Time for Change

by Varian Johnson

  I took a seat beside Teagan.

  “Hey,” she said. “I wondered where you were. Ready?”

  “Yep,” I said. At least for my solo, I added to myself.

  “Great,” Teagan said. “And I hope we get some good feedback today. There’s only two and a half more weeks to make our poem the best it can be!”

  “I’m just going to review the duet one more time before we start,” I said, opening up my notebook.

  “Okay, poets and judges,” Red said from the stage a few minutes later.

  I looked up. Someone had turned on the spotlight, making everything seem all the more real.

  “Thank you for participating in this year’s Liberty Bells Battle,” Red continued, “the best mock poetry slam this side of the Delaware River! I’m Red Knight, your emcee slash award-winning poet slash leader of the phenomenal Land of the Free Verse slash—”

  “We get the point, Clifford,” Mama said with a smile. “But we don’t have all that much time. Maybe we can get on to the scoring?”

  “Oh, sure thing, Aunt Tina. Just trying to keep it real.” Red had explained the points to us before, but he reviewed them for the judges. Scores could range from 0 to 10.0, though he’d told me the other day that usually no one got lower than a 7—that was an unwritten rule in youth poetry slams. Points would be deducted if we went over time by more than fifteen seconds. He also reiterated that the scores were based half on writing and half on presentation.

  Red looked at the five of us in the front row. “I also want us to give each other feedback today. So be thinking how we can make each other’s poems leaner and meaner, yeah?” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get started! Can I get an ‘All right’?”

  “All right!!”

  “Bria and Alejandro, you’re up!”

  They climbed up onstage and faced each other, Alejandro’s hair long and flowing and Bria’s big and bushy and beautiful. I closed my notebook in my lap as Bria began.

  “My older brother hates when I wear pink.

  He says it’s girly, it’s weak.

  He says I have to be tough.

  I’m not one to be messed with,

  I’m too smart to be bested.

  I love my bro, but I protest it.

  ‘Cause when did the color of my clothes

  correlate to my toughness when tested?”

  Beside me, Teagan snapped her fingers. I found myself leaning in just like I had at Voices. Alejandro came in next.

  “My little brother does nothing but play music all day,

  earbuds pressed in tight, head bobbing hard.

  Can’t ever get him in the yard

  to shoot hoops or throw a ball.

  I just want him to fit in—

  that’s all.

  Be like the other guys.

  It’s easier if you play—

  it’s safer that way.”

  They alternated a few more stanzas, then closed out the poem by facing each other and trading off lines, first Alejandro, then Bria, all the way to the end.

  “But love ain’t bound—”

  “By colors—”

  “Or sports.”

  “You’ve got your bro’s back—”

  “And he’s got yours.”

  I stomped my feet as Bria and Alejandro finished—I couldn’t help it! Next to me, Teagan clapped so hard my ears hurt. Isaiah and Red hollered.

  Red walked to the front but didn’t take the stage. “While our judges gather their scores, let’s do feedback. Who has something they liked about the poem?”

  “Me!” I said, scooting forward on my chair. “Bria, I liked how you used imperfect rhyme at the end of your verses—it works really well.” Red had been teaching us a lot about poetic devices lately.

  “And you also did a really good job using alliteration at the end of your first verse, with all the C’s and T’s,” Isaiah added.

  Bria smiled. “Thanks. I was hoping someone would notice.”

  Teagan raised her hand. “I have some constructive feedback.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Red said.

  “You guys were looking at each other a lot—which I think is okay, but sometimes it was hard to hear you. Maybe try to look out at the audience more.”

  “Good one,” Red said. “Judges, are you ready?”

  Mama, Mr. Harmon, and Stan nodded, then revealed their scores on their dry-erase boards.

  Two 8.5s and one 8.7.

  “All right, all right,” Red said. “Not bad, not bad. Can we get an mmm-hmm for Alejandro and Bria?”

