Who's 'Bout to Bounce? by Deborah Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

their mother or something. I don’t think Mrs. Bosco would have wanted me to say anything about her being sick, but I said it anyway, and I’m not sorry. She needs us all to help her, not to get in her way. And whatever it takes to keep Kenya behaving, I’m going to do it.
    As I’m slipping on my windbreaker hood, the phone on the kitchen wall rings. Mrs. Bosco answers it, then says, “Hold on a minute,” before passing me the receiver.
    “Who is it?” I ask, afraid.
    “It sounded like she said ‘Dokie Po’ something,” Mrs. Bosco says. She wrinkles her forehead with a puzzled frown, causing Topwe to burst out laughing.
    “Oh, I know who it is,” I say, because I don’t want to embarrass Mrs. Bosco.
    “Hello?” I say nervously into the receiver.
    “Dor-e-e-nda?” asks a strange voice with a heavy accent.
    “Yes,” I answer cautiously, because I still don’t know who it is.
    “It’s Dorka Poriskova, the choreographer. Dor-e-e-nda, I have good news for you.”
    Suddenly, I feel like someone could blow me over with a peacock feather or something. “Yes?” I ask in a squeaky voice.
    “We want you for the Mo’ Money Monique tour. Rehearsal starts on Sunday morning at ten o’clock. Can you make it?”
    “I—I have to ask my mom,” I stammer. What I really want to do is scream for joy!
    “Okay, but let us know today, because we haven’t much time to prepare before the tour begins,” Dorka says excitedly.
    I am so numb when I put down the receiver, for a second I don’t hear Kenya’s piercing voice yelling at me to get her some toast.
    I’m in such a daze, I just turn to Mrs. Bosco and say, “They want me to tour with Mo’ Money Monique as a backup dancer….”
    “Is that right?” Mrs. Bosco says, surprised, then wipes Topwe’s crumb-infested mouth with a napkin. “Ain’t that something’, now!”
    Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I stand motionless for a minute. How could they have picked
me
, out of all those dope dancers? There must be some kind of mistake, I tell myself, and they’ll realize it as soon as they see me again….
    I start to feel a wave of panic creeping over me. I don’t have time right now to even
think
about this. About leaving my family … my
crew
…
    “You awright, baby? That’s good news, right?” Ms. Bosco asks—’cuz she can see I’m not happy. She spills the orange juice in Topwe’s cup, because she’s so busy looking at me.
    “Yeah,” I say, my throat getting tight, like it does whenever I get nervous. “But I don’t know if I wanna go.”
    What I
wanna
do is go back to bed and hide under the covers! I can’t go to school and tell my crew
more
fib-eronis. So what
am
I gonna tell them?
    I’d better bounce, I tell myself, so I can get to school early and see Mrs. LaPuma, the freshman guidance counselor. I met with her when I first registered, and she was really nice. She told me if I ever had a problem, or needed career guidance, to come to her. Well, I guess I sure need it now!
    I know I’m supposed to be happy, but all I feel is scared and confused, like that time my polka-dot dress came apart in school in sixth grade. It was the first dress I ever made, and I stayed up all night sewing it—by hand, since I didn’t have a sewing machine yet.
    I was so excited to wear it to school, but the seams started popping open by first period! I waited until everybody left the classroom before I got up and ran home. Everybody was laughing at me in the hallway.
    I didn’t go to school the next day, either. I was too embarrassed. Mrs. Bosco had to walk me to school herself the day after that, or I wouldn’t have gone back even then!
    “Can I help you?” asks the girl sitting at the front desk outside Mrs. LaPuma’s office.
    “Do you think Mrs. LaPuma could see me for a few minutes?” I ask her really nicely.
    The girl’s gold chains clank as she goes in to ask Mrs. LaPuma, then they clank again as she walks back to her desk. “Mrs. LaPuma has a