Authors: Jo Whittemore
For the entire game, I swear I felt someone right behind me.
As soon as I stepped into the dance building, I lowered my bag and froze.
Girls. Cute ones. They wore tap shoes and leotards and were talking to a woman with a scarf tied around her neck. One of the girls looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back.
At that moment, the door behind me opened and Uncle Theo's voice boomed out. “Timotheos!” he cried, using the Greek version of my name. “You should be dancing your way down the hall.”
Instantly, my entire body tensed.
“Please, no,” I muttered.
I spun around to see Uncle Theo bouncing
toward me, giant mustache twitching. I caught Gabby's eye and silently pleaded with her to stop him before he could say something embarrassing likeâ
“By the way, you dropped your tights in the parking lot.”
He held up a pair of white stockings. It took me less than five seconds to snatch them out of his hand and cram them into the pocket of my jeans.
“You dance in tights?” one of the girls asked, her smile getting even bigger.
“Oh, not just tights!” said Uncle Theo.
“So where do you go to school?” I asked her, by way of obvious topic change. “I'm at Abraham Lincoln.”
Uncle Theo was now standing beside me so that I was caught in the gravitational pull of his humiliation. “Tim dances in full costume! They both do!” He gestured to Gabby as well.
I glanced at my sister.
There's a theory that twins can communicate telepathically, and Gabby and I have tested it many times. One time we got pretty close, when I projected an image of money and then took a box of her Girl Scouts cookies, but she said mental dollars weren't a real form of payment.
Regardless, I needed us to be mentally linked now more than ever. Luckily, Gabby nodded at me and rubbed her arms.
“Is it chilly in here?” She looked at me. “Should we go warm up in the studio?”
I tugged on Uncle Theo's sleeve. “Yeah, we probably should.” I waved to the girls. “Later!”
But Uncle Theo was determined to Greek out. “You two won't be cold if you dance a little sirtaki,” he said with a chuckle. He winked at the girl I was talking to. “You should see this young man move.”
And then . . . the ultimate humiliation.
Uncle Theo snapped his fingers. “What am I thinking? I actually have a video of it on my phone!” He reached into his back pocket. By this point, the other girl had rejoined her friend.
Misery loves company.
“Oh, they don't want to see that,” I said with a nervous laugh, stepping between my uncle and the girls.
“Of course they do! Don't you, girls?” Uncle Theo held out his phone so they had no choice but to look, and he started the video.
The camerawork was a little shaky, but there I was, holding the wrists of a guy to my right and a guy to my left as we shuffled sideways in a circle, occasionally kicking our legs out.
Sadly, I realized Vanessa's imitation hadn't been too far off.
“I don't understand,” one of the girls said with a furrowed brow. “Are you standing behind one of these dancing women?”
“Um . . . I'm that . . . that dancing woman,” I said, pointing at the screen.
She let out a laugh. “Oh my God.”
“Isn't that something?” Uncle Theo asked, mistaking her amusement for awe.
“Oh, it's something all right,” she said, linking arms with her friend. “Excuse us. My mom's waiting outside.”
I cringed and avoided her eyes, but I couldn't ignore the giggles and whispers that followed them out of the building. I didn't look up until I heard the door close, and when I did, it was to see Uncle Theo rewatching the video with a proud smile.
“You've got style, my boy!”
“Uh . . . thanks.” I cleared my throat. “Hey, Uncle Theo?”
He glanced up, the video on his phone still playing so I could hear rhythmic clapping and the strumming of a lyre.
“What is it, Timotheos?” he asked.
“You know how you tell strangersâthe mail carrier, the dentist, anyone eating an oliveâabout me being a Greek folk dancer? Maybe you could do a little less of that.” I pinched my fingers together. “And by a little less, I mean never again.”
Uncle Theo lowered his phone. “What?”
“Oooh.” Beside me, Gabby sucked in her breath. “I'm gonna go change,” she whispered, shuffling out of Uncle Theo's line of sight.
Uncle Theo stared at me.