  “Mmm-hmm!”

  I added a few extra finger snaps, just because they’d done so well.

  “Gabby and Teagan,” Red said. “You’re next!”

  This was it, the moment of truth. I left my notebook on my seat and climbed up onto the stage with Teagan.

  “Anytime you want to start,” Red said as my heart began beating a mile a minute.

  The first lines of the poem were mine. I glanced at Teagan—she didn’t look nervous at all.

  Well, here goes. I took a deep breath and on the exhale, I launched into the poem.

  “Friendship is love

  and st-st-standing together.

  It’s silliness,

  s-s-s-seriousness,

  be-with-you-ness.”

  So far, so good. It was Teagan’s turn now.

  “It’s standing beside a friend who’s alone.

  It’s laughter,

  and jokes,

  kind words through the phone.”

  I frowned. Teagan had changed the lines about the Enchilada Princess. I thought we’d decided to keep them on Friday. I gave her a look but continued:

  “A-a-a friend is a gift

  like a chest full of-of treasure.

  The more friends you have,

  the great-greater the pleasure.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief that I’d gotten through that stanza. But as Teagan said her next lines, I kept replaying our conversation from Friday. We had decided to keep that part, right? Yes, I was sure of it.

  “Gabby,” Teagan whispered, “it’s your turn.”

  “Did-did you change anything else?” I whispered back.

  “Just that one stanza,” she said. “Now you pick up with ‘A friend is a raft …’”

  “A-A-A friend is a raft-raft-raft,” I said, the spotlight feeling hot on my skin. “Like a … a …”

  I was drawing a complete blank.

  “Through choppy seas,” Teagan filled in for me. Then she gave me a look to continue.

  But I had nothing. Not one word. Not even if I closed my eyes like Mrs. Baxter taught me.

  When I didn’t come in, Teagan barreled through the rest of the poem—both her lines and mine. I found my footing again during the last stanza, which we were supposed to say together, but I stuttered so much, I doubted anyone could even understand what we were saying.

  After we finished, Red, Bria, Isaiah, and Alejandro clapped. But they didn’t holler, or snap their fingers, or stomp their feet.

  I didn’t blame them.

  But there was someone I could blame. She was standing right next to me, her lips pressed together into a thin line.

  Red didn’t look at me as he walked to the front. “While our judges gather their scores, any feedback for Gabby and Teagan?”

  There were a few moments of silence, and then Bria raised her hand.

  “You both had good energy at the start, and came across very passionately about your friendship.” I gave her a small nod to thank her for the comment, but I could tell she was just trying to be nice.

  Alejandro spoke next. “I can really see the potential in the poem. I think you just need to practice together more.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Red said. “I foresee a lot more practicing in their future.” He looked at Mama. “Now let’s see what the judges have to say.”

  But Mama held up her finger to signify that they needed another minute. I took the chance to step closer to
Teagan.

  “You made changes!” I said.

  “Only a line or two,” Teagan replied. She shrugged. “Just at that one part.”

  “But you threw me off!”

  “Oh.” Teagan looked down at her toes, then quickly back at me. “Sorry I didn’t tell you ahead of time. But to be fair, I bet if you’d had the poem better memorized, you probably wouldn’t have messed up.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Teagan. That sounded like something Aaliyah would say, not my best friend.

  “We’re ready,” Mr. Harmon said.

  “First, just a reminder that we were told to score half on writing and half on presentation,” Mama said. “We liked the writing—a lot—but felt we needed to take off points for presentation.”

  Mama, Stan, and Mr. Harmon all turned their dry-erase boards around.

  6.3, 6.2, and 5.9.

  So much for no one getting lower than a 7.

  There was silence in the theater as Teagan and I made our way back to our seats.

  “Okay, okay … that’s okay,” Red finally said, though he didn’t really sound like he meant it. “But let’s try to be more prepared next time, poets. From what I’ve watched of other groups online, we’re going to have some steep competition. We can’t get to Pittsburgh without everyone giving this their all.” He glanced at me as he said that.

