Choco Chip Hips

Chapter 2: Cheesecakes

Music was my therapy. Hip-hop music, in particular, which was honest, unapologetic, and in-your-face—all the things I wish I were most of the time. How cool it was that I could bop my head to music that rapped about a lot of sad and angry things, like growing up poor, a friend's suicide or a cheating lover.

This one now blasting from the speakers on one side of the school stadium was the latest from multiawarded American hip-hop artist Shoo Fly, rapping about his slow but steady rise to fame. I couldn't help tapping my foot to its addicting hook and beat.

"God, do they think they own this place?" When she was annoyed, Kim's naturally hoarse voice turned even raspier, some of her words disintegrating into whispers. I immediately ceased my tap dancing under the table.

They referred to the group of students gathered beside the speakers, chatting and stretching their limbs. A few bars into the music, they started jerking and gliding to the beat in precise, synchronized moves. Given that they were the most popular people in school—yeah, they probably thought they pretty much owned the universe.

Kim craned her neck, making a sweep of the gym. "And perfect timing to disappear on us, Ms. Suarez!" I noticed a few people from the other groups also raising their heads, looking for our teacher chaperone, famous for her frequent bathroom breaks. If the dance club, also known as the Hoofers, bowed to anyone, it would be Ms. Suarez, with the thick, knitted eyebrows.

It was only two weeks into summer, but here we were in school for the annual club officers meeting, which required us to discuss plans for the coming year. Our school took its extracurricular activities seriously. Elections for incoming club officers were done on the last quarter of the school year so we could start planning our activities as early as summer.

But of course, the Hoofers—officers and members—came in complete attendance, claiming that they needed to train during the summer for all their incoming dance competitions. If you asked me, they came here to flaunt their flat abs and toned arms—and mind you, I wasn't talking about just the girls. Dave, right there in front, had a gorgeous face that matched his lean body. Right now he was doing his signature chest-popping dance moves that got at least 99 percent of the school's female population crushing on him. If I weren't careful, I'd be part of that percentage. But Dave didn't even know I was alive, so I always made sure I was part of the 1 percent that didn't give a hoot about him.

"Argh!" Kim buried her face into the clear book of recipes. "Can. Not. Concentrate." She shot up from her seat, the symmetrical ends of her bob-cut hair swishing below her cheeks as she started flailing her hands, trying to catch the dancers' attention. I squirmed in my seat. Direct confrontation was not my style.

Good thing the Hoofers were in the middle of a complicated routine so they missed Kim's impression of a drowning victim. Well, except for the girl right next to Dave, whom I thought, for a split second, flickered her eyes toward Kim. But even if she did notice, Lala, Hoofers president a.k.a. "Teen Asian Barbie," would most likely pretend that she didn't. Hoofers didn't mingle with the uncool.

So what if we weren't part of their circle? Kim and I did okay. She was president of the baking club, while I was vice-president. Our club hovered way below the popularity radar though; and last year, we had just enough members to complete our list of officers.

Desperate to distract Kim from making a scene, I waved a container in front of her nose. "Hey! Want to make a picnic out of this?"

It got the desired effect. Kim's eyes grew wide, and she stretched out her hand as if reaching for salvation. "Is that what I think it is?"

Smiling slyly, I pulled the container out of her reach. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

We made our way outside, weaving through the huddled circles. The sun was just starting to set, so it wasn't scorching anymore. Still I was sweating buckets by the time we reached the grassy patch shaded by a row of trees.