Love Double Dutch! Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Doreen Spicer-Dannelly

  Cover art copyright © 2018 by Vanessa Brantley Newton

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Spicer-Dannelly, Doreen, author.

  Title: Love Double Dutch! / by Doreen Spicer-Dannelly.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2017] | Summary: “Kayla must salvage her double Dutch dreams after her parents’ rocky relationship takes her away from Brooklyn—and her beloved team—to spend the summer in North Carolina” —Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016028497 | ISBN 978-1-5247-0000-3 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-5247-0002-7 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-5247-0001-0 (hardcover library binding)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Rope skipping—Fiction. | Family problems—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction. | Family life—North Carolina—Fiction. | North Carolina—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S7145 Lov 2017 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  Ebook ISBN 9781524700027

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: Double the Pressure

  Chapter 2: One Jump Closer

  Chapter 3: Reality Bites

  Chapter 4: Change Is Gonna Come

  Chapter 5: Southbound

  Chapter 6: North Carolina State of Mind

  Chapter 7: Summer Sass

  Chapter 8: Color-Blind

  Chapter 9: Two Times Two

  Chapter 10: Meeting the Boys

  Chapter 11: New Leaf

  Chapter 12: Country Swag

  Chapter 13: Double Trouble

  Chapter 14: Love-Struck

  Chapter 15: Step It Up

  Chapter 16: Second to None

  Chapter 17: The Dance

  Chapter 18: Mix and Match

  Chapter 19: Pool Party

  Chapter 20: Bright Ropes, Big City

  Chapter 21: The Moment When…

  Acknowledgments

  Man, it’s hot! The air is thick and sticky like the lotion on my skin, and it’s just the way I like Brooklyn in the summertime. People around Bed-Stuy are always complaining about the humidity, but I love it. It’s like drinking water when I’m jumping double Dutch. Refreshing. But one thing I can’t stand is when I’m still in the house and I’m sweating just trying to do my hair. After three extremely hot summers, I thought my parents would’ve installed air conditioners by now, but no. And my fan is on its last legs. Pitiful. But if I don’t hurry, I’m going to be late for practice, and if that happens, my coach can disqualify me from competition. So I put my hundreds of micro-braids into a ponytail. It’s better this way ’cause it won’t mess me up when I’m jumping. I don’t know how my friends can fuss with their hair and put on makeup in this heat. They do it just to look cute for the boys, who barely pay attention to them anyway. We’re only thirteen; we’ll have plenty of time for boys later. Besides, they have no idea how they look after practice. All those makeup shades and mascara mixed with dripping sweat make for one colorful hot mess.

  I rush out of my room to find my little brother playing games. Literally. Cameron is sitting on the steps playing on his kiddie tablet with one sock laid out right next to him and the other at the top of the stairs. “Cameron!” He never does what I ask. Then again, he’s only seven. “Cameron, did you put socks on your feet before you put on your sneakers?” I can see he didn’t. “Cameron!” Having a little brother requires patience, and right now I don’t have any.

  “Cam, I’ve got to get out of here. You should have been ready an hour ago, like I asked you.” This boy is not even paying attention to me. So I snatch his toy away. “Go get your other sock and come right back down here. Now!”

  “Stop yelling at me.” Cameron hates me yelling at him as much as I hate my mother yelling at us, but it’s just so darn effective. I quickly wrestle the socks onto his feet and tie his sneakers, and we’re out the door. Finally.

  * * *

  —

  My mother was supposed to drop Cameron off at the babysitter’s on her way out, but she said she had to leave early. Said she had something important to do. I am guessing it had something to do with my dad, because she had that serious I’m-about-to-kick-somebody’s-butt look on her face. My mother usually acts all dignified, but she’s feisty. And when she’s suspicious of somebody messing around with him, my mother gets really jealous. One time she cursed out a cashier at the supermarket who was flirting with my dad while my mom was standing right next to him. Sometimes I overhear women in my neighborhood talking about how my father is too handsome for his own good and that my mother puts up with too much of his stuff—well, they use other words, but I get their point.

  Truthfully, my parents are a soap opera in and of themselves. They should call a TV network and have people follow them around with cameras. They would make one crazy reality show. Especially my father; he doesn’t mind the attention, but my mother does. So when they argue and get mad at each other—which is every other week—they almost forget they have kids, and that’s how I end up stuck with Cameron. A lot. It seems like ever since Cameron came along, my parents have been fighting more often. I don’t think their problems have anything to do with him, but I twist my lips and raise an eyebrow to the possibility that they just might. We don’t look anything alike. When I was about six years old, my dad left my mom and me for one reason or another, and they were apart for some time. They got back together, then Cameron was born. All I know is that I spend more time with Cameron than they ever do.

