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“Well, somebody needs to change things. You know his dad wants to run for mayor of D.C., right. I hear that’s why they shipped his ass back here. Can you imagine what he’s gonna be like if his dad is mayor?”

  I look at Li’l T. Suddenly there’s something different about him. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him talk like this. I’ve seen Li’l T angry, pissed, scared, happy and excited, but I’ve never seen him like this before.

  “Is he the one who messed up your face?” I ask him.

  “No,” he says quickly.

  I don’t know why, but I believe him. But I also think he got a beat-down. I just wish he’d trust me enough to tell me who did it.

  When we get to Freeman, he stops and looks around. “You must be a really good dancer by now. You come to this place almost every day.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good.”

  “So you gonna show me your moves so I can video you?”

  “Hell, no,” I say jokingly. We laugh as I head up the steps and he keeps walking. “See you later. Be careful,” I say.

  I watch as he waves without turning around and just keeps walking. When he gets to the corner I open the door and go inside. Everything suddenly changes. I enter the studio like I own it. It’s my place, my home. I don’t actually have a dance class today. And I usually don’t come to the studio until the end of the week, but today I just feel like dancing.

  Two

  Dancing Free

  kenishi_wa K Lewis

  I’m happy. I love my life. Everything is perfect, or as close to perfect as it can be. All I want to do is dance. I hear the music. I feel the movements. I dance.

  26 Apr * Like * Comment * Share

  as soon as I enter the building I smile. I can feel it all around me—a sense of levity, lightness. It’s like I’m weightless, floating, and all my burdens have been lifted. I know the history of the place, but it’s more than that. It’s about feeling free. No wonder they named the place Freeman. It’s like breathing fresh air. It fills my lungs and renews me.

  I head down the hall to the main office. As I walk through the corridor, I see pictures of me and my girls on the wall. I smile proudly. It feels good to know that no matter what happens in my life I can always come back to Freeman. The office door is open and I see Ms. Jay, the director, sitting at her desk on the computer. “Hi, Ms. Jay,” I say, poking my head into her office as I stand beside the doorway.

  She looks up, smiling. “Hi, Kenisha,” she says, then checks her watch and frowns. “What are you doing here this early? Shouldn’t you still be in school?”

  “We have a substitute so I didn’t have to go to my last class.” Okay, so it’s not exactly the whole truth, but it’s close enough. “Can I use one of the private studios upstairs?”

  “Oh, unfortunately, there’s a problem with the upstairs rooms.”

  “What’s the problem?” I ask.

  “After it rained the past few nights, the roof started leaking again. The rooms are still flooded. It’s the fifth time this year. This time the wood floor in Studio A buckled in a few places and the other two studios still have water leaking from the roof. There are buckets everywhere.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, disappointed. I was really looking forward to dancing today. I have the perfect ending for my routine. And as soon as I put it together I’m gonna show my girls. So I really need to practice. “How long do you think it’s gonna take to fix?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “To tell you the truth, Kenisha, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fix it this time. We need a new roof and about a hundred other repairs around here.” She pauses. “I just don’t have the money to fix everything. As a matter of fact, I’m thinking about making some changes.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  “Closing down the studio,” she says.

  “You mean moving the studio someplace else?” I ask.

  “No, I mean closing it down for good.” She shakes her head again. “It’s too much and sometimes it’s just not worth it.”

  As soon as she says those words, I swear my jaw drops and my heart stops beating. Closing the dance studio would be like losing my best friend. “Ms. Jay, you can’t do that,” I say, walking over to her desk. “There are so many kids who depend on this studio. And it’s not just about dance. It’s about coming here and being together with friends. You can’t close it down.”

  “I’m sorry, Kenisha, but I don’t think I’m going to have much of a choice. Running this place is expensive and I don’t see a lot of money coming in anytime soon. But none of this is your problem. Here, take this,” she says as she reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a set of keys. “You can use the auditorium stage today. The light panel is just inside the door on the right-hand side. This key unlocks the sound system cabinet backstage. If you have an iPhone or an iPod you can plug it in. Thankfully the sound system is the one thing still working around here.”

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the keys and walking toward the door. “How much money do you think you’ll need to fix everything?”

  “A lot,” she says. “Do me a favor. I don’t want a whole bunch of kids hanging out in the auditorium.”

  “They won’t. It’ll just be me. I promise.”

  “All right, and make sure to lock the music cabinet when you’re finished. I’d hate to have another sound system stolen.”

  “I’ll definitely make sure to lock the cabinet, I promise. Thanks again, Ms. Jay.” I turn to leave, then turn around again. “Ms. Jay, what about doing a fundraiser to get the money.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, like one of those talent shows on TV where you can have judges and contestants and a prize. You can charge people to come and watch. I can help and I’m sure Jalisa and Diamond would want to help, too. You can maybe get Tyrece and Gayle Harmon to judge if they’re around.”

  Ms. Jay nods and looks like she might be interested. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll think about it.”

