Then I notice Jacob, another boy from my class, and his older sister. And then I spot the Gaines twins, Willa and Max. They went to my school last year but are now in middle school. The closer we get to them, the more and more kids I recognize.
I slow down and quickly nudge Roosevelt. “Are we sitting with all of those people?” I figure that there are at least six kids there who are around my age. But out of all of them, I only really know Kordell—and just barely. The others are way too cool for me.
“I guess so,” Roosevelt replies after a moment. “Brandy said that we might be sitting close to some of her friends…but I didn’t realize it was that many.”
Brandy waves at us as we approach. “Hey, Roosevelt! Isn’t it cool how we’re all able to sit together?” But instead of waiting for his reply, Brandy turns to me. “And hi, Desmond!” Her mouth breaks into a huge grin as she looks me up and down. “That’s an…um, interesting outfit.”
I tug at my shirt so she can get a good view of it. “Yeah! I figured I’d dress up, since your brother was, too…” I trail off as I get a better look at Kordell. He’s wearing a T-shirt. And jeans. And sneakers.
And white socks.
“I…I thought you said you were dressing up,” I mumble to Kordell.
As soon as he catches sight of my sandals, he clamps his hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to contain a laugh.
It’s not working. Not at all.
“Be nice, Kordell,” Brandy warns. “Don’t forget what Mom said.”
That does the trick—he finally stops laughing. Well, he finally stops laughing so much. “Dude, were you eavesdropping on me or something? I was just joking with my friends when I said I was going to dress up.” He shakes his head. “I mean, JBS doesn’t even dress like that anymore.”
“I think Desmond looks adorable,” Brandy says. “And who knows—maybe he’ll end up on the big screen because of his little outfit.”
Ugh. Adorable. That’s what Mom says about the ugly Christmas sweaters Aunt Amber sends us every year. But at least Brandy gets that I’m trying to get on the jumbotron.
As we enter the building, I discover that Brandy was in charge of coordinating seating with all her high school friends and their younger siblings. We’re all in a little cluster—with me and Roosevelt along with Brandy and Kordell in one row, three other groups on the row behind us, and two more on the row behind them. The teens are trying to be all sophisticated, talking about movies and sports teams that no one cares about, while the rest of us stuff our faces with popcorn and soda. If the other kids are like me, they’re trying to get their eating in now, so they can dance later on.
There are two warm-up acts—a juggler and a clown who likes to get pies thrown in his face. It takes forever to clean all the whipped cream from the floor.
But as soon as they’re done, glitter begins to fall from the ceiling. And not just any glitter. It’s red, yellow, and green, the official JBS colors. As I lean forward—hoping, praying, wishing—the arena starts to chant and cheer.
Everything goes dark.
Everyone cheers louder.
Then the lights flash back on, and there they are!
Juice Box Squad!
The crowd erupts as DJ Amplified kicks off the track from their newest song. There are three other singers in the group, but to me, DJ Amplified is the biggest star. He holds his headphones to his ear with one hand while working the turntables with the other—controlling the beat as the rest of the group sings.
Except…his actions aren’t totally in sync with the music. It’s like he’s a half-second slow sometimes. And then, right in the middle of the next song—when the track switches to one of those old-school beats that Dad loves to talk about so much—well, his hands aren’t even on the controls when the music changes. He’s too busy readjusting his glasses.
But I don’t have time to worry about that, because Jilly the Filly from JBS starts yelling, “You know what time it is, right?! Who wants the spotlight?!”
That’s my cue! I jump up, and as DJ Amplified—or whoever is behind the scenes—plays the next song, I launch into my dance. Every few seconds, I peek at the jumbotron, but it’s always showing someone else. Still, I keep dancing, figuring that they’ll eventually find me and my awesome outfit.
“He looks like a fool,” one of the girls says behind me.
“OMG! He is so embarrassing,” Willa says next.