  I balled my hands into fists so hard, my fingernails left little crescent moon imprints in my skin. Red was accusing me of not giving my all? He knew how often I’d been getting up early and cramming in writing time between things to get my poems done! Just wait until he heard my “Dream Big” poem. He wouldn’t be able to deny that I was prepared for that.

  And the duet—I’d done my best. If Teagan hadn’t made those changes, I’d have been fine. Probably.

  “I’ll go next,” Red said, hopping up on the stage into the spotlight.

  I had been so looking forward to hearing Red’s poem, but now I wasn’t in the mood. I scrunched down in my chair as Red looked out at the audience.

  “This poem is for my mom,” he said. Then he shook out his jitters, took a step forward, and started.

  “Some see her as a pretty face,

  striking in her beauty.

  Some see her as a single mom,

  always and forever on duty.

  Some see her as a doctor,

  rocking multiple degrees.

  Others see her as a soldier,

  stationed overseas.”

  I didn’t want to like Red’s poem, but it was hard not to. He really was a good writer. And he was a dynamic, energetic speaker, too, only I kept getting distracted by how much he was moving around the stage. He was a bundle of nervous energy.

  When he was done, everyone clapped, stomped, and snapped, including me. I only gave him baby taps on the floor, though, not full-on stomps.

  Teagan raised her hand before people had even stopped clapping.

  “Hit me, Teagan!” Red said. “I’m ready!”

  “I can tell you worked really hard to memorize your poem.”

  Ouch. She was talking to Red, but I had a feeling that comment was really more for me. It was like I could hear her adding just like how I can tell how hard Gabby didn’t work on ours.

  “Thanks, Teagan,” Red said.

  Bria, Isaiah, and Alejandro all shared positive comments, too.

  “I’m lovin’ the love, guys,” Red said, “but I know you’ve got stuff I could improve on. I mean, I may be the Prince of Poetry, but I’m not perfect.” He flashed his chipped-tooth grin.

  “You can say that again!” Alejandro shouted. Everyone laughed.

  Well, everyone but me. I would get up there and show Red how wrong he was about me. But if he thought I wasn’t giving this my all, then I wouldn’t. I didn’t have to share my feedback about his moving around onstage.

  “Okay, then,” Red said, actually sounding disappointed that no one had critiques for him. “Let’s see what the judges say.”

  Mama, Mr. Harmon, and Stan turned around their boards.

  Two 8.9s and one 9.1.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Red said, taking a little bow. Then he found Isaiah in the audience. “Isaiah! Why don’t you come on up and join me for our group poem.”

  “Red, just a moment,” Mama said. She turned to me. “Gabby, it’s time for ballet. You better go.”

  I glanced at the clock above the theater doors. She was right.

  “But I haven’t done my solo—”

  “That’s okay—you can go,” Red said, as if he actually preferred that I leave.

  “But I really want to do my poem!” I said to Mama. “Can’t I stay for just a few more …”

  I didn’t even bother finishing my plea. The look on Mama’s face said she’d already made up her mind.

  Had Red purposely left me to go last after the way my duet with Teagan went? I wondered as I made my way to studio four for ballet. It was Teagan’s fault I’d messed up, but it seemed like Red was punishing me.

  Teagan’s comment for Red that was really meant for me stung the most, though. She knew how much I had on my plate. Plus, it was just a mock poetry slam, not the real thing. We’d practice more, and I was sure it would go fine.

  Considering how mad I was at Red and Teagan, you’d think I’d want to be anywhere other than the theater, but I found myself walking as slowly as I could to get to ballet.

  Did I really have to go tonight?

  What about next week?

  Or the week after that?

  I shook the thought out of my head. I was just feeling rotten about not getting to do my solo poem. I didn’t want to quit ballet.