“What I mean,” I said, squirming under his gaze, “is that not everybody needs to hear about what a great dancer I am.”
His expression relaxed. “Ah. I'm bragging too much. It embarrasses you.”
“Uh . . . yeah, something like that,” I said.
He tapped the side of his nose and winked at me. “Say no more. Although, you shouldn't be
so modest about your talent, Tim! Few men can twirl a baton the way you can!”
I winced and glanced around, but we were alone. “Thanks, but can we just keep that fact in the family for now?”
“Of course,” Uncle Theo said with a nod. He checked the time on his phone. “We should get changed.”
Gabby walked out of the women's restroom while we were walking into the men's. I stopped and let Uncle Theo go in without me.
“Hey, thanks for the support earlier,” I told my sister, laying on the sarcasm. “It really meant a lot.” I patted my chest.
Gabby made a face. “Sorry. You know how I feel about confrontation.”
“You confront me all the time,” I argued.
“That's different. You're my brother. Fighting with you is second nature. Whenever I see your
face, I just want to . . .” She held up a clenched fist.
“Punch the air with joy?” I finished.
She grinned. “Look, it's really not a big deal that you're a Greek folk dancer,” she said. “Those girls were dumb.”
“Easy for you to say! You're a girl. Nobody freaks if you wear a skirt and prance about.”
She smirked. “When have you ever seen me prance?”
“Whatever,” I said. “You say it's not a big deal, but the reaction from those girls says otherwise. Greek folk dancing isn't going to be making its way into any music videos.”
Gabby snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares? You really want to date someone who's going to think less of you for pursuing a passion?”
“Greek folk dancing isn't my passion!”
Through the restroom door I could hear Uncle Theo coughing, so I lowered my voice. “Look, I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. Dancing was fun in kindergarten, and it was tolerable in elementary because people threw money, but now that we're in middle school, I've got a reputation to think about!”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Right, right. I forgot that you're the poster boy for cool. Tell me again . . . Did you find your gym shorts in the shallow or deep end of the pool?”
I pointed at her. “And if the guys at school knew I dressed in silly costumes and sometimes danced with my sister, it wouldn't just be my shorts in the pool. It'd be me.”
“Then thank goodness you can swim,” she said.
Uncle Theo emerged from the restroom and I went in, changing as fast as possible. When I was in full dress, I poked my head out to make
sure nobody was around and then sprinted to the studio where Gabby, Uncle Theo, and several other Greek dancers were already waiting.
The choreographer greeted us, started the music, and we fell into formation. I had to admit, the upbeat tempo was pretty hard to keep out of my body, and soon, I was bouncing along and clapping with everyone else. When rehearsal was over, it didn't even bother me that Uncle Theo wrapped me in a sweaty bear hug.
“I could see you feeling the music! That's my Timotheos!” he said. He was so happy, in fact, that he took me and Gabby to get frozen yogurt at the shop next door.
There are a few different yogurt shops around town, but my favorite has a bookstore next to it. I can grab a book and then a yogurt at Eat Your Words, where all the flavors are named after book titles. My favorite flavor is Chocolate War, which is milk chocolate with a
dark-chocolate swirl in the center.
I started in on my cup while Gabby got her Grapes of Wrath and Uncle Theo got Crime and Punishmint.
From where I sat, I could see the list of flavors on the wall, which I'd read at least a hundred times. Behind me, I heard the kaching of the cash register and Uncle Theo asking the cashier, “Is that a Nike T-shirt you're wearing?”
I shook my head and smiled to myself while I checked my phone. I had a couple new group texts from Brooke, Heather, and Vanessa about ideas for our pre-Christmas issue . . . and one from Berkeley Dennis!
Saturday before Christmas, 5:00 p.m.
1031 Vanderbilt Place
Can you make it?
A chance to meet Adrenaline Dennis and possibly make friends who wouldn't send my clothes for a swim? Of course I could make it! I'd wrestle
alligators and cross a river of lava to make it.
I was just about to respond when a new text popped up from an unknown number.
