The Secret Talent (8 page)

Ryan cleared his throat and tried again. “So what do you do for fun around here?”

Now I'd get him.

“I dance,” I said, gesturing to my clothes.
“Wearing this. Pretty funny, right?” I even spun so my fustanella fanned out.

I expected Ryan to snicker or say something snide, but instead he applauded. “That's amazing! I wish I had that kind of talent.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Great to meet you.”

He looked to V for approval. “How was that? Am I a classy guy or what?”

Never mind that I was the one who taught him all of it.

“Close,” she said with a grin. “But you never bothered to get Tim's name.”

“Oh man!” Ryan smacked himself on the forehead and chuckled. “I'm such a goofball.”

Vanessa laughed too. “I'll be right back. After sitting in a closet for an hour, I really have to pee!”

She hurried away, and Ryan turned to study his reflection in the studio window. “Man, I look good.”

“You sure do,” I agreed, holding up the task list. “With personality to match! The coolest guy in the sixth grade, I'd say. Right?”

Ryan looked away from his reflection long enough to nod, and I punched the air triumphantly, crossing off the last item.

He turned to face me. “Except . . .”

I froze, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“I've kind of gotten used to our arrangement.” Ryan stepped away from the window. “I find it suits me. And I still keep getting hints of attitude from you.”

My eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

“That we're not finished.” Ryan bent to pick up his jeans and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Here are your next tasks. If you don't do them, I'll reveal your dark, embarrassing dance secret, along with a new one . . .” He stepped
closer and smiled. “That you're so weak, you let me blackmail you.”

“You . . .” Words failed me, and I stared at him, openmouthed. Ryan slipped the paper into my vest pocket and patted me on the cheek.

“Don't just stand there, Antonides. You've got work to do.”

CHAPTER

“Y
ou can't do that!” I exploded. “We had a deal.”

Ryan studied his nails, unconcerned. “And I'm changing it. I don't see why you're freaking out. Have you even seen the tasks?” He took the paper back from me and pointed to an item. “Look: iron my pants. I only have one pair,
your
pair, so that's an easy one.” He smiled reassuringly.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why are you torturing me? There's nothing I've ever done to you that deserves this.”

Ryan's smug expression slid into a scowl. “How about every time you strut down the hall like you own the school? Or how all the girls flock around you and ignore everyone else? Or all your family members who think you're so perfect?” He practically spat the words. “And with all that, you
still
have to make the coolest kids in class laugh at me?”

“Geez, let it go!” I threw my hands in the air. “You were being a jerk. You deserved it.”

Ryan's calm demeanor returned. “And you deserve this.” He waved the paper in my face. “This is for all the ordinary kids like me who never get justice.”

I shook my head. “No. Forget it. This time I'm—”

“Timmy, let me paint a picture for you,” said Ryan, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “You're in sixth grade now. You've still got two more years at Abraham Lincoln Middle
School. If I reveal your dance video
and
the fact that you can be blackmailed, how well do you think the next few years are going to go?”

I clenched my jaw but didn't say anything. The kid was an evil genius.

“Let me help you see it,” he continued. “Because of the video, you'll lose all your admirers. Because of the blackmail, you'll be running favors for anyone who can dig up dirt on you. Your best bet is to keep working for me.” Ryan placed a hand on his heart. “I will personally guarantee things don't get worse for you than this.”

There haven't been many times I've wanted to cry. The last occasion, four years ago, was after my aunt Rose, Uncle Theo's wife, had died, and it was more out of sadness for Uncle Theo. Right now, though, I had to fight back tears of fear, frustration, and rage.

Ryan had complete control of my life.

All the mocking images came back again, complete with laugh track, until Gabby's voice busted through.

“Whoa! That's not . . .” She approached us, V grinning beside her. “Ryan Durstwich?” She reached out and tentatively poked him in the shoulder.

Ryan gave a chuckle that sounded friendly enough, but to me should've included flames and him holding a pitchfork. “Impressed?” he asked.

“Uh . . . yeah!” Gabby turned to Vanessa. “You did all this?”

Vanessa giggled and blushed. “Well, I didn't do
that
much.”

“Don't be modest,” said Ryan. “I was a mess; I'll admit it.” He checked his phone. “But I should be getting home.”

I snorted. “Like anybody there misses you.”

Vanessa and Gabby stared at me.

“Tim! That was really mean!” said V.

“What's gotten into you lately?” asked Gabby.

Ryan placed a hand on both of their shoulders. “It's fine,” he said, smiling at them. But when he looked my way, there was murder in his eyes. “I'm sure he'll make it up to me.”

