Drill Team Determination Read online

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Chapter 1: The Family Tradition

  Chapter 2: Welcome to Step Club

  Chapter 3: Finish What You Start

  Chapter 4: What’s Important Now

  Chapter 5: Running and Pumping Iron

  Chapter 6: The First Competition

  Chapter 7: Don’t Quit Yet

  Chapter 8: Building Self-Confidence

  Chapter 9: Aniyah’s Toughest Audience

  Chapter 10: We Came to Step

  About the Author

  Glossary

  Discussion Questions

  Writing Prompts

  More About the Sport

  Explore More

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  Cover

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Start of Content

  cover

  1

  3

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  77

  78

  79

  80

  81

  83

  84

  85

  86

  87

  88

  89

  90

  91

  92

  93

  94

  95

  96

  2

  back cover

  CHAPTER 1

  THE FAMILY TRADITION

  Aniyah Lewis answered the front door a dozen times, welcoming friends, family, and what seemed like half the neighborhood to her family’s annual Labor Day party. She delivered the guests’ bowls, crockpots, and endless bags of chips to the kitchen. She smiled each time an aunt, uncle, or cousin arrived, but she really wanted her best friend, Stacy, to get there.

  When Aniyah saw Stacy’s mom’s car finally pull up in front of the house, she ran outside. “It’s about time,” called Aniyah.

  Stacy lifted up her wrist and looked at it. She wasn’t wearing a watch, but she said, “I think you mean I’m right on time.”

  Aniyah shook her head. Both girls waved as Stacy’s mom pulled away, then they ran around the side of the house and into the backyard. Aniyah led Stacy to an open area on the grass, weaving through the adults who were laughing, eating, and talking.

  “Red or blue?” Aniyah asked when they had made their way to the cornhole game.

  “Red,” said Stacy, picking up the red beanbags. “And I go first.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Aniyah said. “I’ve got home field advantage.”

  The girls laughed and then settled into a rhythm. They took turns tossing beanbags high and long. They aimed for the hole in the center of the wooden platform. One of Aniyah’s tosses went wild and hit a party guest on the head as he bit into his hot dog.

  “Sorry, Mr. Riggs!” Aniyah called out. The girls giggled as Mr. Riggs tossed the beanbag back to them—under his knee, basketball style.

  After a while, Aniyah’s mom walked over to the girls with two plastic cups filled with lemonade.

  “Hi, Mrs. Lewis,” said Stacy.

  “Hello, Stacy.” Mrs. Lewis handed each girl a cup. “So, who’s winning?”

  Stacy shrugged, and Aniyah said, “We’re not keeping score.”

  “Really?” asked Mrs. Lewis. “When I was younger, my sisters and I couldn’t even go to the park together without competing somehow. We’d be walking, and then one of us would start running. Suddenly, we’d be in a race to see who’d get there first.”

  “You’re still like that,” said Aniyah. “I heard all of you arguing about whose potato salad was the best!”

  Mrs. Lewis laughed. “We weren’t arguing,” she said. “It was a friendly debate. And FYI, mine’s the best.” She winked at Stacy.

  Aniyah heard loud laughter behind her. She turned and heard her aunts chant, “Hold up, wait a minute.” This was followed by a series of stomps and claps.

  “Oh, no,” sighed Aniyah.

  “Oh, yes,” said her mom. She speed walked across the yard to join her three sisters. “You can’t start stepping without me!” she yelled.

  “What’s going on?” asked Stacy.

  “Come on,” Aniyah said reluctantly. “You’ll want a front row seat when they stomp down memory lane.”

  Stacy stared, wide-eyed, as the women lined up next to each other. Aniyah’s mom counted, “Five, six, seven, eight,” and then, in sync, she and her sisters stomped their feet onto the concrete patio. They smacked their hands on their thighs between each step.

  “Wow!” said Stacy as she watched.

  Aniyah leaned over and whispered to Stacy, “They all went to historically Black colleges and competed on drill teams.”

  Aniyah’s dad took a break from his grilling duties to cheer and clap along.

  “Does your dad step too? Looks like he wants to join in!” said Stacy.

  Aniyah laughed. “No. He didn’t go to a historically Black college,” she said. Like Stacy, Aniyah’s dad was white. “And he doesn’t know how to step.”

  “Yup. We’ve still got it,” said Aniyah’s mom as the women fell easily into a routine they had mastered a couple decades ago.

  “Yes, you do!” shouted Aniyah’s dad, who went back to flipping burgers on the grill.

  “Where are the boys?” asked Aunt Gabby.

  Without hesitation, Uncle Maurice cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Alpha Phi Alpha is in the house!” He stomped his way over to the women. After a few steps, though, he grabbed his hip dramatically, as if in pain.

  “You better go easy, old man,” warned Aunt Kayla.

  Everybody laughed. Uncle Maurice did a quick two-stomp to prove he was fine and still had moves.

  “That was awesome!” shouted Stacy when the performance ended.

  Aniyah shook her head hard and said with a laugh, “No. No. Please don’t encourage them.”