It contained only three words and one image.
Hey, Twinkle Toes.
The image was of me at dance practice.
I
flipped my phone facedown, but the text still flashed bright as a supernova in my mind.
Hey, Twinkle Toes.
I'd never told anyone this, but I had big dreams of becoming president someday. The name Twinkle-Toes Tim could
not
follow me into the Oval Office.
With a nervous glance around, I turned the phone back over and studied the picture that followed the text message. From the wild state of my hair, I'd say it was taken in the last hour (I use nine-to-five hair gel, and it pretty much gives
up right on schedule). Plus, the particular move I was doing was part of the
kalamatiano
, the final dance we'd practiced. Why, oh, why had I insisted on throwing in a twirl?
Someone had followed me all the way across town. Or they'd been lucky enough to catch me in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had I done anything else embarrassing, like pick my nose? Were they still watching me now?
I scanned the room. Other than my family, the only person in the yogurt shop was a man who looked so old he was probably still sending messages by telegraph.
I picked up my phone, fingers flying across the screen as I texted the mystery number.
Who is this?
A couple minutes went by. The old man snored at his table. Chocolate War melted in my cup. Then the response:
You'll find out tomorrow.
“Nope,” I muttered. “I'll find out now.” I dialed the number, but the mystery texter refused to pick up. Smart.
Not so smart? Forgetting to change his voicemail greeting.
“What uuup? It's Ryan. I'm way too busy to answer, so leave me a message.” His voice took on a forced casualness. “Or don't. Whatever.”
Ryan Durstwich. I should've figured.
The voice mail beeped, and I started talking. “Wow, Ryan, cool greeting. This is Tim, by the way. You know . . . the guy you've been sending creepy messages to?” Gabby was walking toward me so I spoke in a softer voice. “I'm not scared of you, and if you want to go up against me, you'd better bring your A game.”
I ended the call and stared at the picture of myself again.
At least my arms looked good.
Gabby dropped into a seat across from me, eyes shining. “Mom and Dad are making lobster mac 'n' cheese tonight!”
One of the best parts of having parents who own grocery stores is no shortage of good food. Normally, I'd be just as excited as she was, but at the moment I was distracted by Ryan's texts.
“Awesome,” I said, giving my sister a thumbs-up.
My phone chimed with a new message from Ryan.
You aren't scared yet, but you will be.
“Who's that?” asked Gabby, tilting her head to read my screen.
“Nobody,” I said, pocketing the phone. “Some girl I met today.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Another one? Would you get a girlfriend already?”
I shook my head. “It's too close to Christmas.
If it didn't work out, her present would be a breakup.” I stood and tossed my yogurt cup into the trash. “Ready to go?”
Gabby looked toward the garbage. “You only took, like, one bite,
and
you're not excited about lobster mac 'n' cheese? What's going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I said. “My stomach just hurts from all the dancing.”
“Oh.” She made a face. “Well, sit in the front seat on the way home. I don't want you barfing on me.”
“How did I ever get so lucky in the sister department?” I asked.
She smiled and went to grab Uncle Theo. On the way out to the car, he put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed.
“Are you okay, Timotheos? You hardly touched your yogurt.”
I shrugged and smiled. “What can I say? It's
Greek yogurt or
no
yogurt.”
Uncle Theo chuckled and ruffled my hair. “Always the comedian.”
He and Gabby talked about ways to improve our biggest dance number for the museum performance while I peered out the window.
What I'd told Ryan was true; I wasn't scared of him. But the more time I had to think, the more I started to wonder what exactly he was planning. He wouldn't post that picture of me all over school. That'd be too easy for me to explain away. I could just tell people I was goofing around. Ryan had to know at least that much.
I hated to admit it, but I'd have to do what he said, and wait.
Uncle Theo pulled his car into the driveway, and Gabby leaped out, racing to the front door.
“Lobster mac! Lobster mac!” she cried.
Her excitement was contagious, and I found myself hurrying up the driveway too.
