Shingaling by R. J. Palacio Read Free Book Online

with a sarcastic comeback, something that would slap me like an invisible hand across the face.
    But, instead, to my utter and complete amazement, she started to laugh.
    Summer started to laugh, too. “He’s blind,
stupid
!” she said, imitating the way I had said it exactly.
    “He’s blind,
stupid
!” Ximena repeated.
    They both started cracking up. I think the horrified look on my face made it even funnier for them. Every time they looked at me, they laughed harder.
    “I’m so sorry I said that, Ximena,” I whispered quickly.
    Ximena shook her head, wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand.
    “It’s fine,” she answered, catching her breath. “I kind of had that coming.”
    There wasn’t a trace of snarkiness to her right now. She was smiling.
    “Look, I didn’t mean to insult you earlier,” she said. “What I said about Auggie. I know you’re not
only
nice to him in front of teachers. I’m sorry I said that.”
    I couldn’t believe she was apologizing.
    “No, it’s fine,” I answered, fumbling.
    “Really?” she asked. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
    “I’m not!”
    “I can be a total jerk sometimes,” she said regretfully. “But I really want us to be friends.”
    “Okay.”
    “Awww,” said Summer, stretching her arms out to us. “Come on, guys. Group hug.”
    She wrapped her fairy wings around us, and for a few seconds, we came together in an awkward embrace that lasted a second too long and ended in more giggles. This time, I was laughing, too.
    That
turned out to be the biggest surprise of the day. Not finding out that people have
noticed
me. Not finding out that Summer knew the accordion-man’s name.
    But realizing that Ximena Chin, under her layers and layers and layers of snarkiness and mischief, could actually be kind of sweet. When she wasn’t being kind of mean.

How We Got to Know Each Other Better
    The next few weeks flew by! A crazy blur of snowstorms, and dance rehearsals, and science fair projects, and studying for tests,
and
trying to solve the mystery of what had happened to Gordy Johnson (more on that later).
    Mrs. Atanabi turned out to be quite the little drill sergeant! Lovable, in her own cute, waddly way, but
really
pushy. Like, we could
never
practice enough for her. Drills, drills, drills.
En pointe!
Shimmy! Hip roll! Classical ballet! Modern dance! A little bit of jazz! No tap! Downbeat! Half toe! Everything done her way, because she had a lot of very specific dance quirks. Things she obsessed about. The dances themselves weren’t hard. The twist. The monkey. The Watusi. The pony. The hitchhike. The swim. The hucklebuck. The shingaling. But it was doing them exactly the way she wanted us to do them that was hard. Doing them as part of a larger choreographed piece. And doing them in sync. That’s what we spent most of our time working on. The way we carried our arms. The way we snapped our fingers. Our turnouts. Our jumps. We had to work hard on learning how to dance
alike
—not just together!
    The dance we spent the most time working on was the shingaling. It was the centerpiece of Mrs. Atanabi’s whole dance number, what she used to transition from one dance style to the next. But there were so many variations to it—the Latin one, the R&B one, the funk shingaling—it was hard not to mix them up. And Mrs. Atanabi was
so
particular about the way each one was danced! Funny how she could be so loosey-goosey about some things—like never
once
getting to a rehearsal on time!—and yet be so strict about other things—like, God forbid you do a diagonal
chassé
instead of a sideways
chassé
!
Uh-oh, careful, the world as you know it might end!
    I’m not saying that Mrs. Atanabi wasn’t nice, by the way. I want to be fair. She
was
super-nice. Reassuring us if we were having trouble with a new routine: “Small steps, girls! Everything starts with small steps!” Surprising us with brownies after a particularly intense workout. Driving us home when