I glance at the jumbotron, curious to see who they’re making fun of. But the screen is back on Jilly the Filly.
I turn to Roosevelt. “Who was on the screen? What was so funny?”
He quickly shakes his head. “It was nothing. But, um, maybe you should sit down.”
“No way!” I pump my arms harder. “They’re still showing people on the—”
“Desmond! Look at me!” Jacob yells.
I spin around—and see Jacob Clemmons holding up his phone. Filming me.
“This is hilarious!” he says, his eyes locked on the screen. “Wait till I show everyone at school!”
I look around and notice that two other kids are recording me as well. Even Kordell is fumbling to get his phone out of his pocket.
And with all that going on, it still takes a second for me to realize that I’m still dancing. Still doing the stupid King Cobra.
And they’re all still laughing.
I finally force my feet to stop moving, and a second later, the tears begin building in my eyes. Maybe Roosevelt notices this as well, because he quickly scrambles out of his seat. “Want some popcorn?” He grabs my arm. “Come on.”
Roosevelt pulls me out of the row and up the stairs toward an exit. I don’t know where we’re going, but anyplace is better than staying in that arena.
He stops once we reach the concessions level. “You okay?”
I keep my gaze down. Those tears that had been working their way to the front of my eyes now begin to fall. I watch as the teardrops splash against my dusty sandals.
“Des?” he asks. “Say something.”
I shake my head. There’s no way I can look at him right now. I’m afraid that I’ll catch him shrugging, like I should pretend that this is all a big joke. Or worse, he’ll smirk and say, I told you so.
But instead, he quietly says, “How about we find a bathroom.”
He offers to go inside with me, but I tell him I’d prefer to go in alone. I quickly enter the first stall, then lock the door behind me. The tissue feels like sandpaper, but it’s good enough to dry my cheeks and nose. Then I check my watch and wonder if it’s too soon to go home.
I exit the stall as two old men enter the bathroom. Actually, it’s more like they dance into the bathroom. Or strut. Or even jitterbug.
And when I say old, I don’t mean my parents’ age. I mean, like, really old. Like—grandparent old. Like the kind of old people who yell, “Get off of my lawn!”
But…they were also wearing skinny jeans and Jordans. And they’re rocking freshly cut fades—with what little hair they have left.
“Hurry up, Frank,” the taller one says to the other. “We’re missing the good stuff.”
“You know my bladder ain’t what it used to be.”
“Then you shouldn’t have drunk all those sodas. You know it’s not good for your diabetes—”
“Pre-diabetes, Herman. Don’t put me in the grave yet.”
I begin to laugh but quickly bite down on my lip. Herman narrows his eyes at me. “What’s so funny, whippersnapper?”
“Nothing, sir,” I mumble as I erase the grin from my face. I walk to the sink and begin washing my hands. “Are you here with your grandkids?” I ask, trying to make small talk.
“Shoot, no. My grandkids are in their forties. I’m here with my great-grands.”
Oh, wow. Those kids must be so embarrassed. And I thought my day was goin
g bad.
“I think it’s really nice that you came out with them,” I say, hoping that he can’t tell what I’m thinking. “Is it too loud out there for you?”
“You kidding? I want them to pump up the volume more. Dancing ain’t dancing unless you can feel the music in your bones.” Herman pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his brow. “I know we look a little out of place, with all you young’uns, but shucks—age ain’t nothin’ but a number. And I’d do just about anything to spend time with them kids—even though they’re spoiled rotten.”
“Rotten to the core,” Frank yells from the stall.
“Stop talking about my grandchildren like that,” Herman says. Then he shrugs. “My brother is right about them being spoiled, though. They’re so busy trying to be hip and cool, they’re missing out on all the fun.”
“That’s too bad for them,” Frank says as he opens the stall door. He does a little shuffle on his way to the sink, and adds, “But they ain’t gonna mess up my groove.”
