Part 12 (1/2)

”That'd be fun,” she said, unconvincingly, as she was one of those people who preferred talking about skiing to actually doing it. ”Good idea.”

”Whatever you want. I don't care.”

Mom's mouth scrunched up on one side for a moment before she forced herself to say, ”You'll be spectacular dancing today.” I gave her an E for effort. She really did try to be an understanding and supportive parent. A lot of my friends didn't have parents like this.

I looked at the clock. It was nearly six, the time she usually went to a private Pilates lesson on Sunday mornings. Given her outfit, I knew she was hoping to attend today.

”Go, stop worrying, get your Pilates on,” I said as though I hadn't a care in all the world, congratulating myself for doing such a fine acting job.

”You sure? I'm happy to stay home with you if you need me to.”

”I'm fine. I'll be leaving in about an hour anyway, to get to Highland for the compet.i.tion.”

”I'll be there at eight on the nose to see you perform,” she said, tapping her own surgically reconstructed nose.

”Okay.”

”And good luck, honey. You don't need it, of course, you girls have been working hard, but still.”

She grabbed her keys and purse off the table, kissed the top of my head, and left.

I went to my bedroom, and found Buddy whining, b.u.mping himself into walls and furniture, excited by having heard - and likely smelled - my return, but unable to find me. Poor thing. He couldn't see where he was going with the big plastic cone tied around his neck. I s.h.i.+vered with recognition.

I stood in the center of my luxurious room, which seemed absurdly overboard after seeing the way people lived in Golden, and I realized that everything I had - this house, my parents, my school, my life - all of it was my own little Elizabethan dog collar. Both things were designed, supposedly, to protect us from ourselves; but in the end, all they seemed to do was make us dependent, clumsy, blind and alone.

The bleachers in the gym of Highland High School were packed and abuzz with kids and parents from nearly two dozen public and private high schools in the city. The cavernous room smelled of wood varnish, school lunch, with the rubbery hint of new sneakers thrown into the mix. It took me a moment to find my team from Coronado Prep, but as soon as I did, I made a beeline for the comforting familiarity of their faces.

Our coach, Amy Stern, was a perky freckled brunette in her mid-thirties who had danced on Broadway and for the Phoenix Suns. She smiled and waved me over. I found a spot on the bleachers with a few of the other girls. We huddled together, excited and nervous, and aware, in our own slightly ashamed, slightly arrogant way that we were the team from the most elite school in the state - and as such, we'd won this compet.i.tion for the past five years running.

”Pure hooch,” Amy said to us under her breath, indicating the costumes worn by a couple of the other teams. Indeed, those schools had opted for the ”hoochie” look favored by professional dance teams a.s.sociated with sporting teams - short-shorts with panty hose and sports bras, basically - our team had gone with a look our coach a.s.sured us was pure artistry and elegance. We, by contrast, wore black dance pants, slightly flared at the ankles, with glittery red and white tank-type tops whose collars were designed to look like tuxedo jackets. With this we wore red jazz shoes, sparkly like the ones Dorothy wore in the land of Oz. We were worlds removed from the other teams, and we smugly knew it.

Kelsey came in shortly after I did, with Victoria and Thomas, and they came to sit in the row behind mine, with hugs and well wishes for me.

”This will be an excellent exercise in Verstehen for me,” babbled Thomas.

”A what?” asked Kelsey.

”An exercise in Verstehen. It's a German word, used by sociologist Max Weber to describe sociological positivism and economic determinism in a.n.a.lyzing social action. But for my uses today, I use it in the anthropological sense, to mean I feel I'm steeped in a moment of cultural relativism.”

”Meaning?” asked Kelsey, concentrating in an ironic sort of way.

”Meaning that as an outsider to the whole dance-team culture, I'm going to try, in other words, to relate to the indigenous population - aka the 'dancers' - on their own terms, from their point of view, without judgment.”

Victoria rolled her eyes, even though they contained traces of admiration. ”I think what my annoying boyfriend is trying to say is that even though he'd rather be home memorizing something a dead German guy wrote, he's agreed to come cheer you on in spite of his initial misgivings about the value of dance teams in general.”

”In that case, thanks,” I told him. ”I think.”

”You're welcome,” said Thomas.

A minute or two later, my mom surprised me by showing up early, and sitting directly next to Kelsey, who sat directly behind me. You don't hope your mom will sit quite so close at these things, but oh well.

Moments after the first team began their predictable hip-hop routine at 9 a.m., I felt Kelsey's fingernails bite into my shoulder.

”Ow!” I turned to look at her, annoyed.

With a look of pure panic on her face, she pointed discreetly across the gym, to where Demetrio stood against the wall near the emergency exit, in baggy jeans and a hoodie sweats.h.i.+rt, watching me the way a lion might watch a gazelle. Victoria and Thomas noticed, too, and looked to me for an answer.

”What? I have no idea.”

”What is he doing here?” she hissed.

I shook my head and shrugged to let them know it wasn't my fault.

”Maria's a homie magnet,” said Thomas.

”Seriously, Maria, this isn't good. That guy is following you now.”

”I'm sure he's fine.” I tried to speak in such a way as not to draw my mother's attention, but failed. One look at my mom revealed that her dog-cone instincts had already kicked in; she knew we were looking at Demetrio. She stared him down, and sprouted a line of worry between her eyebrows, looking quizzically at me.

”Did you invite him?” Kelsey asked me.

”No!” I bit my lip for a moment. ”But I did tell him about the compet.i.tion, the day of the crash. I was worried about my ankle. Any reasonably smart person could find it. He has every right to be here. It's open to the public.”

”It's sweet he remembered,” Kelsey said.

”Sweet and stalkery,” said Victoria. ”Sure. Sweet like a 40-ounce.”

Coach Amy shot us a nasty look to try to quiet us. I realized how rude we were being, talking during the performance. I looked over at him again, and Demetrio waved, subtly, flas.h.i.+ng me a gorgeous, mesmerizing smile. Unfortunately, my mother caught this, and grew rigid. She lifted a brow accusingly at me.

”I can explain,” I told her.

”You better.”

”He's the guy who called 911 when I crashed,” I told her. ”He's really nice. While we were waiting for the ambulance I told him about his compet.i.tion, just small talk. I think he's just here showing support.”

”Well, I don't like the looks of him,” my mother said snootily. ”And I don't think you should be telling strangers where to find you. Honestly, I raised you better than that. Sometimes I don't think you're very smart, Maria.”

I looked at him again, and felt a strange peace and warmth come over me. There was no way the beautiful boy smiling at me was dead. Or bad. Or anything my mom thought of him. He was totally faking it to escape the gang, and that was admirable.

I felt the phone buzz with a new text, and looked at it, expecting something from Kelsey, but it was from ”unknown number”. I clicked the message open.

Unknown number: cool I'm here mamita?

Me: hey! you have my #!! u saw grandpa!

Demetrio: itunes gift card rocked. thku.

me: r u gonna eat my soul, d?