  I turn around and head toward the auditorium, which is right down the hall. All of the sudden I get a knot in my stomach. I can’t believe Ms. Jay is even considering closing the studio. This is where I grew up. I met my two best friends here. I don’t know what I’d do without this place.

  I open the auditorium doors. It’s dark and quiet inside, like a scene out of a horror movie. I look around, but it’s too dark to really see anything. I feel for the light panel, then start flipping switches. All the lights turn on, instantly illuminating the large cavernous space in a soft glow. When I hit the last switch the stage lights flick on. I decide to turn the rest of the lights off and just leave the stage illuminated.

  I start walking toward the stage. It’s creepy at first. I’ve never been alone in here before. But then I kinda like the solitude. It’s quiet. All I can hear are my footsteps and there’s nothing around me except for the wooden flip-down theater seats in rows arcing around the stage.

  I climb the five steps to the stage, step into the single spotlight, then turn around and look back toward the seats. At first there’s nothing but darkness, then my eyes adjust to the brightness. I remember having my recitals here on this stage. I would dance and my mom would be in the audience clapping and calling out my name. I smile, thinking about the last recital I had. It was years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I performed a ballet solo. I was good. Afterward my mom was so proud she cried all the way home to Virginia. She had no idea I was as talented as I was.

  The curtains are open so I head backstage. I take off my jacket and change into my dance shoes. I unlock the cabinet for the sound system and place my iPhone in the docking station and press Play. The music starts playing through the speaker system. I start stretching as the music plays. Fifteen minutes later a Ty Grant song comes on and I
do a dance routine. When it goes off, I go backstage and put my musical playlist on a continuous loop. I walk to center stage. As soon as the music starts, I begin hip-hop dancing.

  The rhythm of the beat takes over and all of the sudden I lose control. My body becomes one with the music. It’s not me dancing. It’s the music flowing through my body making me move. The pulsating beat surrounds me and I let the music take over.

  Locking, popping, freestyle, old-school L.A. krumping—the combinations flow one right after the other. The movements are fluid and in perfect sync with the music. My facial expressions stay on point and my choreography is perfect.

  It’s my own arrangement. I used my keyboard at home to create the music and rhythms. I mixed the beat and added the melody with other instruments. Then I downloaded the whole thing on to my computer and, using software, I remixed the tracks until they sounded incredible. I found a poem in my recipe book and added the lyrics. I rapped and then added a gritty vocal track to the chorus. I have to admit, it’s really pretty good. When I played it for my girls they loved it. Then the more I listened to it the more I saw the choreography play out in my head—part ballet, jazz and a lot of hip-hop.

  I start practicing, focusing on control and execution. I keep going over and over it again. Each time I do it I can feel it getting better and better. My body loosens up and the movements flow. At the end of the track, I move my hips and lock my arms and do the turn. The dance feels good. I start smiling. This is exactly like I want it. The music loops a few more times and soon the choreography is perfect. I practice the routine one more time, and as the music stops I hold the end stance longer. I close my eyes and smile. Perfect.

  “Booya!”

  I open my eyes quickly and look around. Someone is in the back of the auditorium applauding like crazy. At first I can’t tell who it is because the stage lights are really bright. Then I recognize the voice. “Now that’s what’s up. Yo, yo, yo, girl, that was the shit. I’m talking BET, MTV, VH1 combined. They ain’t got nothin’ on you. Yeah, that’s what’s up—for real.”

  I squint into the darkened theater and see Li’l T sitting in one of the back rows with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him. He jumps up and continues applauding and whistling. “Li’l T, what are you doing in here?” I ask breathlessly.

  “Checking you out, girl, you was awesome. You should seriously be dancing professionally. That was tight.”

  “Yeah, whatever… Look you need to get out of here.”

  “See, I’m paying you a compliment and you actin’ all cold. But check, whose rap is that?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “Seriously? For real? That’s your work?” he asks.

  I nod and pick up a bottle of water, practically downing it in one gulp. “Damn, girl, I didn’t know you rolled like that. I’m impressed, you got serious talent. You did the music and the lyrics.”

  “Yeah, what do you think?”

  “I think you need to market that. Nah, forget that. You need to let me produce and put you out there. Yeah, people do it all the time. Look at Taj, she got discovered on the YouTube doing exactly what you just did and she ain’t half as good as you.”

  I start laughing. He steps into the aisle and gets real serious as he moves closer to the stage. “Nah, nah, nah, for real… Listen, check it out. I can video you dancing. I’ll edit it, and then put you up on YouTube, and in a week I bet you you’ll be famous just like Taj.”

  “Yeah, right, you do that,” I say sarcastically. “You gotta get out. I told Ms. Jay I’d be the only one in here.”

  “Yeah, yeah… A’ight. I hear you,” he says as he starts walking backward up the aisle to the doors. “But check, you gonna be famous when I’m done.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” I shout out to him as I head back to the stage again.

  “A’ight, later.”

