Ambitious

by Monica McKayhan

  AT PREMIERE HIGH’S DANCE STUDIO

  5:00 PM

  DO YOU HAVE TALENT?

  I’d heard about the Dance America competition. Everyone who was anyone in New York had heard about the Dance America competition. It brought people from everywhere in the country—New York, Los Angeles, Chicago—there was even a boy from Utah who made it to the finals one year. And he could dance. The girl who’d won last year’s competition was last seen in a movie on television. She was talented, and just thinking about her took my confidence down a few notches.

  I folded the flyer, stuck it inside my algebra book and headed for the cafeteria line. I wasn’t very hungry, so I grabbed a carton of milk and an order of fries. At the public school I was able to eat lunch at a reduced rate because of my parents’ income, but at Premiere High, there was no free or reduced-price lunch program. Students paid for their own lunch. There were several items to choose from each day—burgers, tacos and pizza. My parents had already warned that I would have to rely on my allowance and the cash that I’d earned babysitting for lunch. And since my allowance was only ten dollars a week, and my babysitting jobs occurred only every now and then, I was definitely on a budget.

  I spotted Jasmine at a table chatting with a few girls.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I said as I approached the table.

  “Hey, Mari. What’s up, girl?” Jasmine said. “Mari, this is Bridgette, Celine and Charmaine. Divas, say hello to Mari.”

  “Hey, Mari,” Charmaine was the first to speak.

  “Love your hair,” Bridgette said.

  “You sing, dance or act?” asked Celine, who barely looked up from her cell phone. She was sending someone a text.

  “I dance,” I told her.

  Finally looking up, Celine challenged, “Let me see what you got.”

  “Right now?”

  “No, tomorrow. Are you a dancer or what? Are you scared, girl?” Celine was beautiful, with long black hair and a light brown face. Her makeup was perfect.

  “No, I’m not scared.” I had attitude.

  “Anyone who attends Premiere High should be proud to have made it in. They’re not only talented, they’re confident.” She stood and started moving to some imaginary music, clapping her hands and shaking her hips.

  Charmaine stood next to her and they started moving in unison; a routine that they’d obviously practiced together. When they were done, they gave each other a high five, as if they’d shown me.

  “You won’t survive here.” Celine rolled her eyes and started picking over her dry-looking turkey burger and fries.

  “Leave her alone.” Jasmine came to my defense. “She can actually dance her behind off. She’s in my intermediate dance class.”

  “Groovy,” Celine said sarcastically and stuffed a fry into her mouth.

  “Have a seat, girl,” Jasmine said. “Don’t pay her any mind.”

  I was reluctant at first but then took a seat at the table next to Bridgette. I ate my fries in silence as the four of them chatted about everything from boys to what happened in their classes the first half of the day. Jasmine and her friends were sophomores, and this was their second year at Premiere.

  “Hey, Mari.” I heard a familiar voice behind me and turned to find Drew carrying an orange lunch tray. “Hey.”

  “You survived orientation,” he said and smiled. “I knew you would.”

  His smile was so beautiful and gave me comfort.

  “Hey, Drew,” Celine cooed. Her voice was syrupy sweet all of a sudden.

  “Hey, what’s up, Celine?” he asked.

  “Will you buy me a slice of triple cheese at Manny’s after school?” she asked and grinned.

  “I’ll think about it.” He smiled, too.

  He’d think about it? How about no? Buy yourself a slice!

  “Are you going to Manny’s after school, Mari?” He turned his attention back to me, and I was grateful.

  I shrugged and looked at Jasmine. We were possibly commuting home together. So if she was going, I was going. She must’ve read my mind.

  “I could use a slice of pepperoni,” Jasmine said.

  “Cool,” Drew said. “I’ll see you there.”

  After school, I followed Jasmine through the double doors of the school. She hit Play on her iPod and started bouncing to a song by Drake. Then she threw her backpack over her shoulder and pulled a package of Newport cigarettes out of her worn purse. She held a cigarette between her long fingers.