Gabby left the front door open, and the smell of baked cheese wafted from the kitchen on warm currents of air. The scent enveloped me and slipped past, carrying worries about Ryan with them. Then Uncle Theo's arm wrapped around my middle, and he hoisted me off the ground, lugging me under one arm.
“Hey!” I said with a laugh. “I'm not a football.”
“You can say that again. Oof!” He dropped me onto the carpet just outside the kitchen, where my parents were darting back and forth doing last-minute meal prep.
“Incoming bread crumbs!” Mom called to Dad seconds before she threw him the canister. Luckily, Dad turned just in time to catch it between his oven-mitted hands. He nodded to me, Gabby, and Uncle Theo.
“Hey, guys. You're just in time. And I hope you're hungry.” He sprinkled the bread crumbs over a gooey, melty bed of yellow and red. Then
he popped the lobster mac back into the oven.
“We had frozen yogurt, but I can still eat,” Gabby said, hopping up onto a stool.
“Theo!” Mom bumped the fridge shut with her hip, a bowl of salad and a dressing bottle in her hands. “What have I told you about giving the kids sweets before dinner?” She raised an eyebrow at her brother.
Uncle Theo grinned. “That it's an excellent way to make them like me?”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“I wish I could,” he said, “but
I've
got a date tonight.” Uncle Theo puffed out his chest and smiled broadly.
“Nice! Try only talking about Greece every
other
sentence,” Mom said, smirking at him. “Tim, honey, can you get the salad tongs?”
I grabbed them while Uncle Theo kissed Gabby on the forehead. “Good-bye,
matakia
mou
. And you too,” he said, ruffling my hair again. “I'll see you both on Saturday.” He waved to Mom and Dad and then was gone.
“I hope his date goes well,” Gabby said after he left. “And that she doesn't notice his shirt is on backward.”
“What?” Mom looked up from the salad she was tossing. “Why on Earth didn't you tell him?”
“Because if he wore it frontward, his date would see the huge yogurt stain,” I chimed in.
“Oh good grief.” Mom rolled her eyes.
“Well, it can only go uphill from there,” Dad said, squeezing Mom's shoulder.
“Unless he shows her one of his dance videos,” I said.
“Be nice.” Dad set the oven timer. “You share the same heritage and do the same dances.”
“Yeah, but
I'm
not over-the-top about it.” I took the bowl of salad Mom offered me and popped a tomato into my mouth. Now that I was
in the safety and comfort of my own home, my appetite was making a comeback. “Speaking of over-the-top, do you guys know who Alistair Dennis is?”
Mom pursed her lips thoughtfully. “The inventor of the selfie stick?”
At the same time, Dad said, “Adrenaline Dennis? Of course!”
My parents looked at each other.
“Really?” Dad asked Mom. “Selfie stick?”
She shrugged. “Tim said over-the-top! What's crazier than needing to take a picture of yourself that badly?” She batted her eyelashes and held an invisible phone at arm's length.
Dad took her hand and kissed it.
“Gross,” said Gabby.
“You think kissing is gross?” asked Dad. “I used to change your diapers.”
“Do
not
elaborate on that when we're about to eat,” Mom warned him.
“Besides, it's not kissing that's gross,” I said, patting Dad's shoulder. “It's you guys.”
Dad looked at Mom again. “We make them lobster mac 'n' cheese, and this is the thanks we get.”
“Thaaank youuu!” Gabby and I singsonged at the same time.
I carried the salad into the dining room, and Dad followed with a bowl of rolls. “Anyway, what's with Adrenaline Dennis? Did he break some new record?”
I shook my head. “He's going to be in town in a couple weeks, and his cousin Berkeley goes to my school. Berkeley's having a party the weekend before Christmas and asked if I wanted to meet Adrenaline.”
Dad raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? That's awesome!” He cleared his throat. “Did your friend happen to mention if any adult chaperones were needed?”
I grinned, both at the chaperone comment and the mention of Berkeley as my friend. I hadn't thought of it that way, but it was kind of cool, imagining myself hanging with other guys.