  Aunt Gabby fanned herself and took a sip of her drink. “Whew. It’s not as easy as it used to be. It would be nice to see the next generation step up and carry on the family tradition.”

  Aniyah’s mom gave her daughter a look. They had talked about this very thing before.

  “It’s a sore subject, Gabby,” Aniyah’s mom said. “Aniyah isn’t interested.”

  “It’s not that I’m not interested,” Aniyah said with a sigh. “I just hate to perform or compete in front of people. My anxiety takes over, and I panic.”


  Stacy’s eyes went superwide, and she whacked Aniyah on the shoulder. “Our school has a step club that doesn’t compete,” she said. “It’s just for fun. We should join this year!”

  Aniyah shook her head and gave Stacy a hard look that meant Stop talking, but it was too late. Aniyah’s aunts surrounded the girls and swallowed them in a group hug.

  Aniyah’s mom shouted, “That’s perfect! I’m so excited you’re going to learn how to step!”

  When did I agree to this? wondered Aniyah, but she didn’t say anything.

  When the group hug ended, Aniyah and Stacy walked back to the cornhole game. Aniyah stared at Stacy while she tossed her beanbag in the air and caught it over and over.

  “What?” asked Stacy. “It could be fun!”

  “You don’t understand,” Aniyah insisted. “Stepping is my mom’s thing. Not mine.”

  “It could become our thing,” said Stacy. “Come on. We’re going to be in eighth grade. We should try something new.”

  Aniyah rolled her eyes.

  “It looks like fun. I want to try it, and I don’t want to go alone,” Stacy said. “Promise you’ll come with me to the first meeting. It’s your job to support your best friend… .” She gave Aniyah a cheesy smile, folded her hands in a begging motion, and blinked rapidly for effect.

  “Fine,” said Aniyah. “I’ll go with you to the first meeting, but I’m not making any promises beyond that.” She tossed her bean bag and sunk it in the hole. “Three points,” she said.

  CHAPTER 2

  WELCOME TO STEP CLUB

  On the Monday of the first full week of school, Aniyah kept her promise and met Stacy outside the gym at three o’clock for the step club’s first meeting.

  “You’re here!” said Stacy as she gave Aniyah a bear hug.

  “Of course, I’m here,” Aniyah replied. “I promised you, right?”

  “Ready to go in?” asked Stacy.

  “Not really,” said Aniyah. But she took a deep breath, wiped the palms of her hands on the sides of her shorts, and entered the gym behind Stacy.

  Ms. Soto, the eighth-grade history teacher, stood just inside the door. “Welcome, girls,” she said. She handed the girls a clipboard and a pen so they could sign in.

  “Thanks!” said Stacy.

  Aniyah smiled weakly.

  “Is this your first time stepping?” Ms. Soto asked.

  “It is for me, but Aniyah comes from a drill team family,” said Stacy.

  Aniyah froze in place. Her stomach flipped, and she gripped the straps of her backpack so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  Great, thought Aniyah. Now, Ms. Soto is going to think I know more than I do. I just want to stand in the back and not be noticed.

  When Ms. Soto looked at her expectantly, Aniyah swallowed hard and forced a smile.

  “That’s great,” Ms. Soto said. “But don’t worry, Stacy. We have all levels. Lots of girls here today are new and have no experience. We’ll start with the basics and build from there. Plus, these aren’t tryouts. We’re a no-cut group.”

  “Whew!” Stacy said with a laugh. “So, what should we do?”

  “Go over and join the others,” Ms. Soto said. “We’ll start in a minute.”

  Aniyah and Stacy walked to the center of the gym, joining the large group of chatting, laughing girls. Aniyah recognized many of them. Soon, Ms. Soto walked over and stepped up onto the first row of the bleachers to get their attention.

  “Welcome to step club, everyone!” she said. “Before we begin, I want you to appreciate what you’re doing. Step has a long history in the Black community. Its roots trace back to the African gumboot dance. Black fraternities and sororities have been stepping on college campuses since the early nineteen hundreds.”

  Ms. Soto paused a moment and held her arms out to the group in front of her. “Today, all races and ages step and add their own twists, including props, tumbling, and music. The core of it is simple, though. Your body is the instrument. You make music with your stomps, claps, and smacks. And the people around you are your bandmates. The Swahili word for unity is Umoja. When you step, you are unified by your moves and your purpose.”

  Aniyah noticed the girls in the front row were nodding.

  “Plus, it’s a whole lot of fun,” Ms. Soto said with a big smile. “Are you ready?”

  The front-row girls snapped to attention and said, “Yes, ma’am!” They were clearly the ones who knew what they were doing.

  “I asked, are you ready?” repeated Ms. Soto, louder.

  The rest of the girls straightened their spines and shouted, “Yes, ma’am!”

  “That’s better!” yelled Ms. Soto. She hopped down off the bleachers and said, “Count off one to five so we can create five smaller groups.”

  Aniyah walked over to her group, bummed that she and Stacy weren’t together. One of the front-row girls, a fellow eighth grader named Jasmine Torres, appeared to be in charge.

