Ambitious Page 12

  “Mami! Luz stopped speaking to me…for no reason at all. Not the other way around. It’s her who’s changing!”

  “Mari,” Mami said.

  “May I be excused?” I asked. I was getting frustrated and I needed a retreat. My parents didn’t understand anything. I needed to be free—to spread my wings. And it seemed that they were preventing me from flying. Why couldn’t I have parents like Jasmine’s? Parents who didn’t care what I did.

  “Yes, you may be excused, sweetheart,” Poppy said.

  I left the kitchen and headed for my room. Collapsing on the bed, I covered my head with my pillow. Hoped for sleep. When someone tapped on the door, I knew that I wouldn’t find peace anywhere.

  “Mari,” my father whispered as he stuck his head inside my bedroom door. “May I come in?”

  I nodded.

  “Mari, your mother is just worried about you. I know she can be difficult at times.”

  “Difficult is not the word, Poppy. You know her.”

  “I’m proud of you. This is quite an accomplishment,” he said and smiled.

  “You mean it?”

  “Of course I mean it. You should be very proud of yourself. I’ve heard a lot about this uh…this Dance United States…”

  “Dance America.”

  “Yes. I know that it’s a tough competition, and that this is a wonderful opportunity for you, mi amor,” he said, “and we will support you.”

  “Thanks for your support, Poppy. But I know that Mami doesn’t feel the same way.”

  “She’ll come around. Just give her time,” Poppy explained. “And this thing with you and Luz…it will work itself out.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Poppy grabbed my nose in between his two fingers then kissed my forehead. He always knew how to make me feel better. Even if I didn’t win the competition, it was nice knowing that I had his support.

  fifteen

  Drew

  I straddled my seat backward at Manny’s; joined the rest of the gang that was already engaged in a conversation about the dance competition. Dance America had become the biggest conversation piece ever. That’s all everyone talked about these days. Everyone had their opinions about who had won, who should’ve won and who had made it by the skin of their teeth. They talked about which contestants should’ve been eliminated, and which ones should’ve been given a second chance.

  “I don’t know if I should sit here…you know, amongst royalty and all,” I teased Mari and Jasmine. “Pretty soon they won’t even know us, Preston.”

  “I know. Once they get to Hollywood, we’ll be a distant memory,” Preston agreed.

  “We’ll have to make an appointment just to hang out with them,” I added. “And forget about pizza at Manny’s anymore. This place will be below their standards.”

  “The two of you need to stop!” Jasmine said with a laugh. “It’s not even like that.”

  “I’d better take a picture with my camera phone—a before-fame photo.” I snapped a photo of Mari and Jasmine with my phone.

  “Yeah, let me get one, too.” Preston pulled his iPhone out of the pocket of his jeans; snapped a picture of them also. Showed it to me.

  “Hmm. That’s a good one.” I grabbed Preston’s iPhone; showed Mari and Jasmine their photo.

  “We owe our dance instructor all the credit. She taught us everything we know,” Mari said.

  “Well, I didn’t see J.C. out there shaking her booty. It was you guys out there doing all the work,” I said, “and I’m proud of you. You both deserve to win this competition.”

  “Okay, what’s the punch line?” Mari asked before stuffing the last bite of her pizza into her mouth.

  “No punch line. I’m serious,” I explained.

  I was serious. They had been the best dancers in the entire competition. I didn’t realize that Mari could move like that. The more I watched her dance, the more attractive she became to me—and she didn’t even know it. I wondered if she knew that I thought she was beautiful and cool. I watched as she laughed about something funny that Preston said. As she brushed a piece of hair from her face, I stared. And then caught myself; looked away. Didn’t want her to catch me looking.

  I stepped into our apartment; locked the door behind me. Dropped my backpack at the door and took a step across the hardwood floor.

  “Pick it up!” a voice rang out in the apartment. “And take those sneakers off!”