“Will you hurry up? I’m trying to get on that jumbotron.” Herman looks at me. “Seems like you’re trying to get on there as well.”
I look down at my clothes. “Yeah, I am. Well, I was.”
Frank laughs as he dries his hands. “What? You too cool to dance? Shucks—that just gives us more opportunity to get picked.” He winks. “Good luck, slick.”
Slick. That’s what Dad calls me when he’s joking around. And dancing. And having fun.
As I follow the men out of the bathroom, I think about how I laughed at them. How I cringed at what they were wearing.
I was just as bad—just as cool—as Kordell.
“Des?” Roosevelt walks up to me with a frown on his face. “What were you doing in there for so long? Wait, I don’t want to know.”
“Stop playing,” I say, nudging him. “I was just wiping my nose.”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “So now what? Want to go home? Or maybe we could go to a restaurant or—”
“We should go back.”
He eyes me again. “You sure?”
But I was too busy walking toward the stairs to respond.
No one says anything to us as we slip into our seats. Juice Box Squad is still going strong, playing hit after hit. I really want to get up and dance, but, well…I’m not brave enough for that. Not yet. I wish I could be like Herman and Frank. I wish I could be like my dad. I wish—
“Do you all want one more chance to be famous?!?!?!?” I turn to the stage to see DJ Amplified yelling into the microphone. Then he presses a button on his computer, and “Like a Bobblehead” cranks through the speakers. “Get up and show us what you got!”
I quickly glance at everyone else in our group. Kordell is dancing a little in his seat but stops when Jacob catches sight of him. Max and Willa are nodding their heads a little, but that’s it.
I think about what Herman and Frank would say to me. I think about what Dad would say.
They ain’t gonna mess up my groove…slick!
Before I know it, I’m on my feet—eyes closed, shoulders wiggling—doing my best interpretation of the King Cobra. At first, I’m barely dancing, trying my best to pretend that no one is looking at me. But as the music gets deep down into my bones, I start moving and grooving, jumping and jamming, popping and locking, slipping and sliding and—
Then someone bumps into me.
I keep my eyes closed and start up again, really pumping my arms this time.
Another bump.
And then another.
My eyes flash open.
It’s Roosevelt!
But he’s not bumping me on purpose. His eyes are closed, too.
He’s doing the King Cobra!
“How did you learn that dance?” I ask.
He opens one eye and bobs his head at me. “Fool! Who do you think Dad taught first?”
Then a spotlight hits us. It’s so bright, I have to block my eyes.
“And look at these guys!” DJ Amplified yells.
I turn to the jumbotron, and sure enough, there we are, doing the King Cobra in front of the entire crowd. I’m sure that some people are laughing at us, but all I choose to focus on are the cheers. And I’m not positive but I think I hear an old voice call out, “Cut a rug, slick!”
Finally, after the spotlight moves on, we drop back to our seats. Someone bumps me again, but this time it’s Kordell, tapping me on the shoulder.
“Um…what was that dance you were doing?” he asks.
I puff out my chest. “It’s called the King Cobra.”
He nods quickly. “Do you think…um…maybe you can show it to me later?”
I frown for a second, ready to turn him down. But then I think about Herman and Frank again. It would be nice to have someone to dance with who was my age. “Sure. Maybe after the concert? Or this weekend?”
Kordell nods. Then he takes a deep breath. “And about before…I’m sorry about—”
“It’s okay,” I say, because it is. And plus, for a while, I wasn’t any better than him.
We fist-bump, then turn back to the stage. A few seconds later, Roosevelt wraps his arm around my neck and gives me a squeeze. “I’m proud of you, bro,” he whispers. “And while you were in the bathroom, I heard an announcement about Reedy Jay coming to the civic center in a couple of months. Do you want to get tickets?”
“Reedy Jay! He’s like my second-favorite singer. Well, third-favorite! And he does these dance moves where—”
“Okay! Okay! We can talk to Dad about it tonight. Though knowing him, he’ll probably want to come.”
