Free My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights by Brooks Benjamin Page B

it going to be?”
    I stood there for a few seconds, thinking. Really thinking. All the yelling and making fun of my dancing? And for some secret reason she wouldn’t tell? I wasn’t sure it was worth it. Not even a little.
    So, yeah. I thought. Hard.
    In the end, though, I walked back to the middle of the gym and scooted my feet into first position, already regretting my decision.
    Sarah gave me a quick little nod and started the music. I went into my first move.
    The sissonne.
    Sarah didn’t yell, so I turned, flowing into the double step.
    I waited for her to scream something about my toes, but it never came.
    So I pushed off with my foot and spun.

    Not once.
    Twice.
    I planted my feet, catching myself before I fell. Sarah paused the song and stared at me. My entire body clenched, ready for the verbal bashing to start.
    A tiny bit of me was hoping she’d really let loose. That way I could just look her in the eye and tell her I quit. Sabotage the whole competition right then and there. That way I could just go back to Kassie and apologize for ruining her plan and keep on being the dancer in the crew who couldn’t actually dance.
    Sarah’s mouth went into a hard line like she was thinking.
    “Well,” she said.
    Here it comes, I thought. Be ready for it.
    “That was actually good.”
    My face went totally slack. “What?”
    “It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better.”
    I couldn’t believe it. A compliment. About my dancing. From Sarah.
    All the junk she had said before was still ringing in my ears. But it was getting quieter and quieter every second. Slowly being replaced by those two words.
    Actually good.
    I unclenched my fists, looking down at the little indentations my fingernails had made.
    “Ready to learn the next part?” she asked.

    More screaming. More trying to figure out her angle. More torture.
    But also…
    More moves. More technique. More real dancing.
    I couldn’t help it. I smiled.
    And decided maybe I’d stick around a little while longer.

W e finished practice with me learning the rest of my routine in small chunks.
    Sarah recorded herself running it and messaged it to me later on. As soon as I got home, I ran to my room and played it. I had a mountain of reading homework I needed to get finished, but I couldn’t stop watching her dance.
    Thinking for a second that she was teaching me stupid moves was beyond idiotic.
    The moves were incredible.
    And the more I did them, the more incredible I felt.
    It was starting to make having to say goodbye to it all in a raging inferno of Ha! Take THAT, Dance-Splosion! if I made into the top three even worse.

    Over the next couple of days, I spent every second of free time at home practicing my routine. By Thursday I knew it by heart. Our football game that evening was an away game, so Sarah couldn’t come. Hallelujah. She probably would’ve been yelling at me from the bleachers to quit slouching, shoulders down, long neck. Unfortunately, my friends weren’t there, either. The only familiar faces in the stands were Mom and Dad.
    So I kept my butt permanently attached to the bench. I wasn’t really even paying attention to the game. All I could think about was the routine and how awesome it was.
    The music would blast through the speakers during breaks and I ran through the steps in my head. The cheerleaders would kick and point toward the field and I pretended they were warming up for some sassy dance-off. The football players lined up for a play and I imagined they were posed, ready to bust out a choreographed routine.
    But then DeMarcus would yell, “Hike!” and they’d all just fall over each other like they usually did. Which reminded me of all the times I’d nearly broken something on me or someone else during crew dance practice.
    I glanced up at the scoreboard. We were losing pretty bad. Coach Bear had warned us about Oakdale. And DeMarcus hadn’t been kidding when he said the defensive end was a giant.

    “No way that guy’s