  The smell of laundry detergent mixed with the smell of fried chicken filled the place. And just as I started to untie the shoestrings on my sneakers, Gram popped her head into the entryway. With her salt-and-pepper hair and beautiful skin, she smiled.

  “Hi, Gram.” I grinned from ear to ear. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  It was always nice when Gram showed up. She always seemed to get us organized and to whip us into shape. And she always made the best meals—fried chicken or smothered pork chops. She usually left us with three or four casseroles that would last for a week or so, fresh white socks and clean underwear. Our linens would smell like Bounce dryer sheets, and she would even clean in between the cracks and crevices of the bathroom tiles and bathtub—getting rid of all the soap scum.

  “Come here and give me a hug, boy,” she said. I hugged my grandmother, and she returned the hug with a tight squeeze and a kiss on my forehead. She grabbed my face into her hands. “Look at you. So handsome.”

  “Something smells good!” I exclaimed and went straight for the stove to see what it was. I lifted the aluminum foil that was wrapped around the plate of fried chicken. I peeked inside the oven only to find a pan of macaroni and cheese with the cheese bubbling over the sides.

  “I made your favorite dessert,” she boasted.

  “You didn’t…” I turned to see her face; wanted to see if she was serious.

  “Sweet potato pie.”

  “Gram, you are the bomb!” I said.

  “Now go get cleaned up, son. Your father will be here soon, and I want the three of us to sit down and have dinner together.”

  “My dad will be here soon? Have you talked to him?” I asked.

  “No, I haven’t talked to him. But doesn’t he get in from work around five or six?”

  “Not usually, Gram. Sometimes he doesn’t get in until around ten or eleven…sometimes later.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She looked mortified. “That won’t work. It just won’t work. That’s unacceptable! When do the two of you spend time together?”

  “Hmm…sometimes I’m still awake when he gets in, and he’ll stick his head in and say goodnight. And sometimes we watch SportsCenter together.”

  “SportsCenter.” She said it with such disappointment. “I don’t like that, Drew. I don’t like that one bit! He needs to spend quality time with you. He’s your father, and he’s no better than your mother if you never get to see him.”

  “It’s really not that serious, Gram. I’m not a little kid anymore, so I don’t really require that much supervision.”

  “I didn’t say you needed supervision. I said you need quality time!” she said. “I’m going to have a word with him when he gets in. Now go get cleaned up. You and I will have dinner together.”

  It wasn’t a good time to tell my grandmother that I wasn’t hungry. That I usually grabbed a slice or two of pizza every day at Manny’s before making it home from school. I didn’t want her to think that she’d fried chicken for nothing, so I left the kitchen; rushed upstairs and changed into a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt. I washed my face and hands. By the time I returned, Gram had set the table for two.

  I rubbed my palms together. “It looks good. Can’t wait to dig in.”

  I took a seat across from Gram. She said a prayer over the food and then fixed my plate.

  “So what’s going on with you, Drew? You like that new school?”

  “I love it, Gram,” I told her. “And guess what…I landed a role in a play already.”

&
nbsp; “No kidding. You were always so good at that…acting and pretending.” She giggled. I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

  “Dad’s not feeling my new gig, though,” I said; forgot who I was talking to.

  “Speak English to me, boy. I don’t know all that slang.”

  “He’s not happy with me going to a performing arts school. He wants me to play basketball. He thinks that acting is for sissies.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?” she said matter-of-factly. “He must’ve forgotten that he was an actor himself back in the day.”

  “My dad was an actor?”

  “And a wannabe musician,” she said with a laugh. “He begged us to let him take acting classes. And so we did. But that only lasted a hot minute. Then he wanted to play the guitar. And we got him guitar lessons.”

  “Are you serious?” I was shocked. “My dad played the guitar?”

  “He never told you?” she asked. “Skeeter was actually pretty good at it.”

  Skeeter was my dad’s nickname. To have such a manly name like Derrick Bishop, and then to be called Skeeter instead—that had to be rough. When he was younger, he was so skinny—puny is what my grandmother called him—they compared him to a mosquito. Hence, Skeeter was born. I was glad I didn’t have any whack nicknames like that.

