Free My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights by Brooks Benjamin

want to talk to me. Then surprise turned to worrying whether he was jealous that I’d been hanging around Sarah. Or maybe he knew about our plan. Fear finally took over. My armpits instantly went sweaty at the thought of the quarterback getting our offensive line to shove me into a locker.
    “I promise she’s just helping me with dance. That’s all,” I blurted out.
    His face scrunched up like he was confused and then he laughed. “Oh, Sarah? No, I don’t care about that.”
    “Oh. Okay.” My pulse slowed to normal speed.
    “It’s about—” He grabbed my arm and led me over to the water fountain. “It’s about that dance team thing you’re on.”
    “I quit it. I swear.”
    “But you’re still friends with them?”
    I glanced around, trying to find Sarah. She must’ve sent him to pry the truth out of me. I chomped down on my bottom lip.
    DeMarcus rolled his eyes. “Calm down, I’m not gonna go tell on you.”
    “Okay,” I said, swallowing.
    “Cool. So, they don’t have, like, any weird rules, do they? Like ones about dating football players or  something?”

    I almost laughed. But before I could, it hit me. The tallest, most popular guy in school was asking about Kassie. Of course she didn’t have any rules about who she could date, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
    “But you’re dating Sarah.”
    He shushed me quiet. “I know that. I’m just asking.”
    “Oh. Well, um, I—I think Kassie does have a rule about dating athletes.” It was a lie, sure. But I was sort of desperate.
    “Gotcha,” he said. “So is that, like, a team rule? For everyone?”
    “Well, she’s the only girl.” A tiny laugh sneaked past my lips. “So unless you wanna go out with Carson—”
    “Hey!” DeMarcus took a step toward me. “I didn’t say anything about him, did I?”
    “No,” I said, shrinking back. “I’m sorry.” There I was, squished in between the water fountain and the wall while the entire school went by totally unaware that I was probably two seconds away from being turned into ground Dillon.
    But DeMarcus never threw a punch. To be honest, he didn’t even look mad. He just stared at the ground for a few seconds, rubbing his hands together.
    “I didn’t mean anything. I promise,” I said.
    “Huh? Oh, uh, just—just forget about it.” Then he left. Leaving me wedged in the corner and completely confused.

    After the last bell, I got changed into my dance gear (Sarah made me stop calling them football pants) and went to the gym. We ran through our stretches and I did a few extra foot rolls to make sure my calf wouldn’t go all traitor on me.
    “I hope you’re ready to work today.” Sarah pulled out her phone and started playing a soft stringy song with no lyrics. It sort of sounded like slow Christmas music. “Because you’re learning your choreography.”
    “Are you serious?” I asked. “I’m dancing to this?”
    “No. But you’ll be dancing to something like it, I’m sure. When you make it to the top three—”
    “You mean if. ”
    “No, I mean when. We have to stay positive. Now, when you make it to the top three, you’ll have to perform an improvised solo for the judges.”
    “Um—you do realize improvised means I make it up as I go, right?”
    Sarah put a fist on one of her hips. “Um, you do realize you can’t dance, right?” She went into first position. “Now, we’ll focus on your strengths. Which you don’t have a ton of. But your leaps aren’t all terrible, so you’re going to start out with a sissonne. ”
    “A see-saw?”
    “See- sown. ” She huffed and showed me how to do it. She hopped to the side and landed on her right foot.
    I tried one of my own and was pretty sure I’d nailed it.

    “Point your toes!” She smacked her hands together with each word. “And keep your right leg straight!”
    Or maybe I didn’t.
    “Do it again. And please try not to look like a total spaz.”
    I did it again. And again. And about five hundred