Bust a Move (10 page)

Emerson watched as Devane raised her hands over her head—then launched herself across the stage with a series of forward handsprings.
Maybe we're going to pull this off without ill papi,
Emerson thought. Then it was her turn to make her entrance. Three cartwheels and she was out there under all those lights. The stage was bigger than the one at Disney World. More people out there watching, too. Maddy was in the audience someplace. And a bunch of kids who took lessons at Hip Hop Kidz. Plus tons of friends and parents and relatives.

Emerson couldn't help thinking her parents and grandparents should be out there. If she hadn't lied and everything. If she hadn't had to lie. If her parents had given her permission to be in the group.

Although who knew how they'd react if they could see this routine. Her grandpa might decide not to give her that hundred dollars for her good French—this show wasn't a grandpa kind of thing.

Uh-oh. Group two was a tiny bit off center. Devane took shorter steps than ill papi, and it threw the whole line to the left a little.

Focus on what
you're
doing, Emerson. Your group up.

Whether her parents or grandparents would like it or not, the routine was an Emerson kind of thing. That rush was happening. The one she always got doing hip-hop onstage with the group. It was like Devane's sign had said—“Hip Hop Kidz Got the Juice.” Emerson felt juiced. Like she'd been drinking sunshine and electricity.

Uh-oh. Devane had been late dropping into the flare air-track combo she and M.J. did together. Had the judges noticed?

Hopefully not. The crowd was definitely giving it up for the move. It
had
looked awesome. But Devane and M.J. had been just the tiniest bit out of sync.

Was a mistake that small enough to lose them the competition?

Devane's cross-legged flare into the hollow back was a beautiful thing, especially flanked by M.J. and Fridge doing their crickets. Devane held the pose while the audience—and the judges—applauded and applauded. Held it and made it look effortless.

But Emerson had seen ill papi's jackhammer to one-armed planche. And it was better.

She walked off the stage feeling like the Hip Hop Kidz hadn't given their absolute best.

 

 

 

“You were awesome, you guys!” Sammi cried. She gave Sophie a big hug. Then she hugged Emerson. “I watched the whole second half from the audience, and the crowd loved you guys the most. I could feel it.”

“That's not what we
really
want to hear,” Sophie said. “You know the routine as well as we do. What mistakes did you see?”

Emerson locked her eyes on Sammi's face. This was exactly what Emerson wanted to hear. She'd noticed mistakes from the stage. But how did they show up from the audience?

“You were great,” Sammi insisted. “And remember, the top three teams from this competition get to go on to the nationals.”

Ouch. If Sammi was pointing out that three teams were moving to the nationals, that meant she had to have noticed at least
some
mistakes.

“I thought when the second group came out in that middle section, they were a little off center,” Emerson said. She figured if she said something completely honest, it might be easier for Sammi to say something completely honest.

“Just a little,” Sammi agreed. She glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “And Devane and M.J. were a little out of sync in one place.”

I knew it,
Emerson thought. “The flare air-track combo?” she asked.

“How little are we talking about?” Sophie jumped in.

“A little, little,” Sammi said. “And I can't remember exactly where it happened. It wasn't anything on the ground, though. It was part of the footwork.”

Emerson gave a silent groan. So there was more than one spot.
It had to happen,
she told herself.
Devane knows the routine cold. But she's never done it from ill papi's position before.

Yeah, it had to happen,
she repeated to herself.
But it's not good.

Max tore up to them. “What are you doing over here?” she cried. “They're about to announce the winners. Come on.” And she was off.

“Look,” Sammi whispered as she grabbed Emerson by the shoulder. “I think you did well enough to be in the top three. Maybe even the top two. Either way, you get to go to the nationals, and that's all that matters.”

“Thanks,” Emerson said. “I appreciate your honesty.” And then she ran off to catch up with the others, who all gathered around J-Bang.

“It's been a bumpin' night, but it's gotta end,” J-Bang was saying into the mike when they reached the wings and found a spot with the rest of their crew. Emerson struggled to find a place where she could see the judge. Everybody who'd been in the competition was trying to keep their eyes on J-Bang.

”All the crews gave us a lot to think about,” he continued. “Lots of flavors came at us. Old skool, new skool, breaking, popping, locking, house dancing, martial arts, some bop, we even got a little ballet. Sometimes all in the same two-minute routine!”

Sophie gave Emerson a little nudge when J-Bang said “ballet.”
At least I know he noticed us,
she thought.

“It wasn't like comparing apples and oranges. It was like comparing the Milky Way and the ocean. How can you really say one is more beautiful?” J-Bang asked, smiling.

“J-Bang's flowing now!” someone in the audience yelled.

“You're right, you're right. And we're not here for poetry. We're here to decide who's going to represent for the Southeast at the nationals and maybe the world. It has to come down to three crews.”

J-Bang paused, letting silence fill the large auditorium. “Now, the boys of our number-three crew reminded me more of the Northeast than the South,” he finally said.

Sophie and Emerson looked at each other. “Boys,” Sophie mouthed. Emerson nodded. J-Bang wouldn't say boys for a group with b-boys and b-girls. Would he?