“Well, let me just grab Uncle Theo,” said Gabby.

“I'll do it,” I said. I had no desire to be around Ryan any longer than necessary.

Gabby didn't seem to mind. In fact, she vaguely nodded and went back to marveling over Ryan.

I caught up with Uncle Theo, who was talking to a couple of the female dancers, and when he saw me, he excused himself and hurried over.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Yeah, the Ghost of Poor Choices Past.

“It's fine,” I said. “Is it okay if we leave soon, though? My classmates need to get home.”

“Of course,” said Uncle Theo. “Just let me grab my things.”

He disappeared for a moment, and the dancers he'd been talking with walked over.

“Your uncle has been telling us what a sensation you are!” one of them said. “And we have to agree.”

“It's a pleasure to watch you dance,” the other chimed in.

My insides warmed a little, and I couldn't help grinning. “Really? Thanks!” After being mocked for my dancing, it was nice to hear something good for a change.

“Are you excited for the upcoming performance?” one of them asked.

I found myself nodding without a moment's hesitation. “Actually, yeah,” I said. “The Museum of Science and Industry is one of my favorite places, and to get to be part of their production is kind of awesome.”

“I feel the same way,” said one of the women. “I suppose I should practice my
divaratikos
some more.”

“Oh, are you doing a special solo dance?” I asked.

The women exchanged a quizzical look before one of them said, “No, it's part of the group's routine. We were just doing it a little earlier?”

The other one snapped her fingers. “It was when you stepped out of the room.”

“Oh,” I said. “I guess I need to catch up on that.”

Uncle Theo hustled over with a bag on one shoulder, but before I could ask him about the routine, he was scooting me toward the exit. “We have to go, Timotheos! I'm late for my date!”

“Another one?” I marveled.

My tone wasn't lost on him. Uncle Theo raised an eyebrow.

“I mean . . . another one! Good for you!” I gave
him a thumbs-up, and he chuckled. Then he put me in a headlock and tousled my hair.

“You may not realize it, but your uncle is quite the ladies' man,” he informed me while I struggled to get free.

“Stop! Stop!” I cried.

“The noogie?” He let go, and I grinned.

“No, calling yourself a ladies' man!”

I dashed away before he could catch me, laughing until I reached Vanessa, Gabby . . . and Ryan. My feet slowed and my smile flattened out.

“Uncle Theo's right behind me,” I informed everyone.

“So we heard,” Gabby said with a smirk.

It was a quiet car ride home . . . for me, anyway. Uncle Theo laughed as Vanessa, Gabby, and Ryan told him stories about crazy things that happened at school, none of which involved me being a dancer. I wondered how Uncle Theo would've felt if he knew how much Ryan made
fun of what we did. As soon as Ryan got out of the car at his house, it was like a poison cloud lifted. Suddenly, the air felt lighter and I could relax and breathe again.

After we dropped V off and it was just family in the car, Uncle Theo glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“That's a very interesting class you're taking,” he said. “Where the group project is to give someone a makeover.”

I didn't even bother to act guilty. “That wasn't for a group project. Ryan just has a habit of getting what he wants.” I hammered a fist into the seat beside me.

“Well, he should do that on his own time,” Uncle Theo said with a disapproving tone. “He interrupted dance practice, and we barely have any time left before dress rehearsal. And
you
don't have all the dance moves down.”

I sighed and leaned my head back. “I know.”

“I can help him,” Gabby said from the front seat. “I can teach Tim the moves he's been missing.” She turned to look back at me. “Do you want to start tonight?”

I shook my head. “I have to do Ry— I mean,
my
homework.” I shifted in my seat, and the square of folded paper that listed my new tasks shifted in my pocket, reminding me of its presence. Like I could ever forget.

Uncle Theo dropped us off at the curb and sped away to meet his date while Gabby skipped up the walkway ahead of me.

“What did you think of the new Ryan?” she asked. “Pretty dreamy, right?”

“More like nightmare-y,” I said under my breath.

“What?” Gabby waited for me to catch up.

“I said V did a good job.” I forced a smile.

“Do you think Ryan has a girlfriend?”

I almost tripped. “Oh no. You are
not
going
out with him. He may seem charming, but it's all an act. Trust me.”

Gabby scoffed. “Like you can tell me who to date. Besides, I was just asking.”

“He doesn't have a girlfriend,” I said. “It would've made the news, along with all the flying pigs.”

She rolled her eyes and opened the front door. “I think he cleans up pretty nice.”