  “You smoke?” she asked.

  “No,” I said and wished that she wouldn’t, either.

  Secondhand smoke was worse than her filling her own lungs with it. It didn’t matter. She pulled a bright green lighter from her purse and lit the cigarette anyway.

  “It won’t bother you if I smoke, right?” She wasn’t really interested in my response, because before I could answer she’d already taken two or three puffs while bouncing to the music. “Drake is so cute, isn’t he?”

  “He’s okay.”

  “Just okay? I would date him,” she said. “I saw him once. At Starbucks in Times Square. He ordered a nonfat latte! Can you believe that? A nonfat latte. Are you serious, dude? Are you really watching your fat content?”

  “Everybody’s pretty health conscious these days,” I said.

  “Everybody but me. Give me the fat. And the calories. And the sugar. All of it! You’re gonna die one day anyway.”

  “But you don’t have to kill yourself.”

  “You’re smart.” She smiled. “You gonna audition for Dance America?”

  “Thinking about, it.”

  “I might this year, too.”

  As we approached Manny’s, Jasmine tossed the butt of her cigarette onto the ground and smashed it with the sole of her shoe. I loved Jasmine’s free-spirited attitude, but I didn’t know how much of her cigarette smoking I could take. I tried not to judge her, though.

  Manny’s was crowded—as usual. And finding a table was a challenge as always, but we managed to secure a booth near the window. Celine and Charmaine found us and decided to squeeze into the booth with Jasmine and me. And it wasn’t long before Drew and his friend Preston pulled up chairs next to our table.

  With a black straw fedora on his head, Drew stuffed a slice of pizza into his mouth. His muscles bulged from his light blue T-shirt, and a silver D hung from the chain around his neck. And when he got up to grab a jar of parmesan cheese from an empty table, I noticed how his jeans hung off of his behind so nicely. His six-foot-tall body had the type of frame that girls looked for in a guy. The type of frame that forced you to stand on your tippy toes when you gave him a kiss. It was hard not to stare into his light brown eyes.

  “That fedora is hot.” Celine giggled, snatched Drew’s hat from his head and placed it on her own head. “How do I look?”

  “Very sexy,” Drew said. “I love a woman in a hat.”

  “Really?” Celine asked. “What else do you love a woman in?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that,” Drew said, “but right now, I’m gonna grab another slice. Anybody else want something?”

  Everyone declined—except Celine.

  “I’ll go with you. I could use another slice, too.”

  Could she be any more forward? Could she just throw herself at him any more than that? It was obvious that she wasn’t his type. I watched as she clung to his arm all the way to the counter. Her Seven jeans hugged her slender legs, and her long black hair hung down her back. With Drew’s fedora on her head, she glided next to him like a dancer. And he was enjoying the attention. I could tell by the way he brushed a piece of her hair from her eyes as they stood at the counter and ordered pizza.

  “So do you go to Premiere?” Jasmine asked Preston. “I haven’t seen you around there.”

  “No. Right now, I attend Breckinridge Academy. It’s a…private school.”

  “Oh, yeah, the preppy, stuffy school in Manhattan where all the rich kids go,” Charmaine said.

  “He’s
a Premiere High wannabe,” Drew announced as he approached the table again.

  “It’s true. I am a Premiere High wannabe, but trying to talk my dad into letting me audition is like speaking German to him. He doesn’t understand or see the need.”

  “Are you talented?” Jasmine was so straightforward. She wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. Just ask it.

  “I play the violin.”

  “Are you any good?” asked Jasmine.

  “He’s great!” Drew acknowledged.

  “Then why won’t he let you do the performing arts thing?”

  “You have to understand. I don’t really have a choice in the matter. My great-grandfather attended Breckinridge. And his father. And his father’s father. It’s a family tradition.”

  “I say screw tradition if it means compromising what you love,” said Jasmine.

  “It’s not that easy when you come from a traditional-family background,” said Preston.