“Wait a minute,” Mom said, peeking in from the kitchen. “What time is this meeting with the Avengers?”
“Adrenaline,” Dad and I said together.
“Sorry.” Mom held up her hands. “I'm only asking in case it interferes with Christmas Around the World.”
“It won't.” I crossed my heart. “That's early in the afternoon, and the party is at five. I can go, right?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
I grinned and went over to hug her just as the oven timer buzzed.
“Make way!” said Dad. “I'm about to dive face first into this lobster mac.”
“I know you're only partly joking,” Mom
called after him, “but please remember the cheese will burn your eyelids off!”
After the table was completely set, the four of us settled around it, and there was silence for several minutes as we devoured dinner. Dad was the first to come up for air.
“So, how was the museum?” he asked me. Then he smiled. “Like I have to ask. They should make you honorary curator. Let you run the whole place.”
“It was great,” I said. “But I don't want to be curator. That's not where the money's at.”
“And how would you know?” Mom asked with an amused look.
“I asked the guy how much he makes.”
“Oh, Tim,” Dad said with a sigh.
“What? He didn't have to answer,” I pointed out.
“It's not a polite question,” said Mom. “How
would you like it if someone pried into
your
personal life?”
I lowered the forkful of mac 'n' cheese that had been en route to my mouth. For a split second I considered telling them about the text from Ryan, but I was too old to be running to Mommy and Daddy for help.
All I said was, “You're right. How was work?”
My parents told Gabby and me a story about one of their shops that had a goose attacking people at the door. Midway through the tale, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached for it, and Mom gave me an admonishing look.
“No phones at dinner.”
I left it in my pocket, even though all I wanted to do was dive under the table and check my messages. I had to wait until I went upstairs to get ready for bed to see what I'd been expecting: another message from Ryan.
Are you ready?
“Ready for what?” I whispered.
That question kept me up most of the night, except for a nightmare about a new flavor of yogurt called Twinkie Toes. The next morning I was up before my alarm and already eating breakfast when my parents came down.
“What's this? Someone trying to get bonus points before Christmas?” Mom asked, kissing the top of my head. “Santa's making my boy punctual!”
“And sleep deprived,” Dad said as I yawned wide enough to fit my cereal bowl in my mouth. “Don't fall asleep in class,” he told me.
“I won't.”
I fell asleep in the car.
Mom shook me awake, and I rubbed my face, leaning my head back against the seat.
“Do I have to go to school today?” I asked.
“Well, it's either that or work at one of the stores,” said Mom.
I sat up. “Okay!”
“We need someone to clean up the goose poop by the doors,” she added.
I picked up my book bag. “And I'm off to school!”
Mom smiled. “Bye, honey. Have a good day.”
I smiled back, but in my head thought,
We'll see.
Normally, my friends and I hang out in the school courtyard, but winter in Illinois can be brutal, and today was pretty cold, so our school also has a student lounge inside, which gets packed and
loud
. When I walked over to the couch where Brooke, Vanessa, and Heather were sitting, they didn't even look up. In fact, they were adding their voices to the chaos.
Brooke and Vanessa were facing each other
with arms crossed while Heather sat between them, twisting a pen between her fingers. They appeared to be engaged in a debate of the utmost importance.
“I'm not saying dolphins can't talk. I'm saying they don't have anything interesting to say!” exclaimed Brooke.
“Of course they do! They're very intelligent creatures, you know,” said V.
“Hey, guys?” I asked. “Can you scoot over?”
They didn't hear me.
“Oh, they're intelligent?” Brooke raised an eyebrow. “What could they possibly knowâwhich fish is the freshest? It's all fresh. They're in the ocean!” She threw her hands into the air.
“Hey, Heather, a little help here?” I glanced at her, but she got to her feet and turned to face Brooke and Vanessa. “Guys! Can you please stop fighting for one moment?”
Brooke and Vanessa quieted and looked up at
Heather. I inched toward the space she had left open, but she immediately sat back down. “Now, everyone knows whales have been talkingâ”