Clayton Byrd Goes Underground by Rita Williams-Garcia

Author:Rita Williams-Garcia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

SHOW YOUR LOVE

“Check it,” Beat Box said to Clayton. “Step with us. Like this.” He, Boom Box, and the older kid with the fuzzy white Kangol cap stepped to the left, then slid-hopped and stepped to the right.

“Get up,” Boom Box told him.

Clayton got out of his seat and went to the end of their line. He bobbed first, the way he did when he kept the groove with the Bluesmen. The beat was simple enough, but he didn’t try the slide-hopping. Instead, he came in with his left foot, bobbed, then the right foot. The slide-hopping in between would work itself out eventually.

Now that there was rhythm and music, Train Ear began the show. They were on the longest ride between stations. It was plenty enough time to put on a show.

Train Ear ran down the aisle and swung himself around the pole. His legs whirligigged like blades, then they clamped around the pole, and he held up his hands to suspend himself like Spiderman. He grabbed the pole, lifted his feet up over his head, against the pole, and climbed down using his hands, until his palms were flat on the ground. With knees bent and both feet still above his head, Train Ear “hand-walked” backward and then forward, his sneakers just missing the faces and newspapers of a few riders. The train jerked and he kicked a woman’s book out of her hands. She picked her book up and continued to read, never once looking up.

Those who looked on did so with mild fear, disgust, or boredom. No one was as impressed as Clayton. He had seen guys dancing on the train or on the street before, but he was never this close—and had never been in it.

For most of the riders, it was one dance exhibition too many.

“Show your love!” shouted the teen with the fuzzy white cap. “Show your love!” he said as he ran up and down the aisle with his cap out. Riders mostly looked away, kept their noses in books and newspapers. A few looked stiffly into the boy’s almost pleading face and just said, “No.”

There was no love for Train Ear.

As he stepped back with the line, the teen trying to collect money walked, or rolled, to the center of the car. To Clayton, it looked like he rolled, because his feet seemed to not leave the train floor. Everything about him was fluid. He didn’t jump out at the people, like Train Ear did. Instead, he kept himself to a small space, but seemed to make big, amazing things happen, like jump roping over his own arm. It was as if he had no skeleton at all.

“Man! Did you see that?” Clayton said. “He’s got bones like jelly!”

Beat Box knocked Clayton in the shoulder the way Clayton would have knocked Omar. “It’s showtime. Blow.”

Clayton kept blowing and drawing in breath on his blues harp to the beat, but wondered what Omar was doing. If Omar looked for him during gym or in the lunchroom or if he’d try to hold a seat for him on the bus.

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