Bust a Move

Table of Contents

 

 

 

GROSSET & DUNLAP
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eISBN : 978-1-101-11937-2

 

 

 

“
M
r. Jenner will probably drop me off at about ten tonight.” Speaking the simple words made Emerson Lane's stomach attempt to turn itself inside out. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

I've lied to my parents more in the last month than I have in the rest of my life combined, all thirteen years of it,
she thought.
And I'm about to lie some more.

Emerson lowered her eyes and spooned blueberries over her oatmeal. She didn't even especially like blueberries. She just wanted to do something that didn't involve looking at her mom or dad.

“I'm surprised anything could get Carson Jenner away from the club on a Saturday in August,” Emerson's father commented with a smile.

Emerson grunted. The kind of grunt that could be agreement or disagreement.

“It's very nice of him to take you girls to Disney World,” her mother added. “Remember to tell him thank you.”

Emerson made the sound again. The sound felt less like lying than using actual words would have.

Her mother raised one perfectly manicured blond eyebrow. “I know you aren't exactly a morning person, sweetie,” she said. “But grunts and the like aren't appropriate breakfast table conversation.”

Emerson nodded, then turned to her father. “Um, are
you
going to the club today, Dad?” she asked, trying to make the question sound casual. Even though it was completely life and death. If her father went to the club, he would see Mr. Jenner. Then he'd realize that Emerson had lied about Mr. Jenner taking her to Disney World. And once the little lie was out—one of the many little lies Emerson had told—then the Big Lie would have to come out, too.

The Big Lie, Part 1: Emerson had joined the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group, even though her parents had told her she couldn't. Emerson had even forged her mother's name on the Hip Hop Kidz permission forms.

The Big Lie, Part 2: Emerson had stopped going to ballet class so she could go to the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group classes, even though she'd been studying ballet practically since birth and her parents—especially her mom—loved having a ballerina daughter. It was so appropriate for the president of the Arts Council to have a daughter in the arts. And hip-hop definitely didn't count as “the arts” to Emerson's parents.

Emerson watched her father chew. Waited for him to swallow. Waited for him to
answer
.

“I think I
will
swing over to the club and see if I can pick up a game of racquetball. I can absolutely use some time in the steam room,” he said. “That surgery yesterday was brutal.”

Emerson's father was an anesthesiologist. She hoped he'd at least administer some sort of anesthesia before he and her mom killed her when they found out the truth.

“Oh, no, you don't.” Emerson's mom playfully shook her finger at Emerson's dad. “You're not escaping me this Saturday. You are taking me out to lunch, and then you are going to help me pick out an armoire for the yellow guest room. I can't stand to have that chest of drawers in this house another moment.”

Saved by my mother's love of interior design,
Emerson thought. She was so relieved, she was able to take a bite of oatmeal with no protests from her stomach.

Now she'd just have to lie a few more times before she got herself to Disney World, where the Hip Hop Kidz would be performing on the Galaxy Palace stage in Tomorrowland. Once she was up there onstage, she could forget everything. She'd just let go and
dance
.

Today's the day
I
should be showing everyone that I can dance. That's dance with a
D,
as in Devane, as in the most-famous name on the planet by the time I've finished working my three-year plan to achieve superstardom.

Instead Devane was standing in a Disney World practice room watching the Hip Hop Kidz rehearse before their performance. Devane was only there as a . . . a . . . a probationer? What a sad little word that was. If it even was a word. Word or not, she shouldn't be on probation anymore. It had been three weeks. Three
weeks
. And it wasn't as if she'd committed a felony or anything.

What she
had
done was jack part of Emerson's solo at a performance. It could have brought down the whole routine. Not that it had. Because what Devane touched turned to gold.

But it hadn't been fair to take a bite from Emerson. Devane got that now. It hadn't been fair to the ballerina or to anybody else in the group.

But it also wasn't fair that Devane was
still
on probation. It wasn't fair that she was holding up the practice room wall while the rest of the Hip Hop Kidz went through their routine. It wasn't fair that she was going to be watching an hour from now when they performed the routine on the Disney World Galaxy Palace stage. Watching was not part of her three-year plan.

“They look great, don't they?” Gina Torres, the Performance Group's teacher, asked Devane.

Max doesn't flex her foot enough on the step forward before the drop into the knee slide,
thought Devane, her eyes on the smallest member of the group. Max looked about eight, even though she was twelve. A seventh grader, just like Devane.

“Yeah, they look good,” Devane forced herself to say. Because they did look good and because Gina would never stand for Devane correcting another group member.

Truth? She wouldn't be in Hip Hop Kidz at all right now if it wasn't for them. When Gina and Maddy Caulder, the head of the whole program, put her on probation, Devane had pulled a diva and quit. Gina and Maddy had told her if she walked, she couldn't come back. So what had Devane done? She'd walked—and slammed the door behind her.

It was the other kids in the group who'd gotten her to apologize and ask to be let back in the group. The other kids, led by Emerson. Yeah, the same Emerson whose solo Devane had snatched.

Devane looked over at her. Emerson had just launched into one of her perfection moves—a strobing pirouette. Hip-hop and ballet slammed together into something fresh.

What if somebody like HiHat happened to be hangin' at Disney World today? The girl had choreographed videos for Missy Elliott, Eve, Diddy, Sisqó, and Mary J. Blige, for starters. If HiHat—or some other choreographer, or video producer, or director, or whatevah—was at Disney World, this could be Emerson's day to get discovered.

Or ill papi's. Ill papi was the son of J-Bang, the street hip-hop god. And it showed. Ill papi was the new skool J-Bang.

Or Fridge could get plucked. He wasn't the best b-boy in the group, but you had to notice Fridge. He was almost as wide as two kids. And tall? Oh, yeah. Devane knew it wasn't always about the dancing. Sometimes it was all about the look.

One thing's for sure,
Devane thought as the group launched into the final moves of the routine.
No one is going to be discovering me. You don't get discovered when you're nothing more than part of the entourage. You don't get discovered when you're a
probationer.

The Kanye West track ended, and Lizzie, their Disney World guide, stepped into the practice room with her Peoples shades shoved up onto the top of her head. Devane planned to get herself some Peoples after her first paying gig. And that
would
happen. Even though her three-year plan had slowed almost to a complete stop.

“I walk in right as the song ends,” Lizzie said. “Do I have perfect timing or what?”

“Yep, you do,” Gina told Liz. “Unlike my friend over there,” she joked, pointing at Ky. “You were off just a fraction going into the second kip up.” Ky nodded. “And Max, pay attention to your feet. You forget about your flex as the routine goes on.”

“Got it.” Max flexed one foot, then the other. She never stopped moving. The music stopped, and the girl always kept doing
something
. Sometimes she made Devane tired.

“I need you all back in the minibus,” Lizzie announced. “It's time to go over to the theater!”

As Devane headed outside, Emerson and Sophie fell into step alongside her. “It's cool getting to see the back side of the park, don't you think?” Sophie asked. “Wait. That didn't come out exactly right. I mean, it's cool getting to see behind the scenes.”