Free Bust a Move by Jasmine Beller Page B

mother know you’re calling to ask me this?” Tisha demanded.
    â€œNo. She’s not home right now. I just thought maybe—”
    â€œIf you needed me for something important, I’d be there in a minute; you know that,” Tisha said. “But not for this. I’m hanging up now. Dancing with the Stars is about to come on.”
    Devane checked her watch. There was hardly any time left to get ill papi here from Liberty Heights—if that’s even where he was. She had to think fast. Didn’t Tamal have a friend who lived there? And didn’t the friend have a brother with a car? Devane wasn’t Devane if she couldn’t talk that boy with his car into doing her a little favor. She punched in her home phone number again.
    â€œTamal, who is that friend of yours who—”
    â€œDevane!” Gina called. Devane took the finger out of her ear and held it up, giving Gina the one-second signal. “I need the number of that friend of yours who lives in—”
    â€œDevane, I need you off that phone immediately!”
    â€œI’ll call you back.” Devane hung up the phone and hurried over to the group around Gina.
    She’d done it again. She’d spent hours racking up good-girl points. Then she’d thrown a bunch of them away by doing something that irritated Gina. If Devane kept messing up like this, she’d never make it off probation.
    â€œSorry, I was trying to find a way to track down ill papi,” Devane said quickly.
    â€œI think we’re going to have to give up on that as a possibility. We’re up in just about half an hour.” Gina raked her curly hair away from her face with both hands.
    â€œSo what are we going to do?” Ky asked. “How are we going to—”
    Gina held up both hands, palms out, like a traffic cop. “I’m talking. Here’s the plan.” She looked over at Devane. “You’ve been rehearsing the routine. Do you think you could fill—”
    Devane didn’t let Gina finish. “I’m there.”
    Gina nodded. “Let’s use the time we have to walk through the routine with Devane in ill papi’s spot. We’ll have to make some changes. I was thinking we could substitute your cross-legged flare, hollow-back freeze for that last combo ill papi does,” she told Devane.
    â€œGot it,” Devane said.
    She so got it. It had finally happened. She was off probation! Her plan was rolling again!

    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.
    And kick it side, turn it.
    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.
    Snap down, flat back. Group one up. Group two up.
    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