“I saw a little bit of their kind of battle style when I was spending some time back in New York,” J-Bang continued. “Coming in at number three—the Storm Lords!”

The all-boy group took the stage, getting whoops and hollers and tons of applause. “Those guys are third. Wow. I was thinking they'd be the ones to beat,” Sammi said.

“You thought the Plain Janes looked pretty good, too,” Ky reminded her.

“I didn't watch anyone else. It gives me the wiggins,” Rachel said. “After we did our stuff, I didn't even listen to the crowd. I just looped ‘Hang Wire' on my iPod.”

“The crew that went on right after intermission made me nervous,” Max said. “They were doing almost acrobatic stuff. And clowning. It was sort of like a hip-hop circus.”

“Chill. He's about to announce second,” Becca interrupted.

“All right,” J-Bang said. “Now we got the number-two slot.” He ran his hand over his shaved head. “Joe O'Neal and I were sweating over this one, but we really loved the Brazilian influence mixed with the street.”

That definitely doesn't sound like us,
Emerson thought.
And it's pretty obvious we didn't do well enough to come in first.

“Give it up for Swagger, everybody!” J-Bang shouted.

The kids in Swagger broke out a set of moves to take the stage. The tallest girl stepped up to J-Bang to take the second-place trophy.

“So we get first or we get nothing,” M.J. said.

“Ky does not walk out of here with nothing,” Ky told him.

“Ky does not actually have a choice,” Becca pointed out.

“Get ready to give it up for the winner of the state-wide competition,” J-Bang called out. “What Joe and I loved about this group was how much fun it looked like they were having. Hip-hop can have a lot of different moods. And joy is definitely one of them.”

Max bounced from one foot to the other. “Sounds like he's talking about that circus group.”

“Now, before I get accused of turning this into a poetry jam again, let me bring out your number-one crew—”

Sophie grabbed Emerson's right hand. Chloe grabbed her left hand. Emerson squeezed her eyes shut.

“This group that could go on to represent for the whole USA at the world championship.” J-Bang let the moment stretch again. The guy was kind of an attention hog.

“Come
on
,” Ky whispered.

Please, let's just get this over with,
Emerson thought.

“Your winners—the Hip Hop Kidz!” J-Bang bellowed.

Emerson's eyes snapped open. She ran out onto the stage, still holding hands with Sophie and Chloe.

“I hope my dad doesn't give himself a brain aneurysm or something,” Sophie yelled over the screaming crowd. “I can see how red his face is from here!” She waved to him. “Hi, Dad!” Mr. Qian waved back with both hands.

Emerson was hit with another blast of . . . it was almost like homesickness, which was silly. She'd be home in a couple of hours. She just couldn't help wishing
her
dad was out there clapping for her. Her mom, too.

Couldn't they somehow be excited for her because Hip Hop Kidz had won—and Emerson loved Hip Hop Kidz? Couldn't they be proud of her even if they didn't think hip-hop was real dancing? Or essential to her college application? Or incredibly impressive to the Arts Council?

She slammed the thoughts away. Her group had just won first place. They might end up going to the world championship. Emerson was going to enjoy this moment. She focused on M.J. bumping fists with J-Bang as J-Bang handed him the trophy. And Gina's face—Gina was glowing, and not just because of the stage lights. Maddy was climbing up onstage to join them, and she had tears of happiness sparkling in her eyes.

“We did it, Em!” Sophie exclaimed.

“I know! We did it!” Emerson hugged her. “Can you believe a couple of months ago we were afraid we wouldn't get in the Performance Group at all?”

Sophie hung on to the buzz from winning first place for about ten minutes. Then she started thinking about ill papi

. . . again. He should be here with the rest of them. He'd worked as hard on the routine as they had. Why didn't he show? It didn't make any sense.

If anybody will know what's up with ill papi, it's his dad,
Sophie thought.
He's probably still in the auditorium.

“Be right back,” she told Sammi.

“Hurry,” Sammi said. “Mom and Dad are going to shove their way backstage in about ten seconds, and they're going to have to take about a thousand pictures.”

The thought made Sophie grin. If the Kidz made world champion, Sophie might end up with several photo albums—and several videotapes all to herself. Sammi had a bunch; why shouldn't Sophie?

“Ten seconds,” Sophie promised. She hurried out onto the stage. Yep. There was J-Bang, still at the judges' table, surrounded by fans.

“Hey, J-Bang, do you know where ill papi is?” Sophie called down. People always said she could talk to anybody, but even she felt a little nervous talking to one of the guys who practically invented hip-hop.

J-Bang turned around. “You're one of the Kidz,” he said, taking her in. “You're me. But younger. And a girl. You know?”

“Thanks! Cool.” Sophie couldn't believe J-Bang had said that to her. Wow. “I was wondering if you know where ill papi is.”

“Ill papi?” J-Bang repeated. And it was clear he hadn't heard the name. Ever in his life.

The woman next to J-Bang smiled. “Is ill papi your boyfriend? You want to get him some advice from the man here?”

“Uh. No. That's okay. I just thought—I made a mistake,” Sophie said in a rush. “Never mind.”

J-Bang didn't even know who ill papi was. What was going on?