“Yeah, and you also tried to drown a guy in grape snow-cone syrup,” I reminded her. “So excuse me if I don't entirely trust your judgment.”

Gabby looked at me for a second and then shouted, “Mom? Who has better judgment, me or Tim?”

From somewhere in the kitchen there was laughter.

I smirked at her and shrugged as if to say
See?

Gabby stuck out her tongue and headed to the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were
studying a cookbook together.

“Why don't you think I have better judgment?” my sister demanded.

“Oh, that was a serious question?” Mom blinked. “I think it depends on the situation. Sometimes you both have great judgment, and sometimes you both have terrible judgment.”

“Hey!” I sat on a kitchen stool. “Name one time—”

“When you were six, you wanted to be one of King Arthur's knights,” said Dad, snapping the cookbook shut, “so you tried to saw off the corners of our dinner table to make it round.”

“When you were ten, you thought it would be cool to build your own robot, so you hot-glued the toaster to a skateboard,” added Mom.

Gabby giggled. “I remember that. You called it the BagelBot 5000.”

I pointed to each of my family members. “And you would have all been thanking me when BB
brought you warm, toasty bagels in bed.”

“After it learned to open the fridge,” said Dad.

“And put bagels in itself,” added Gabby.

“And go up the stairs,” Mom chimed in.

I wagged my finger at them. “See, this kind of doubt is why the BagelBot 5000 will never be a reality.”

Gabby wrapped her arms around one of Dad's. “So, what's for dinner?”

“I couldn't find anything quick in here.” He held up the cookbook.

“Why don't we do a family scramble?” suggested Mom.

“Yeah!” said Gabby and I.

Family scramble is a group effort at dinner, where we start with a pot of linguine and each get to add one ingredient . . . within reason. My folks insist that the end result still be edible, so lemonade, marshmallows, and bananas are not
allowed (all failed attempts by Gabby and me).

Dad rubbed his hands together. “Let me get the water boiling while you guys grab some ingredients.”

Mom held open the pantry door and grabbed a box of linguine for the base. Gabby and I scanned the contents of the rest of the pantry for our scramble items.

“Black olives,” I said, grabbing a can.

“Very nice,” said Mom. “I'll go for some stewed tomatoes.” She grabbed a different can.

“Cheese!” said Gabby.

Mom pointed to the refrigerator, closing the pantry door.

Gabby pulled out a bag of shredded mozzarella, and we placed all our ingredients on the counter. Dad studied them and reached for a potted plant by the sink.

“And I will contribute some fresh basil,” he
said, plucking off a few leaves.

While we waited for the water to boil, I nudged Mom.

“So you have examples of my bad judgment,” I said. “What about my good judgment?”

She regarded me for a moment and smiled. “Your good judgment comes in making decisions based on who you are,” she said. “I've never met a kid who was more confident about the things he liked.”

“Both of you,” added Dad.

Gabby beamed, but I pressed my lips together and stared up at Mom.

“You really think that?” I asked.

“I really do,” she said, hugging me close and kissing the top of my head. “If there's one thing I can say with confidence, it's that I raised two great kids who know who they are.”

Dad cleared his throat. “And I was just in the background waving pompoms?”

“Of course not!” Mom let me go and reached for Dad, making kissy lips. Gabby and I both gave cries of protest.

“Don't do it!”

“Not near the food!”

But our parents ignored us and kissed anyway.

When I climbed into bed later, there were several voices in my head, and none of them belonged to me. I could hear Ryan's taunting, the two ladies at the dance studio praising me, and Mom telling me how proud she was that I knew myself.

Mom's voice spoke loudest.

She was right; I wasn't the kind of kid who gave in to a bully's demands. I never let people push me around. Why was I letting Ryan?

Because he could destroy me.

I flipped over in bed and punched my pillow. I couldn't let Ryan keep bossing me around, but I
couldn't let him make me a laughingstock, either. I needed to stand my ground.

The question was how.

No answers came in my dreams, but for the first time in days I had a solid night's sleep. I knew who I was and who I
didn't
want to be.

I could figure the rest out in the morning.

“Running's easy. It's running fast that's the hard part.” Abel Hart was sitting on a couch in the student lounge before school the next morning, talking while I scribbled in my notebook.

“That's good,” I said, tapping the page. “Say more stuff like that.”

He grinned. “You want me to spout inspirational quotes?” He struck a regal pose. “Life is full of hurdles. Jump or eat asphalt.”

I snorted and scribbled out what I'd started to write. “Okay, let's just get to the important
stuff. Brooke says you're going to break a bunch of records this season.”