uneasy knowing you may be dancing through high school and get picked on.”

“See! You don’t get it, so you think it’s stupid!”

“You’re right, I don’t get it. But I’ve never thought it was stupid. And so what if I don’t totally understand it.” He sat down beside me.

I looked at him. There was a layer of guilt on his face. Something I’d never seen when he was talking to me about dancing.

“My point is you should do what makes you happy. Even if I don’t understand it. Some of our clients have pretty crazy business ideas, and not everyone gets those.”

Mom mouthed,
Alan Scapelli.

“But that doesn’t stop me from taking a chance on them. And—” Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “It shouldn’t stop you, either.”

He hugged me. It was the first time he’d ever talked to me about dance without laughing or shaking his head. When he leaned back, his eyes were teary. He played it off, saying, “Boy, football’s made you strong, kiddo. Nearly crushed my windpipe.” He stood and Mom nearly tackled him with a hug of her own.

Dad was right. I needed to dance. The moves Sarah had been teaching me may not have fit like they were supposed to. But maybe that’s what being a real dancer was all about. Dancing the way you
need
to instead of just the way you
want
to.

I looked down at my tights.

I’d made it this far training with Sarah without my brain exploding.

Surely I could dance her routine one more time.

Mom asked if I wanted some eggs, but my stomach had drawn up to the size of a pea. The idea of anything but bland cereal made it scream in agony. I kept my tights right beside me on the table. Close enough to be near, but not so close that my milk would get on them.

When I went downstairs to change, my phone was buzzing. I ran over, grabbing it off my bed, my heart hammering out a quick-step beat. Maybe it was Kassie. Who else would call this early?

But it wasn’t.

It was an event reminder.
Saturday, November 9: dance competition.

I stuffed the phone in my duffel bag along with everything else I needed for today. I wasn’t sure why, but I even took the Dizzee Freekz pin off my backpack and attached it to the side pocket. As I threw myself into the car for the drive to Davis County High School, the worry, the freaking out, the feeling that nobody got me and my ninja freestyle, faded away. It was time to man up.

It was time to finish this thing. Time to step up and do what it was going to take to finally become a real dancer.

And there was only one way to do that.

I had to strut onto that stage wearing a pair of tights and dance like I’d never danced before.