  “Nah, he never told me that, Gram. In fact, he was so mad when I told him that I wanted to audition for Premiere High. And he pretty much stopped talking to me when I got in.”

  “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve got into Skeeter’s behind!”

  Sometimes my grandmother forgot that my dad was a grown man and was too old to be scolded like a child. She claimed that he was never too old for her to whip his behind. And if I got out of line, she would whip mine, too. And up until about three years ago, she stood true to her word. She had given me plenty of whippings. She wasn’t afraid to get a belt when one was needed. Soon I was too tall for her to handle. I’d stand there with my arms folded across my chest, refusing to cry with every swat. That only made her madder, and pretty soon she just stopped trying.

  “I think he’ll come around. He just needs time to let things marinate,” I told her. “You should come to my performance next month, Gram…sit in the front row and be in my cheering section.”

  “I sure will, sweetie. You just let me know when the date is, and I’ll be right there. Yes, I will.”

  “I love you, Gram. You take such good care of us.”

  “It’s my job, baby.”

  It was true. She took great care of us. Without her, we’d fall apart, Dad and I. I would never have any clean underwear, and I wouldn’t know what a good meal was. Beanies and weenies was not it. She gave us structure. She said that we gave her structure. After Granddad died of cancer, she said she needed someone to take care of—something to do that was worthwhile. Otherwise she’d crawl into a hole and die. Dad and I had a good life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was healthy. But I was glad for Gram. She gave us the things that we were missing.

  “Now, what about girls? The last time we talked, you were seeing some little girl…Brittany or Bridgette.”

  “Brianna.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Are you still stringing her along?”

  My grandmother was so straightforward. She never beat around the bush, she just said it. Whatever was on her mind, she said it. I loved that about her. I respected that, because you never had to guess where you stood with her.

  “I wasn’t stringing her along, Gram. I just wasn’t ready for a relationship like she was.”

  “Well, you should’ve just been up front with her. Let her know that you’re still sowing your oats and you had no intention of settling down.”

  “Sowing my oats, Gram? Come on.”

  “Okay, what do you youngsters call it now? Getting busy…getting jiggy with it?

  “You been watching Fresh Prince of Bel-Air again?” I asked with a laugh. “I just wanted to kick it with some other people for a while.”

  “Kick it! So, that’s the new phrase. Thanks for keeping me up on the slang,” she said with a giggle. “One of these days, Drew, some girl is going to come along…and she’s gonna knock you off your feet. You won’t know what hit you.”

  “I think she’s already come along.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. Her name is Marisol Garcia. Mari for short.”

  “She’s Hispanic.”

  “Yes. Very beautiful. Funny. Smart…”

  “But…”

  “But we’re just good friends, and I like kicking it with her. We hang out, like buddies. Don’t wanna mess that up. But when I’m around her, I feel all these things and I don’t know what to do about it. It’s, like…confusing…”

  “Why don’t you just ask her out? I mean on a real date…and not just hang out. That way you can determine which you like better…hanging out or dating.”

  “I came pretty close to asking her to the fall social. It’s this dance…a formal dance at school…sort of like homecoming at other schools.”

  “And? What happened?”

  “I couldn’t do it. I lost my nerve, and instead asked her if she would tutor me in algebra,” I said. “Besides, I’m not even sure that I want to show up at a dance with a girl. I mean, the other girls will get the wrong idea. They might think I’m in an exclusive relationship or something, and I don’t want that. I just wanna kick it for now.”

  She laughed heartily, as if I’d just told the funniest joke ever. I didn’t understand the laughter; just patiently waited for her to get herself together.

  “You really like her. I can tell,” she finally said. “But I have to tell you, son…somebody else is gonna scoop her up right out from under you…while you’re busy…kicking it. Don’t wait too long to tell her how you feel.”