  Did I?

  No way, I told myself, picking up my pace. Poetry was becoming my Biggest Dream, but pointe was the dream I’d had the longest. I couldn’t give up now just as it was about to come true!

  At the barre, I threw myself into our warm-up. By the time we got to our tendu combination, most of my anger about the mock poetry slam had drifted away. There was that ballet magic.

  Ballet Magic, I thought to myself, that would be a great title for a poem.

  “We’re going to try something different for tendus today, ladies,” Amelia said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Let’s see if you can follow along.”

  I was used to Amelia not demonstrating for the tendu combination. Instead, she liked to test us on our ballet vocabulary by giving us instructions verbally. I secretly loved the challenge of knowing all the French terms.

  But when Amelia started talking, it was like she was speaking an entirely different language. She used words like “adduction” and “abduction.” I heard her say something that sounded like “dorsal fin,” too. Those weren’t French … were they?

  A few of the other girls looked just as confused as I did, including Natalia, but a couple seemed confident. When Amelia started the music, they began the combination like usual. I followed along, tenduing my leg out to the side, then pointing and flexing my foot, but I was at least a beat behind.

  Amelia stopped the music halfway through the exercise … or what I could only guess was halfway through.

  “Well,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I can see who did their homework …”

  I slapped my forehead. I’d forgotten all about my pointe homework!

  “Dancers, as you’ve probably already noticed,” Amelia continued, “pointe work requires a much more precise knowledge of which muscles you’re using and when. Those anatomy worksheets are key. Not knowing that ‘dorsiflexion’ is another way of saying ‘flex your foot’ isn’t that big of a deal now, but when we get into more technical exercises, you’re going to need to know those types of terms. We’re going to move on now, but let’s make sure those worksheets are done for next week, okay?” She looked right at me on that last part.

  Amelia didn’t seem all that mad, but I couldn’t help feeling like I’d disappointed her. This Double Whammy Monday was turning out to be a double dud.

  We moved
on to center work, but all traces of the ballet magic were gone. I couldn’t focus on anything. How badly did I want to go en pointe if I couldn’t even remember to do my homework?

  “All right, girls,” Amelia finally said, a big smile on her face, “it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Go get your pointe shoes and bring them to the barre. We’ll do our demi-pointe exercises first, and then put on our shoes.”

  There was more than one squeal as everyone rushed to their bags. I checked in with myself. Still no awesome-sauce excitement.

  It didn’t come when Amelia had us race one another to see who could tie their ribbons the fastest.

  It didn’t come when the whole class posed for a photo in front of the DANCE! sign Mr. Harmon painted years ago.

  And it didn’t come when Amelia said, “I’m so proud of you girls, my beautiful dancing flowers! Now come grab a worksheet for next week. And remember, if you put your shoes on at home, wear them only at a barre—or a dresser or countertop—and do only the exercises we do in class. You promise?”

  We all nodded.

  I was in slow motion as I gathered my things. It had been a long day.

  “Everything okay, Gabby?” Amelia asked, coming up behind me with next week’s worksheet.

  “Um, yeah,” I said, taking the printout. “I-I-I’m ssss-sorry I didn’t do the homework.”

  Amelia put her finger under my chin and lifted it up until we were eye to eye.

  “I appreciate that, Gabby. And I know you’ve got a lot going on. The homework is really important, though. I can’t give you as many corrections if you come unprepared and spend all your time just trying to keep up. Do you want to dance en pointe?”

  “Yes,” I said. I think, a little voice inside me added, before I could stop it.

  “I’m glad,” she said, giving me a hug. “I know it’s something you’ve wanted for a long time. But it takes two of us to get you there.” She pulled away but left her hands on my shoulders. “I’m only half the team, right?”

  I nodded. “I’ll remember the homework for next week. Thanks, Amelia.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I expected her to tap her nose like always, but she just reached for the light switches and turned them off one by one.