  “Yeah, like me,” I said. “My parents were reluctant, too. They don’t want a career in show business for me. They seem to think that all celebrities wind up in rehab or end up destroying their lives somehow. They want me to become a doctor or lawyer.”

  “My father didn’t take the news well about me making it in, either,” Drew admitted. “I was a basketball star at my old high school. My coach had high hopes for me. My father played semipro basketball in his former life, so…he expected the same from me. Wanted to live out his dreams through me.”

  “Not my parents. They don’t care where I attend school.” Jasmine took a long sip of her Cherry Coke. “Just as long as I go to school somewhere and it doesn’t cost them any money. Things are tight for us right now. That’s why I have to win this competition…Dance America.”

  “What’s Dance America?” asked Preston.

  “It’s only the most popular dance competition in the nation,” Charmaine said.

  “Kids come from performing arts schools all over the United States,” Celine said. “The competition is stiff, but I made it to the finals last year.”

  “You’re trying out, right, Mari?” Drew asked.

  “Considering it.” I hadn’t given it any serious thought.

  “You have to bring your A game,” Celine added, as if I didn’t have an A game or as if I was too dumb to know what an A game was.

  “You should seriously consider it,” Drew added. “Who knows what might happen? You could wind up being a star!”

  “I’m auditioning again.” Celine smiled at Drew as if she was searching for the same encouragement that he’d given me.

  When his phone played a tune, he looked at the screen and completely ignored her comment. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I would love to sit here and chitchat with you guys all day, but duty calls,” Jasmine announced.

  “You got a job?” Preston asked.

  “Yeah, babysitting my bratty little brother while my parents go to work at New York Methodist Hospital,” she said.

  “Are they doctors?”

  “No. My dad’s a janitor, and my mom’s a nurse. Like I always say, at least if he passes out from cleaning all the toilets, she’ll be there to revive him.” She giggled and then turned to me. “You ready, Marisol?”

  “Yeah,” I said and grabbed my bag from underneath the table. “Catch you guys later.”

  “Later,” Drew said.

  “See ya, ladies,” said Preston, as he stood in a gentleman-like manner. It wasn’t often that boys actually treated girls like ladies. He was a rare breed. “You need me to walk you guys to the subway?”

  “Nah, I think we can manage, dude, but thanks for asking,” said Jasmine as she pushed her way through the crowd at Manny’s.

  I followed. And soon we were sitting side by side on a train Brooklyn-bound. My mind began to wander to the possibilities of competing for Dance America. I knew I could dance. And I had just as much of a chance as anyone at making it into the competition. I just needed the courage to compete, and my parents’ permission, of course—which was even more of a challenge than the competition itself.

  As Jasmine’s head bounced against the window, her mouth opened and light snores crept from her lips. I smiled, glad I’d run into her at my dance class. I gave her a nudge as we approached her station in Bedford-Stuy. She straightened in her seat, gathered herself. As she stood to exit the train, she pulled the package of cigarettes from her purse and gave me a grin.

  “See you tomorrow. Bright and early. I’ll text you when I get up.”

  “Okay.”

  She hopped from the train, her backpack in tow. Suddenly she was lost in the crowd. I gazed out the window. Day one started off badly, but it hadn’t ended too badly at all.

  five

  Marisol

  As I made my way around the corner of my block, Luz, Kristina and Grace stood in front of Luz’s house, stretching their necks my way. Within moments, my three friends were there, Luz grabbing my bag from my shoulder.

  “How was your train ride from Manhattan?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t too bad. I met a new friend. Jasmine…she lives in Bed-Stuy.”

  “With a name like Jasmine, she’s not Mexican,” Grace announced, as if I didn’t already know.

  “No, she’s not,” I said.

  “Well, what is she?” Grace asked.

  “She’s mixed.”

  “So how was your first day at Bourgeois High?” Luz asked.

  “Oh, Luz, it was so wonderful. There were so many kids there you could barely make it through the hallways. And everyone is a dancer, musician or actor.” I’d waited all day just to share my excitement with them. “I was late to my dance class this morning. My alarm clock didn’t go off. That’s how I met Jasmine…”

  “Jasmine?” asked Kristina.

