Time for Change

by Varian Johnson

  I reached down to grab the stick and started twirling it myself.

  “Speaking of not-easy things …” Teagan continued, “how’s it going with Aaliyah? I can’t believe you have to share the Sixth-Grade Ambassador role with her.”

  This time the drumstick didn’t just fall to the floor, it somehow soared across the room, narrowly missing Maya. Teagan thought they were forcing Aaliyah and me to work together? That wasn’t how it happened at all. Maya meowed and ran out of the room as I found my words.

  “A-A-A-Actually, it was my idea to sh-sh-share the role with Aaliyah,” I said. “Instead of having another election to break the tie.”

  “Really?” Teagan’s face scrunched up. “Even after everything that happened last year?”

  We had first met Aaliyah Reade-Johnson in fifth grade. She could be really bossy, and always spoke her mind. And lots of stuff she said came out sounding not very nice, even if she didn’t mean it that way. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she made fun of my stutter all last year.

  But things were different in sixth grade. I learned that behind her prickly exterior, there was someone who used her voice to speak up for people, like when she’d stood up for Isaiah after someone called him a mean name. And she finally apologized for making fun of my stutter.

  “Maybe we were wrong about Aaliyah,” I said.

  Teagan shrugged again. “Maybe. But still, be careful, okay?”

  “I will,” I said, then busied myself with the drum kit. It didn’t seem like the right time to tell Teagan that Aaliyah and I had eaten together at lunch this week, too.

  “Hey,” I said, eager to change the subject. “M-M-Maybe we should talk about Hallow—Halloween.”

  Teagan’s face lit up. “I have the best idea! Wait—” She grabbed my hand. “You do want to dress up together this year, right?”

  “Of course!” I said. “Just because we aren’t at the same school doesn’t mean we can’t trick-or-treat together!” Teagan and I had dressed up as a pair every Halloween we’d known each other. One year, we borrowed one of her grandpa’s old shirts and were conjoined twins. It was kind of hard walking around the neighborhood like that, and we fell down probably a thousand times, but it was super fun.

  “So what do you think we should be?” I asked. “Zombie princesses? Roller derby girls?”

  She twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “What about … a social butterfly?”

  I frowned. “You mean like someone who has a bunch of friends? How is that even a costume?”

  “No, silly,” she said. “I mean, yeah, but we’ll make it all clever.” She grabbed a blank sheet of notebook paper and started to draw.

  “Like this,” she said, drawing two stick figures. “I can be a bunch of social media apps. Like a big tablet full of apps.” She drew a rectangle around the stick figure, and then added a little bird icon, and a camera … and something else I didn’t recognize. “Sorry,” she said. “That’s supposed to be a thumbs-up. And you—” She drew wings on the other stick figure. “You’d be a butterfly! And together we’d be—”

  “A SOCIAL BUTTERFLY! Now I get it!” I could use one of my black ballet leotards and leggings for the body—then all I’d have to do was add wings. Easy!

  “So, you like the idea?” Teagan asked. “It’s not too silly, is it? Or too complicated?”

  “It’s just missing one thing,” I said, taking the pen from her. I drew a beanie on the first stick figure’s head. “Now it’s perfect!”

  The rest of the weekend flew by in a blur. Before I knew it, it was time for my usual Double Whammy Monday evening at Liberty—first poetry, then ballet.

  “Come on, Red, just give Liberty Bells a try,” I said after I climbed into the car.

  “No way,” Red said, settling into the front seat beside Mama. “The Liberty Bells sound like a pop band. Not a super smooth, rhymin’ and vibin’ spoken word group.” He turned back to wink at me. “Plus, I’ve got a rep to protect.”

  “Sure thing, Clifford,” I said, using his full name, and rolling my eyes at him for good measure.

  “What about the Fresh Princes of Poetry?” Red snapped his fingers. “After that old TV show with Will Smith?”

  “If you haven’t noticed, three of us are girls.” I buckled my seat belt. “Fresh Princesses?”

  He gagged. “My rep, don’t forget my rep.”

