Free Bust a Move by Jasmine Beller Page A

grinned, his eyes most definitely firing up the place. “If you say so.”

    â€œAllan, cough drops—with honey, no lemon.” Devane tossed him the box.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWhat I’m here for,” Devane said. She swept her eyes over the room, looking for anyone else who looked like they needed anything. Gina definitely seemed to be stressing. Devane hurried over.
    â€œThere’s nothing for you to do right now,” Devane told her teacher. “I’ve got everything under control. How about if I give you a neck massage? I do it for my mom sometimes when she has one of her double-job days. She says I’m the best.”
    Gina smiled. “I’m sure you are. But a massage won’t get ill papi over here, and, honestly, that’s what I really need.”
    â€œI’ll leave him another message.” Devane pulled the cell Emerson had loaned her out of her pocket.
    â€œThat’s okay,” Gina said. “One message is the same as twenty, right? You either get it or you don’t. I just hope nothing serious has happened to him.”
    So no more messages. What else could Devane do to get ill papi to the regionals? Because truth, the crew needed him. Especially without her.
    Okay, what did she know about ills? From the contact sheet, she knew he lived in Liberty Heights. Too far for her to go over and get him—if he was home and not answering the phone or if the phone wasn’t working.
    But her mom’s friend Tisha lived over there. So Tisha could go over to ill papi’s and see what the sitch was and report back to Devane. And if ill papi was home, Tisha could drive him over here. Devane dialed as she pulled the contact sheet she’d used to call ill papi out of her pocket.
    â€œTamal, I need Tisha’s phone number,” she said. “And let’s just skip over all the negotiating. Get me the number without saying anything else and you get enough snickerdoodles to make you sick for a week.”
    In less than thirty seconds, Devane had the number. She punched it into the phone. The thinnest cell she’d ever seen.
    â€œHuddle up, everybody,” Gina called. “It’s intermission. We need to talk.”
    Devane moved away from the group and put one finger in her ear. She wished she could just deal with Tisha the way she had with Tamal. But Tisha would want manners and explanations and all.
    â€œHey, Tisha,” she said when her mother’s friend answered. “It’s Devane Edwards. How are you?”
    Tisha wasn’t one of those people who just said “fine.” She was one of those people who told you exactly how she was—starting with her bunions and moving on up to the roots of her hair, which she needed to have dyed.
    Devane clucked and went “I hear you” until Tisha wrapped it up. “And how are you doing? How’s your mom?”
    Tisha saw Devane’s mother almost every day at the Shop Rite where they worked. So Devane answered the first question. “I’m not so great right this second, Tisha. I thought maybe you could help me.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Tisha sounded alarmed.
    â€œNo, wait. I’m not hurt or anything,” Devane said quickly. How could she have forgotten how fast Tisha could lose it? “I’m fine. Tamal’s fine. Mama’s fine. I’m just down at a competition for my hip-hop dance group. One of our dancers didn’t show, and we really need him if we’re going to win tonight.”
    â€œYou scared me half to death for that?” Tisha scolded.
    â€œI’m sorry. Truly,” Devane apologized. “The thing is, he lives in your neighborhood. I was wondering if you could possibly run over to his house. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him—but maybe his phone is out or something.”
    â€œDevane, I’ve been working all day. I don’t have time to be your messenger girl. Does your