I don’t even hesitate. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Roosevelt leans back. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” I smile big and wide. “I think it would be really…cool.”
PART TWO
FORT STARED at the jar as more tiny bubbles flooded inside. Collecting the joy from the stories had been tiring, and they still weren’t done. But it had been fun. Sort of. Different stories held different kinds of joy. The joy of looking fly, of figuring out secrets, of magic. Yeah, definitely the joy of magic. But…the boy tried to put his finger on something that confused him. He pressed his face against the glass. “Some of those felt…I don’t know, kinda sad.”
“Of course!” Mr. G propped the butterfly net on one shoulder and leaned against the jar, dropping to sit on the swirling silvery floor, and sighed heavily. “Sadness is but one side of the coin. Necessary. Must be expressed if we’re to rediscover the other three sides.”
“Three?”
“Fear, anger, and joy. All part of the same four-sided coin.”
Fort wrinkled his brow. Another planet was approaching. He could sense a familiar buzzing warmth. The same feeling that came from the jar. Mr. G looked exhausted, so Fort grabbed the net.
“I’ve never seen a four-sided coin,” he said. “Guess I got a lot to learn about the Between.”
Mr. G watched Fort twirl the net with a little flourish, handling it in a way that had taken the older man years to master. The boy propped it on his shoulder as he prepared to blow more bubbles at the approaching planet.
“I don’t know,” Mr. G said, leaning his head back and smiling. “I expect you’ll catch on pretty quick.”
FIVE THOUSAND LIGHT-YEARS TO HOME
BY SUYI DAVIES OKUNGBOWA
Keziah loved puzzles.
He loved the cryptic ones best—the ones where you had to look hard to find something that wasn’t obvious at first. But really, he loved anything that allowed him to think hard and find a solution: picture puzzles, jigsaws, crosswords, Rubik’s cubes, riddles, trivia. The rush he felt when he solved one was second to none.
Except math puzzles. Keziah hated math.
But even puzzles didn’t make up for the f
act that his family was moving to one of the tall, lifeless buildings in Willow Island, Lagos, where he had zero friends. Keziah sighed and tucked the puzzle he had been working on—a word search—into the front seat pocket as his mom pulled into the parking lot of their new building. They were going to check out the apartment today, and his parents had wanted him to come along, but Keziah couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. He scowled as he slammed the car door shut, and his parents gave him a warning look. At the elevator they met a lady who introduced herself as an estate agent. Keziah had never been in an elevator before, and despite his grumpy mood, he was instantly fascinated by it. How fast could it go? What caused it to make that little bump when it stopped?
It all ended quickly, though, as the doors opened and his parents got out with the estate lady.
“Come on, K,” Mom said.
“Can I just keep riding the elevator?” Keziah asked, remaining inside.
“We have to see the apartment,” Dad said, standing in the space between the doors to prevent them from closing. “Come on.”
“Why do I have to come?” he asked. “It’s empty and boring. I’m not going to make any friends here.”
“Keziah Anietie,” Mom said. She always said his full name whenever she considered his behavior improper. “You come out here right this instant.”
So he did. They walked the narrow corridor to the new apartment, which was as bare and boring as he had imagined—how could they be so excited about a place that had nothing in it? The lady kept using words he didn’t understand and pointing at things he didn’t care about, but Mom and Dad just kept going ooh and aah. The elevator aside, Keziah wasn’t interested in anything about the apartment. Not even when Mom pointed and said, “That’s going to be your new bedroom, K, you like it?”
“It’s smaller than the old one,” he said.
Afterward, the grown-ups went to a corner of the empty living room and began to discuss things in low tones, pointing at one sheet of paper or the other. They were so engrossed, they soon forgot about him. Keziah found his chance and tried the front door. Unlocked.
Slowly, stealthily, Keziah Anietie slipped out of the apartment and made for the elevator.
Black Boy Joy Page 10