  Mama laughed. “You two might as well be siblings,” she said. “You’re just like me and Tonya used to be.”

  Red had been living with us for six months, ever since his mom—my aunt Tonya—was deployed overseas. He was like a big brother to me now—sometimes an annoying big brother. But I loved him, and it was because of him that we had a poetry group.

  We shot some more ideas back and forth until Liberty came into view. The building was a majestic fortress of orange-red brick and stained-glass windows, and as usual, a feeling of calm washed over me as we got closer. I knew every inch of that place, from the initials carved into the ancient oak tree out front, the creaking of the floorboards in the center of studio three. Liberty may have been an old building, but for me, it was home.

  It meant all the more to me, too, after this summer. The city had threatened to close Liberty after a massive electrical failure was too expensive to repair. If it wasn’t for me and the community rallying together to raise awareness and funds, we might have lost our home away from home forever.

  Red slid the side door of the car open as soon as we pulled into a parking spot.

  “See you later!” we called to Mama.

  Isaiah, Teagan, Bria, and Alejandro were already in studio six when Red and I arrived. I slipped onto the floor beside Teagan, eyeing her huge book bag behind her.

  “More homework?”

  She nodded. “But guess what? I figured out what I did wrong on that quiz, all by myself!” She knocked the side of her head. “Maybe I’ll get the hang of this advanced coding stuff after all.”

  “Of course you will,” I said. “I think this deserves an awesome sauce!”

  Taking their cue, Bria, Alejandro, Red, and Isaiah joined me in saying “AWESOME SAUCE!” at the top of our lungs, like we always did when someone did something exciting. Teagan beamed.

  Red clapped his hands to get our attention. “Okay! We’ve got five weeks before Voices. Poetry slams are supposed to be more about celebrating the spoken word than who’s best. Except there are winners. And those winners go to Pittsburgh for the all-state slam …” He raised his eyebrows at us as he pulled some flyers from his back pocket. “So let’s get down to business. The rules and scoring info are on here. I’ll give you a few minutes to read through things.”

  I scanned the paper. Our slam would be set up like the high school competition—five rounds, with a three-minute time limit on each poem. No props, no music, no projections or anything fancy like that. It had to be just us poets onstage using our words—and our bodies, I added to myself—to perform our poetry. Each team’s scores from each round would be added up and the three teams with the highest scores would advance to the state slam.

  I skipped down to the scoring criteria.

  Judges evaluate two factors of each performance: the writing of the poem itself, and the presentation of the poem. Be creative! Vivid imagery is always a plus. Remember—the best poetry makes people feel something, so make sure you’re feeling something up there onstage!

  I thought back to all the pieces on Saturday. The poets talked about everything—politics, social causes, love for their families, appreciation of nature—but each poem had touched something in me, making my insides buzz like the ancient sound system at Liberty. That same buzz was building up inside me again.

  “So,” Red said, once we were done reading, “we need to decide how to tackle each round. I’m thinking we should stick to only two people in each group piece—that gives each poet enough time to share some really meaty stuff within the three-minute limit. That leaves two rounds for individual poems …” He took
a deep breath. “Which means not everyone will be able to perform an individual poem.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds. Some of us would have to give up doing a solo. Should I volunteer, I wondered? What if I stuttered too much onstage? Would the judges score lower for that?

  “Well, I definitely think you should perform,” Bria finally said to Red. “You’re our best poet.”

  We all nodded in agreement.

  “Aww, you guys are trying to make a brother turn all red over here.” He rubbed his neck. “But I don’t think that would be fair. Maybe we could draw straws or pick numbers or—”

  “I don’t mind skipping the solo part,” Teagan said.

  I turned to her. “What? But, Teagan—”

  “Really, it’s okay,” she said. “I’m already drowning in homework. Taking on two poems might be too much. Plus, I’ll have just as much fun doing a duet, as long as I get to do it with you know who.” She elbowed me.

  “Same with me,” Alejandro said. “Basketball tryouts are coming up. I could use a little more time on the courts. Got to work on tightening up my crossover.”