  “Yeah, the girl that I rode home with on the subway.”

  “Oh, yeah, the mixed girl,” Grace said.

  “We’re gonna ride into Manhattan together every morning. And she’s gonna text me every morning so that I don’t oversleep anymore,” I said. “And you guys should see her dance. She’s an awesome dancer!”

  “Well, isn’t that sweet?” Luz said sarcastically. She wasn’t fond of anyone she thought might replace her as my best friend. “Are you gonna do my hair today or what?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I’d forgotten all about agreeing to do Luz’s hair. I’d promised to do it as soon as I made it home from school. What I really wanted to do was lie across my bed, reminisce about my first day of school and then get a jump start on my homework. There was no room for relaxation. My grades were a priority, especially since they determined my future at Premiere.

  “Where you been all day? We all got home like two hours ago,” Grace said.

  “All of the kids hang out at Manny’s after school.”

  “Is this going to be an everyday thing or what?”

  “Probably so. Everybody hangs out there.” I grabbed my bag from Luz’s shoulder and started up the stairs to my house. “Let me go inside and say hello to my parents. I’ll be at your house in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, Chica. Hurry up. Your mom’s been talking to my mom again—about eating together as a family and all that stuff about bonding as a family. It’s been months since we had an official dinnertime, but thanks to Isabel Garcia, now my mom insists that the whole family eat together again. She thinks that’s why my dad and her are having marital problems—because we stopped eating together. How silly is that?” Luz asked and then walked across the street toward her house. Kristina and Grace followed.

  It was no secret that my mom and Luz’s mom were the best of friends. Often, they shared ideas about raising us and about how we acted as families. Because of their friendship, Luz and I were raised pretty much the same—same values and same rules. Sometimes their friendship got in the way, especially when they put their heads together about something that affected Luz and me.

  My mom stood in the kitchen, an apron tied around he
r waist and her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. Isabel Garcia gave me a bright, unexpected smile.

  “Hola, bebé. ¿Cómo es hoy?” She asked how my day was in her Spanish dialect. We were a bilingual family and used a mixture of Spanish and English at home.

  “It was okay,” I said, and asked what she was cooking. “¿Qué estás cocinando?”

  “Chicken. Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Not really. I had a slice at Manny’s, a pizza joint in Manhattan.”

  “You went there after school?”

  “All the kids do,” I explained.

  “According to my sources, she was hanging out with some cute girl, with curly hair and light brown eyes,” my brother, Nico, said as he entered the kitchen, grabbed a chunk of papaya from the kitchen counter and popped it into his mouth, then grabbed another one. “Rode the subway with her.”

  “What, are you stalking me?” I asked Nico.

  “I have my spies.” He grinned. “So watch your back.”

  “You made a new friend?” Mom asked.

  “Her name’s Jasmine,” I said to my mother.

  “Can I meet her?” Nico asked. “I hear she’s hot.”

  My brother was the spitting image of my father, with dark hair. We both had Poppy’s eyes and smile. Nico was handsome, and the girls in the neighborhood usually made a fuss over him. I wasn’t quite sure why. He was my brother, but I didn’t see him as the sexy eye candy that my friends thought he was. Nico was somewhat shy and only recently started becoming more flirtatious with girls.

  “No, she doesn’t want to meet you.” I snatched the papaya from Nico’s fingertips and popped it into my mouth.

  “How do you know she doesn’t? I’m good-looking, I’m smart…”

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” I said and headed out of the kitchen.

  I took the stairs up to my room, tossed my bag across my bed and searched for a pair of sweatpants. I found the blue ones with AEROPOSTALE written across the butt in bold white letters; pulled them on. I also changed into a white AEROPOSTALE T-shirt. I pulled my long black hair into a ponytail and slipped on a pair of white flip-flops. I searched for my shampoo, conditioner and blow-dryer; tossed the stuff into a bag and headed downstairs.