  As soon as I hear the door close I press a few buttons on my iPhone and replay the music again. I sit down on the stage and just listen this time. I start smiling to myself. He’s right, it is good. After a while I change out of my dance shoes and put on my toe shoes. I flex my feet several times to loosen up, then spend a few more minutes stretching the leg muscles I’ll need to practice another routine.

  I go backstage to change the music and put on something that me and my girls have been working on for a while. The music plays and I do a series of spins and hit my mark at center stage. I stop on the same beat as the music, then I get into position two and elevate on my toes. The movement is flawless. I begin to dance and continue blending one routine into another. Then after a while my legs start to tighten up. That happens when I do ballet, and then I know it’s time to stop.

  The music slows and I stop dancing and bow gracefully, then look out at the empty seats. I imagine the applause and smile to myself. But really all I see are the spotlights on the stage and the darkness beyond it. Then out of the darkness I see the silhouette of someone sitting in the back row. They start clapping. “Li’l T,” I yell out. No one answers. I know it’s Li’l T again. I break position and put my fists on my hips and call out to him. “Boy, if you don’t get out of here I’m gonna kick your butt.” He still doesn’t say anything. Then I see him get up and walk out. But I know from the shadowy outline it’s not Li’l T. I have no idea who it is.

  Three

  Starting Something New

  kenishi_wa K Lewis

  I can hear them coming. The footsteps are getting closer and closer. Pretty soon everything behind me will catch up with everything in front of me.

  26 Apr * Like * Comment * Share

  I don’t dance in front of audiences anymore, so knowing that someone was watching me just now feels weird. And not knowing who it was is creepy. They just got up and left. You see, dancing is personal for me. I don’t mind dancing in front of people. I’ve been doing it all my life. But I only dance for an audience when I know the performance is the best it can be. So having someone sneak in uninvited and see me practicing is wrong. I stand center stage a few minutes longer wondering if whoever it was is gonna have the nerve to come back again. After a while I realize they don’t.

  I look around and notice I’m just standing in an empty auditorium looking at nothing. All of the sudden being here doesn’t seem like a good idea anymore. I turn to go backstage. I grab my cell phone off the dock, lock up the sound system and then pick up my jacket and grab my dance bag. It’s time to leave. As I walk out the auditorium I check my cell phone messages. I have six text messages and three missed calls, one from my grandmother, one from my dad and one from my sister. I call my grandmother back first ’cause I know she’s been really stressing about me lately.

  I really wish she’d just chill, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon. I know it’s all because of the drama I had a few weeks ago at the house and at the pizza place. Neither break-in was my fault, but it still seems like I’m being punished because a couple of idiots acted like fools. I get that she loves me and she worries. But now she wants me to check in and let her know everywhere I go all the time. It’s driving me crazy.

  Even though she never says it, I feel like I’m on lockdown. And it’s not just her. My sister acts the same way, too, like I’m gonna all of the sudden get struck by lightning or something. The thing is I know anything can happen to anybody at any time and it usually does, especially around me. I guess I have bad luck or maybe no luck at all.

  The studio seems as quiet and just as empty as it was before. There are only a few students walking around. I guess not a lot of kids take dance class during the week anymore. It’s strange because when I took classes this place was teeming with students.

  The phone rings, like, four times. Now I start wondering what’s taking my grandmother so long to answer the phone. On the next ring she finally picks up. When she says hello I can hear
that she’s out of breath. “Hi, Grandmom, it’s me. Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “Hi, sweetheart, yes, everything’s fine. I was out on the front porch and forgot to take the cordless with me. I had to come back inside the house to answer. I called you almost an hour ago. Are you just getting the message?”

  “Yes. I was dancing and my cell was turned off,” I say, hoping this isn’t going to turn into another one of her lectures about always keeping in touch. I get those a lot lately.

  “Where are you?” she asks.

  “I’m at Freeman. I came here right after school. I left you a note on the kitchen table. Didn’t you get it?”

  “Yes, I got it. How was school?”

  “It was okay. We had a substitute.”

  “Do you have homework?”

  “No. I just have to read and I can do that tonight.”

  “All right. It’ll be dark soon, so don’t stay out too late. You still have school tomorrow.”

  “I know. I won’t be long,” I say, ready to hang up, anticipating her lecture. But I’m just not in the mood today.

  “You know you have to be extra careful now because…”

  Too late, she starts. “I know, Grandmom, I know,” I say, but she keeps going, anyway.

  “…that Darien Moore is back on the streets again. I don’t know what it’s going to take for the police to put him behind bars and keep him there for good. He’s a menace to this neighborhood and to the…”

  There’s no stopping her now. So I just lean back, tune out and wait until she’s finished. It’s not like she’s wrong. She’s not. It’s true. Darien gets in trouble, gets locked up and then gets out a week later. It’s crazy, like a revolving door.

  “…and the streets are getting worse and worse. People don’t respect anything, least of all one another. They don’t care about the consequences of their actions. Young doesn’t mean immortal…”