  Red smirked. “You could have a whole year and you still wouldn’t have a crossover as smooth as mine.”

  Alejandro pulled out his phone. “Want me to show everyone the video of you on the court the other day, when you tripped and—”

  “Okay, okay, let’s stay on subject,” Red said as everyone laughed.

  We all fell silent again. I was just about to raise my hand to volunteer to bow out of the solos, but then Isaiah spoke up. “I really think Gabby should give the other poem.”

  Bria smiled. “I’m so glad you said that! I was thinking the same thing.”

  What?! I shook my head. “I’ll j-just m-m-m-mess up onst-st-stage.”

  “You’re amazing onstage,” Bria said. She faced the rest of the group. “Didn’t she do great in her ambassadors speech?”

  Isaiah nodded. “Gabby, when you talk about things that are really important to you, you’re … you’re awesome sauce!”

  “AWESOME SAUCE!” everyone yelled.

  “And you and Red give us the best chance to make it to the state slam,” Alejandro said.

  I couldn’t believe they were saying that! I knew I could write a knockout poem … but actually saying it onstage was a whole other thing. Unlike my ambassadors speech, my performance wouldn’t just affect me if I messed up. It could hurt the entire team.

  “Can I think about it?” I asked. “I d-d-don’t want to let you all down.”

  “Sure thing,” Red said. “But don’t think too long. We’ve only got five weeks.”

  As I nodded, Teagan leaned over and gave me a quick hug. “Don’t stress about it,” she whispered. “You’ve got this.”

  Red picked up his notebook. “Onto the group poems, then. Teagan, you’ll work with me.”

  Her face twisted into a frown. “Oh. Um. Okay.” She crossed her arms. “That would be, um, great …”

  Red held her gaze for a few seconds before bursting into a laugh. “I almost had you! I’m kidding. Teagan, you’re with Gabby.”

  “Yes!” Teagan yelled. Then she composed herself and said, “I believe that would be acceptable.”

  “Hmm. Imagine that,” Red replied, still writing. “Alejandro, why don’t you partner with Bria. That leaves me and Isaiah. Everybody feel good about that?”

  There was a chorus of “yeps” and “uh-huhs.”

  “All right,” Red said. “You read the guidelines. We have to feel something up there onstage. Let’s take a couple minutes to brainstorm topics for our poems. Everyone individually for now, then we’ll break into teams. Two minutes, starting … NOW!”

  I grabbed my DREAM BIG notebook and turned to the first page. During the ambassadors election, I’d learned just how important passion was when you wanted a crowd’s attention. I almost sabotaged my own campaign by choosing a platform I thought would be popular instead of one I cared about. I switched it out at the last minute, though, thank goodness, but if I was going to do a solo poem, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

  Writing as fast as I could, I jotted down some possible topics:

  - Dance

  Dance had been my passion since before I could walk, according to Mama.

  - Leadership

  My ambassador platform was all about building unity between the grades, because everyone deserved to feel welcome at school.

  - My cat, Maya

  On account of how cute and cuddly she was, obviously!

  - Poetry

  Poetry was a newer passion of mine, but I couldn’t deny that it was right up there with dance and my leadership activities. That buzz I felt inside said it all.

  I took a breath and reviewed my list. Would people really want to hear about my cat? Sorry, Maya. I crossed her off the list. Leadership, Dance, and Poetry were left. All three were my Big Dreams. How could I choose to write about just one?

  “Time’s up!” Red said. “Let’s break up into our teams for the group poems.”

  Teagan and I moved toward the back wall and got to work brainstorming. She flipped to a poem called “Forever Friends” that we’d worked on together last month. It seemed like the perfect poem for us to do together!

  “Should we read it out loud and go from there?” I said.

  “Yeah. Here goes,” Teagan said. “Forever friends, through thicker and thinner,”

  “Through blackouts, rallies, and a girl named Aaliyah,” I continued.

  Hmmm, that part doesn’t feel right anymore. I’d have to ask Teagan if we could tweak that.