  “It’s not that serious, Gram. It’s just Mari. She’s cool.”

  “Okay, sweetness. But remember that old saying, ‘he who snoozes, loses,’” she said and grabbed another piece of fried chicken; set it on her plate. “Now, how about a game of poker after dinner?”

  “What you want? You want some of this?” I asked my grandmother.

  “I can’t wait to spank your little behind, boy. Show you who is boss!” she boasted.

  I ate quickly. A game of poker with my grandmother was like nothing else. It was the ultimate challenge. I got a rush just thinking about it. She definitely knew a lot about the game, and I’d been trying to beat her since I was five years old. One of my purposes in life was to beat Gram at one game of poker. I didn’t know if it would ever happen, but it sure was fun trying.

  “I’ll get the cards.”

  sixteen

  Marisol

  We stood onstage; our fingers intertwined as we held hands. I closed my eyes tightly and said a little prayer. I usually prayed only during Sunday morning Mass at my church, but today I needed an extra prayer. When I opened my eyes, I stared at the wooden floors beneath my Chuck Taylor sneakers. They were shiny floors, I thought. The school’s janitor had done a pretty good job of buffing them the night before. In order to avoid looking out at the crowd, I glanced over at Jasmine’s matching black Chuck Taylors. What were the odds that we owned sneakers that were almost identical? They went well with our black leggings.

  “When I call your name, please step forward,” stated the white-haired judge as she made notes on a notepad. “Belinda Lewis…”

  Belinda Lewis hesitated for a moment then stepped forward.

  “Audrey Harris…”

  Audrey, who stood next to me, left my side and stepped forward.

  “Michael Thomas,” the judge called, and Michael stepped forward.

  Three names had been called, and there were two names left. A total of five people were to be finalists. The five people who were chosen by the judges today would be Hollywood-bound. My knees shook as I listened for the last two names to be called.

  “Jordan Felton.”

  My heart dropped.
With one name left, I knew that one of us—Jasmine or I—wasn’t going. We squeezed each other’s hand tighter as we listened for the final name to be called. One of us had to make it; we just had to. “Alisha Coleman.”

  Alisha Coleman? Seriously? She’d stumbled over her own feet during her routine. How could the very last name be Alisha Coleman? Both Jasmine and I could dance circles around Alisha Coleman. I was disappointed, and I struggled to fight back the tears. I started going over our routine in my head; wondered what we could’ve done better. The judge’s voice snapped me out of my trance.

  “Those of you who have stepped forward, you are all wonderfully talented dancers. However, I’m sorry to inform you that you are not this year’s finalists. Thank you for entering the competition, and I encourage you to give it another try next year…”

  What?

  “…if you would, please exit the stage to your left…”

  Did I hear her correctly?

  “…the five of you remaining, please take a bow. You should be very proud of yourselves. You are Dance America’s final five, and you will be going to Hollywood to compete for the role in a feature film that is currently being produced. The winner will also receive a scholarship in the amount of five thousand dollars toward your college education. Good luck to you all in Los Angeles.”

  I couldn’t contain my excitement, and neither could Jasmine, because we both started jumping and screaming at the same time. This had to be the most exciting day in the lives of five teenagers. The five of us, who barely even knew each other, started hugging and crying. It was an emotional moment.

  Once my heart stopped beating so fast, and reality finally set in, I looked out at the crowd. I caught the eye of my father, who was standing and holding on to my mother. She was crying, and although he tried to hide it, he also had a tear in his eye. They were proud of me. I knew it the moment I saw them. My brother, Nico, gave me a thumbs-up, and I gave him a smile. It was definitely a proud day for the Garcia family.

  As I stepped inside the doorway, someone threw rice in my hair. Everyone started cheering. Grace hugged me, and Kristina started rambling in Spanish about how proud she was to be my friend. It seemed as if the entire neighborhood had gathered in our small living room. With balloons and banners all over the room, it was clearly a celebration party, especially for me.