  Aniyah didn’t know Jasmine well, but they had been in some classes together over the years. She knew Jasmine was Afro-Dominican and spoke fluent Spanish. She was taller than Aniyah, and her dark hair was tightly braided on one side and left natural on the other. Aniyah’s hair was similar, but her curls were looser since her dad’s hair was pin-straight.

  Jasmine had the girls form a semicircle in front of her so that each girl could see her easily. She led them through their first series of stomps and claps.

  “I always talk out the moves when I’m trying to learn them,” said Jasmine. “It might sound silly, but it works for me. Like this … stomp, clap, stomp, clap, stomp-stomp, clap-clap.”

  Everyone watched her. It seemed easy because she did each move super slowly. But Aniyah knew from watching her mom and aunts that the steps would speed up eventually.

  “Try it with me,” said Jasmine. “Start with the right foot. Ready? Right foot stomp, clap. Left foot stomp, clap. Then right-left, stomp-stomp, clap-clap. Easy, right?”

  Everyone watched as Jasmine added to the routine and picked up the pace. “Stomp, clap, stomp, clap, stomp-stomp, clap-clap,” she said.

  Then Jasmine’s body exploded into a series of new moves. She lifted each leg four times, clapping under her lifted knee each time. She stomped and clapped in front of her body and then stomped and clapped behind her back. She hunched over a bit and turned her arms, lifting one straight into the air, while the other was bent and held close to her body. Then she switched it up and dabbed down and then up and down on the other side, all while pounding one foot or the other onto the gym floor.

  When Jasmine stopped, she looked at the semicircle of stunned faces. She smiled and said again, “Easy, right?”

  The girls, including Aniyah, laughed nervously. Aniyah wasn’t surprised by Jasmine’s moves because she had seen them her whole life. But she had always just watched. Now, the thought of doing the steps herself, as perfectly as her mom, made her anxious.

  Aniyah glanced over and caught Stacy’s eye. Aniyah shook her head and gave her friend a look that said, How did I let you talk me into this?

  Stacy returned a look that said, It’s gonna be great!

  Jasmine slowed things down and walked the girls through the moves, one step and clap at a time. She said each move out loud as she did it. “Knee up, clap, stomp. Other knee up, clap, stomp. And really step— hard! We’re not tiptoeing through the tulips here. We’re stomping!”

  At the end of the hour, Aniyah was breathing hard. The soles of her feet felt like they’d been pummeled.

  Ms. Soto asked the girls to line up again in front of her. Before she stepped up onto the first row of the bleachers, she huddled with the small group of girls who were leading the drills.

  “Great job today, everyone! Give yourselves a hand,” Ms. Soto said.

  Aniyah was all clapped out by then, but she managed a polite golf clap to join the others.

  “Before you go, I have a big announcement to make,” said Ms. Soto excitedly. “We have been a noncomp
etitive club since we began three years ago. My veterans and I agree, though, that it’s time to take the club to the next level. We now have the numbers, and based on what I saw today, we have the talent. This year, the Northwest Middle School Step Club will become a competitive drill team!”

  While the girls around her erupted in cheers and high fives, Aniyah stood motionless.

  “What do you say, Northwest Drill Team?” shouted Ms. Soto. “Can we do it?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” the girls shouted. Aniyah remained quiet.

  “I asked, can we do it?” repeated Ms. Soto.

  “Yes, ma’am!” the girls thundered louder.

  “Great! We will practice every Monday and Thursday after school. Our first competition is in six weeks, and we will have one every month after that.” said Ms. Soto.

  As soon as Ms. Soto dismissed them, Aniyah headed for the door. Stacy ran after her.

  “Aniyah, wait up!” Catching up with Aniyah, Stacy asked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “You know how I feel about performing in front of crowds and competing against other teams,” Aniyah said. “I can’t breathe. I get dizzy. I feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t do it. I agreed to come to the first meeting to make you and my mom happy. I kept my promise, but now I’m done.”

  “Come on, Aniyah. We’ll learn the routines, we’ll practice, and in six weeks, we’ll be ready.”

  “You will be ready,” said Aniyah. “I’ll be cheering for you from the stands.”

  Stacy opened her mouth to say more, but Aniyah stopped her. “I’m serious, Stacy. I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”

  Stacy looked down and said, “Fine.”

  The girls were quiet as they walked outside and waited for the late bus. They remained quiet the whole ride home.

  CHAPTER 3

  FINISH WHAT YOU START

  As Aniyah sat down for dinner, her mom asked, “How was step club today?”

  “Um, it was fine,” said Aniyah.

  “Is that all we’re going to get?” asked her dad. “Come on. Give us some details.”

  “Yeah,” said her mom. “How many girls were there? Did you learn any routines? Show us your new moves!”

  “Nope. Not gonna happen,” said Aniyah. “Please pass the corn.”

  “You’re no fun,” her mom said as she handed Aniyah the bowl of buttered corn. “At least tell us about it.”

  Aniyah reluctantly reported the details to her parents, telling them about the twenty girls who’d been there. She also described the basic moves they had practiced.