15
Good news!” Krysta says on Monday morning. “Miss Patel said we can perform our dance for the whole class after lunch today.”
“Today?” I nearly shriek. “But we’re not ready.”
“Sure we are,” Krysta says. “I wouldn’t have us do it if we weren’t.”
“I think it’ll be fun,” Yuli says. Of course she’s not nervous. Yuli might be shy normally, but the minute she starts dancing, she turns into a different person. I wish I knew how she did it.
“The other kids are going to be so jealous of us,” Eileen says with a giggle.
The rest of the morning, my body is too hot and too cold at the same time. Practicing at recess when the other kids in our class are distracted is one thing. But getting up in the front of everyone and performing, that’s another. It’s exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid all these years. There won’t be anywhere to hide.
Soon it’s after lunch, and Miss Patel calls our group up to the front of the room. “We have a little treat for you all,” she says. “These girls have been working hard on a dance routine during recess, and they want to show it to you.”
We get in line in front of the class, and my chest is so tight, it might burst. The music starts, and we move as one. We dip, we spin, we twirl. It’s exactly as we practiced. And when it’s over, the other kids applaud for what feels like forever.
When the clapping finally dies down, I’m breathing more heavily than the other girls, but this time it’s from excitement. We did it. We really did it!
After we go back to our seats, the other kids flash me big smiles. “Wow,” Anton whispers. “That was awesome, Mira.”
It’s the first time he’s ever said a word to me. For the rest of the day, classmates I’ve barely spoken to before talk to me. They include me. They treat me like I’m one of them.
At the end of the day, Miss Patel calls our group up to her desk to ask if we’d like to do our dance in front of the entire school at the Amber Centennial assembly in a couple of weeks. I don’t even think twice before saying yes.
The next day, I finally dare to bring an egg salad sandwich for lunch again instead of the turkey wrap I’ve been packing every morning. I’m almost too scared to take it out of my bag, but when Krysta does her daily food inspection, there’s no hiding what I’ve brought.
“Ew. Egg salad?” she says. “I thought we agreed that was gross.”
“No, you agreed,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “But good news. It’s my lunch, which means you don’t have to eat it.”
I hear Yuli suck in a breath beside me as Eileen almost chokes on her juice.
Krysta stares at me for a little too long. Then, amazingly, she laughs and says, “As long as you keep it on your side of the table!” She moves on to critiquing Eileen’s “stinky” tuna sandwich. And just like that, I can eat my sandwich in peace.