CHAPTER 1
ROLLING HOOPS

Thirteen-year-old Tobias Wilson’s alarm clock beeped. The early morning sun played peekaboo through the single window in his room. He groaned, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stood.

“Time to get to work,” he said. “The hoops are calling.”

Tobias threw on basketball shorts, an old T-shirt, and shoes. He ran his hand through his dark hair. Then he tied a purple bandana around his head.

His mom and sisters were still asleep, so he tiptoed through the house. He grabbed his equipment bag and went out the back door.

The chill in the air pricked his skin. But he knew he’d warm up fast once he started dancing. This was Tobias’s favorite time of the day. Just him and his hoops.

He turned on his music, keeping the volume low to not disturb the neighbors. Then he laid two hoops on the ground, keeping the third in his hand. An electronic powwow song from a popular Native band from Oklahoma gave a steady beat.

Tobias warmed up with a quick, one hoop side-arm circle on the left, then switched the hoop to the right. He then threw the hoop up in the air, spun on one foot, and caught the hoop with his left hand.

He repeated the pattern—left-right-throw-spin-catch, left-right-throw-spin-catch—until he was breathing heavy.

Tobias had picked up hoop dancing after attending an intertribal powwow with his family two years ago up in Oklahoma.

He’d always been a good dancer, but hoop dancing wasn’t as easy as it looked. Especially if you were teaching yourself through videos online. There also weren’t many Choctaw Nation hoop dancers. Tobias was one of only a few.

Again, he repeated the pattern, but after the spin he added a ground hoop roll. When it came back to him, he did the routine again.

Batting cages and golf ranges dotted his small Texas town, but there wasn’t a hoop dancing store where he could ask for help. The only hoop dancer he knew lived over a hundred miles from Tobias’s home. The dancer wasn’t available to help with lessons or pointers.

His mom once danced ballet, but she quit when she was eighteen. Still, she gave him some basics. She said they’d help with his coordination and flexibility. And they did.

Tobias moved closer to the hoop on the ground. Twirling one hoop around with his left hand, his right foot stepped on the hoop. The hoop popped straight into his hand.

From there, he did figure eights with the hoops and spun. He threw up one and caught it, then did the same with the other. He repeated this move again because practice makes perfect. He was throwing a hoop in the air when—

“Hey, Tobias.” Declan Harris popped his head over their shared fence. “What are you doing?”

Tobias froze. The hoops fell and rolled a few feet from him.

No one outside of family had ever seen him hoop dance. Not even Declan, his friend since kindergarten. Besides his nosy nature, he was a good friend.

“Are you playing with your sister’s Hula-Hoops?” Declan asked. He leaned over the fence to get a better look. Without waiting for an answer, he added, “And I really like that music. It has a nice beat.”

Tobias spun to turn down the music but tripped over the hoops instead. He fell face-first into his mom’s herb patch, nose-to-leaf with the catnip.