  “Through my bumpy speech,” I continued.

  “And my non-dancing feet,” Teagan said. We alternated the next lines until the end:

  “Even though I can’t speak a lick of code,”

  “And I speak HTML, Java, and Go”

  “I have your back, your front, and all your sides—”

  “Main Line Tech or Kelly,”

  “We’ll stay best friends,”

  “For real—”

  “Bona fide.”

  I smiled. Teagan and I were going to rock it onstage with this poem!

  “Well,” Teagan said. “For starters, it’s too short. That was only thirty seconds!”

  “No problem!” I said. “We can easily write more. Should we each brainstorm for a few minutes and then share what we have?”

  “Sounds good!” Teagan said.

  All six of us were concentrating so hard on our poems, no one realized the time until Stan, Liberty’s longtime head of maintenance, peeked his head in the studio. “Alejandro, your ride’s outside.”

  I glanced at the clock. Shoot! I was going to be late for ballet!

  “See you all later!” I said to the group. Then I scooped up my things and dashed out the door for the part of my night that put the “double” in double whammy.

  I speed walked to studio four and slipped inside, but instead of warming up at the barre as usual, the other girls were sitting on the floor in front of our teacher, Amelia.

  “Gabby, you’re just in time,” Amelia said, tapping her nose. That had been our special way of saying hello ever since Amelia came to teach at Liberty when I was six years old. “Come join us.”

  I sat down next to a girl named Natalia, wondering what was up.

  “So, my little flowers …” Amelia began, a huge smile on her face. Our recital piece last year was the “Waltz of the Flowers,” and she’d been calling us “her little flowers” ever since. “I’ve been really impressed with everyone’s progress this year, which is why I have an announcement!”

  “We’re going en pointe?!” Natalia guessed. “OMG!!!”

  Really?! I’d been looking forward to going en pointe ever since Amelia showed us her toe shoes that first year she was here!

  “Close,” Amelia said, chuckling. “I mean, yes, though not en pointe ‘for real’ for a while. I’d like to start doing pre-pointe work with you—first on demi-point
e, then in a few weeks, we’ll have a field trip to get your first pair of pointe shoes—”

  “AWESOME SAUCE!” I yelled, only to have ten pairs of eyes flip toward me.

  “Whoops. S-s-sorry,” I said, laughing at myself. “Poetry thing. My b-b-bad.”

  Amelia chuckled again. “You’ll get your pointe shoes and we’ll start wearing them for some work at the end of class each week. I’ll tell you right now—you’re not going to step away from the barre for quite a while. This year, we will focus on strengthening your body to support you in pointe shoes, and go back to the basics on alignment. You’ll have some homework, too.”

  A few girls groaned.

  “Don’t worry,” Amelia said. “The homework’s not much. Worksheets on ballet vocabulary and things like that. I even have some anatomy coloring pages.”

  Coloring homework sounded fun! Or give me a whole book to read, I didn’t care—I was getting pointe shoes in just a few weeks! Natalia and the other girls looked excited, too. Mandy, who had her long hair tied up in a huge bun on top of her head, was up on her knees, like she might jump up any second and bounce onto pointe, toe shoes or not.

  But Amelia’s smile disappeared. “Pointe work is serious stuff. You can really hurt yourself if you don’t know what you’re doing. It’s going to be hard work—maybe even boring sometimes. So I need you to think carefully about whether you’re ready for this commitment, okay?”

  We all nodded, though I didn’t need to think about it. While I loved tap, there was something just … magical about ballet. Maybe it was the stained-glass windows in studio four or the classical music Amelia used for our exercises, but sometimes, I felt like I was in church while in ballet. Class was always comforting and challenging at the same time.

  “Excellent! I’m glad you’re all so excited!” Amelia said. She rose and motioned for us to do the same. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

  She explained that pointe work required strength in not only our ankles and feet, but our legs and torsos, too, so we’d begin with an exercise using our stomach and back muscles today. She had us sit on the floor under the ballet barre, facing the wall.