chance she gets.”
“No, she won’t, because I won’t come to any more stupid dances.”
“It might not be at a dance. It might be in the hallway or during gym class or outside of school somewhere. Like the mall. You’re an easy target because you just take it and she knows that and uses that to her advantage. Don’t let her.”
“I just don’t know why she hates me so much.”
“You really don’t know why?” Rachel asked.
“No. She’s hated me for as long as I can remember.”
“It’s because you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Always have been. And you don’t need any make-up or anything. You’re what my mom calls a natural beauty.”
“I don’t feel pretty.”
“But you are and for people like Tracey who have to work hard at being pretty, they resent people like you who don’t have to do anything.”
“But you’re pretty and she’s never treated you the way she treats me.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m black in a school that’s mostly white. I had cornrows growing up until I pleaded with my mom to let me straighten my hair this year. I’ve never been any competition for Tracey Carmichael. But you, you outshine her and you don’t even realize it or care. And that’s what burns her up.”
That night, with Rachel’s help, I was braver than I’d ever been. Rachel and I danced and people actually stopped to watch. No one had any idea that Rachel had given me dance lessons for months. My hard work had paid off. It was as if all of the snowflakes were aligned and no one, not even Tracey Carmichael, could melt them. I wasn’t clumsy. I didn’t fall. I danced as I had never danced before.
Olivia and Emma join their friends on the dance floor in front of where the DJ is set up. Huge speakers sit on the floor beside his table and are so loud that it’s impossible to hear anyone talk. Olivia lassoes the song’s pulse-thumping tempo and it’s as if her body has awakened from a winter slumber. She moves without thinking.
Leaps.
Jumps.
Turns.
Falls.
She uses her body and the space around her to express herself. The others catch her moves and fall back one after another to form a circle around her. Even at a junior high school dance her moves command attention. The kids in the circle clap and shout and more kids dribble over to see what all the commotion is about.
Olivia doesn’t realize she’s in the spotlight. She’s married to the music, oblivious to everything but the burning tempo. Her heart races and I know that she’s found her passion. It’s only when the song stops that she realizes that she’s dancing alone. Everyone breaks out in a thunderous applause and Olivia backs away from the center to join Emma.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asks Emma.
“Because I loved watching you,” Emma says. “We all did. You really got something special there, Lib. No one can dance like you.”
Olivia is embarrassed by the attention her dancing has brought. The rest of the night, girls and boys comment on her dance moves. She tries to blend in with the crowd but it’s clear that her dancing has set her apart.
“Dad just texted me,” Olivia tells Emma. “He’s out front. Are you ready?”
The girls say goodbye to their friends and as they’re walking out the door, an eighth-grader with dreads approaches.
“I saw you dancing earlier,” he says. “You’re good.”
“Thanks,” Olivia says.
“I dance, too. Maybe we can get together and dance sometime.”
“Maybe.”
He flashes a gummy smile that shows his bright white teeth. “Later.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Olivia says.
“Oh. My. Gawd. Terrell Jackson talked to you.”
“Terrell who?” Olivia asks.
“He’s just one of the most popular boys in eighth grade,” Emma said. “Great football player.”
“How do you know these things?”
“Well, this girl in my Sunday school class likes him big time. She’s in eighth grade, too. She’s always talking about him to another girl in the class. I sit
“No, she won’t, because I won’t come to any more stupid dances.”
“It might not be at a dance. It might be in the hallway or during gym class or outside of school somewhere. Like the mall. You’re an easy target because you just take it and she knows that and uses that to her advantage. Don’t let her.”
“I just don’t know why she hates me so much.”
“You really don’t know why?” Rachel asked.
“No. She’s hated me for as long as I can remember.”
“It’s because you’re drop-dead gorgeous. Always have been. And you don’t need any make-up or anything. You’re what my mom calls a natural beauty.”
“I don’t feel pretty.”
“But you are and for people like Tracey who have to work hard at being pretty, they resent people like you who don’t have to do anything.”
“But you’re pretty and she’s never treated you the way she treats me.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m black in a school that’s mostly white. I had cornrows growing up until I pleaded with my mom to let me straighten my hair this year. I’ve never been any competition for Tracey Carmichael. But you, you outshine her and you don’t even realize it or care. And that’s what burns her up.”
That night, with Rachel’s help, I was braver than I’d ever been. Rachel and I danced and people actually stopped to watch. No one had any idea that Rachel had given me dance lessons for months. My hard work had paid off. It was as if all of the snowflakes were aligned and no one, not even Tracey Carmichael, could melt them. I wasn’t clumsy. I didn’t fall. I danced as I had never danced before.
Olivia and Emma join their friends on the dance floor in front of where the DJ is set up. Huge speakers sit on the floor beside his table and are so loud that it’s impossible to hear anyone talk. Olivia lassoes the song’s pulse-thumping tempo and it’s as if her body has awakened from a winter slumber. She moves without thinking.
Leaps.
Jumps.
Turns.
Falls.
She uses her body and the space around her to express herself. The others catch her moves and fall back one after another to form a circle around her. Even at a junior high school dance her moves command attention. The kids in the circle clap and shout and more kids dribble over to see what all the commotion is about.
Olivia doesn’t realize she’s in the spotlight. She’s married to the music, oblivious to everything but the burning tempo. Her heart races and I know that she’s found her passion. It’s only when the song stops that she realizes that she’s dancing alone. Everyone breaks out in a thunderous applause and Olivia backs away from the center to join Emma.
“Why didn’t you stop me?” she asks Emma.
“Because I loved watching you,” Emma says. “We all did. You really got something special there, Lib. No one can dance like you.”
Olivia is embarrassed by the attention her dancing has brought. The rest of the night, girls and boys comment on her dance moves. She tries to blend in with the crowd but it’s clear that her dancing has set her apart.
“Dad just texted me,” Olivia tells Emma. “He’s out front. Are you ready?”
The girls say goodbye to their friends and as they’re walking out the door, an eighth-grader with dreads approaches.
“I saw you dancing earlier,” he says. “You’re good.”
“Thanks,” Olivia says.
“I dance, too. Maybe we can get together and dance sometime.”
“Maybe.”
He flashes a gummy smile that shows his bright white teeth. “Later.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Olivia says.
“Oh. My. Gawd. Terrell Jackson talked to you.”
“Terrell who?” Olivia asks.
“He’s just one of the most popular boys in eighth grade,” Emma said. “Great football player.”
“How do you know these things?”
“Well, this girl in my Sunday school class likes him big time. She’s in eighth grade, too. She’s always talking about him to another girl in the class. I sit
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