Bring It On Read Free Page A

Devane.
    Devane took a step closer to Emerson and ran her eyes from Emerson’s blond ponytail to the tips of her sneakers. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Devane asked. “This isn’t the locker room for hollaback girls.”
    Emerson wanted to say something to Devane. But her brain had just gone liquid.
    She yanked her broken lace out of the top two holes and tied it down lower. “I’m a dancer, not a cheerleader,” she finally managed to get out. “And this is exactly where I belong.” She hurried out of the locker room before Devane could toss out something else that would make Emerson’s brain go mushy and went straight to the practice room.
    She calmed down a little the second she stepped inside. This really was exactly where she belonged. It was her favorite place in the world. Not this specific practice room. Any practice room. The wood floor. The mirrors. The faint smell of sweat that never went away. She loved it all.
    Emerson suddenly had to move. Just had to.
    She went into a locking arabesque, something she’d never tried before. Just the basic ballet move, but freeze-framed into a hundred little pieces that lasted only a split second each.
    She was so into the motion that at first she didn’t realize Sophie had entered the room. Then she spotted Sophie watching her, leaning back, arms crossed.
    When Emerson finished, Sophie gave an exaggerated nod, then did a version of the arabesque herself but more clown style than the basic locking Emerson had chosen. There were times Sophie moved so fast her arms and legs blurred and moments where her whole body quivered like mini-earthquakes were running through it. Sophie finished up and shot Emerson an expectant look.
    Uh-oh. Sophie wanted to battle. That definitely wasn’t a ballet class kind of thing. The hip-hop arabesque she’d just tried out was the first time she’d let go and attempted a move that wasn’t part of the choreography that their teacher, Randall, laid out. All her blabbing to Vincent about how much looser hip-hop was . . . that was pretty much just blabbing. In theory it was true, but Emerson hadn’t truly put the theory into practice. She usually stood against the wall until Randall came in and started class, then she followed his instructions exactly.
    Sophie cleared her throat, that I’m-waiting sound. The me who broke out with the arabesque, maybe she’s the full-on me Vincent was talking about, Emerson thought.
    â€œBring it to her, Emerson,” Ky Miggs called from his spot leaning next to the CD player. Emerson hadn’t even heard him come in. She was kind of surprised he knew her name, even though they’d been in class together for a few months.
    â€œYeah, you’re not burned already, are you?” Leeza asked. Emerson hadn’t heard her come in either.
    She had a choice. She could scurry back to her usual spot against the wall. Or she could do battle.
    Emerson closed her eyes for a moment. Feeling the beat, letting it take hold of her body, set the rhythm the way her heart usually did. Her muscles and sinews and bones wanted to go . And she let them. She launched into a locking pirouette, then flipped down into a 1990. She got about a half spin on one hand before she had to flip herself back to her feet again. Emerson didn’t know how the high-spin, low-spin combo looked. In her head it looked great. And it felt incredible.
    She shot a glance at her audience of two. Her heart lurched into her throat as she saw that three more kids had joined the group. And so had Maddy. They were all smiling at her. All of them. Maddy was smiling at her.
    â€œNow what you got, Soph?” Ky called.
    Emerson started to turn back toward Sophie and realized there was another person watching. Devane. The girl stood outside the room, looking in through the window. She wasn’t smiling. She was looking right at Emerson, her mouth twisted into a