  And all of this drama is why I got into double Dutch. It’s the only time I have to myself, and when I’m between the ropes, I feel free. I’m focused on two things: keep jumping, and don’t mess up. I don’t let anything get into my head that will make me dwell on what’s going on at home. In the ropes, it’s about me, about how many perfect jumps I can do in two minutes. So when my parents started tripping, double Dutch became my outlet. That and my diary, which is the only place my secrets are safe. By fifth grade, I was hooked on double Dutch. Now that I just finished seventh grade, I love it, and it still keeps my mind off how unfair my parents can be sometimes. I may be a kid, but I’m not stupid; I know something crazy is going on. I guess I’ll find out what the new episode of The Real House Lives of Sarah & Johnnie is later tonight. It’s probably just another silly fight. At least I hope it is.

  The babysitter living so close is cool; walking past the guys at the corner is not. I can’t help but notice them beyond the trees, beyond the little kids playing hopscotch on the chalked sidewalk and people sweeping their steps. Summer just started, and they’ve found absolutely nothing else to do but buzz around in front of the bodega like a bunch of
bees waiting to sting anyone who gets in their way. With music blaring from tall speakers on the sidewalk causing all this unnecessary noise, these boys will stand there all day sniffing behind girls, looking for honey. I hate to walk past the swarm, but there’s no time to cross the street. Besides, showing fear isn’t something you do around here. I just don’t have time for saggy-pants-wearing, up-to-no-good boys. And like clockwork, one of them steps in my way.

  “ ’Ey, girl. Where you going? Can I come?” some random boy asks.

  I pay him no mind and walk around him.

  “Leave my sister alone!” Cameron yells back.

  I yank Cameron closer and drag him as fast as his feet can shuffle. The three boys laugh at my little brother’s only defense, which makes me kind of sorry that I yelled at him earlier. The corner boys’ constant catcalling and begging is annoying, but I hate to admit that it does boost my ego, even if they aren’t my type. They think I’m pretty, I guess. Am I? It’s hard to tell, since they do that to every girl who passes by. Maybe if one of them pulled their pants up, wore a shirt, and got a real haircut, I might stop to say “What’s up?” My mother thinks I’m too picky and that I’ll never find a boyfriend if I keep acting so uptight. Who said I was looking for a boyfriend, anyway? A boy is the furthest thing from my mind right now. I have a double Dutch tournament coming up.

  Thank goodness Ms. Sharine is waiting for us in front of her brownstone home, or I’d really be late for practice. Once I hand Cameron off, I run the next three blocks to make it to the gym on time!

  I pull open the rickety doors of the old, run-down community center gym, praying Ms. Jackson doesn’t see me sneaking in. She is one short, curvy lady who used to be double Dutch champion in her day, so she doesn’t play when it comes to tardiness. Even if I’m five minutes early, I’m considered late. Ugh! She’s so hard to please. Good, she’s busy directing the junior coaches. Dang. It’s crowded this year. As soon as the double Dutch league came to Bedford-Stuyvesant, it seemed like every kid who thought they could jump joined quicker than they could post flyers around town. There are even boys here. What? Really? Ever since some boys from Japan showed up at the Holiday Classic at the Apollo—one of my dream competitions—two years in a row and won the whole thing, suddenly all the boys in Brooklyn think they can jump too. Cute, but whatever. Girls still rule. Boys…hmm, maybe that’s why this graffiti-covered gym is twice as funky as it usually is. Some of these kids need to learn to use deodorant. For reals.

  I don’t know if my heart is beating hard out of fear of Ms. Jackson seeing me or because the sound of the ropes hitting the floor is inviting me to the National Jump-off at the end of the summer. It feels like I’ve waited my whole life to compete in the nationals—well, since fifth grade—and now it’s finally here. No longer will I compete against girls my age and younger and be known as “one of the best middle schoolers” in Brooklyn. I finally have the opportunity to compete with the older kids for the chance at becoming a junior high national champion. And that’s exactly what I plan to do. Even at practice, other kids show respect because I’m always wearing my game face and I hold the title for speed. Now I’m here to win bragging rights for another year and on a whole new level. So it doesn’t matter if we have to jump double Dutch in a funky cardboard box. I want to make it to the jump-off.

  I see my team—Mimi, Nikki, Drea, and Eva—sitting on the floor. What?

  “Why are you guys sitting around? You should be warming up,” I say, and mean it. Seriously, though.

  “We’re waiting on you, Kayla. We thought you weren’t coming,” Mimi retorts after she pulls her thumb out of her mouth. Even though we’re on our way to eighth grade, Mimi still sucks her thumb like a kindergartner. It’s weird, but she’s my best friend and she never backs down from my bossiness.

  “When have I ever not shown up for practice?” I ask incredulously.

  “You’re captain of the team. You’re never supposed to be late either,” Mimi answers back, and stands up. “So what’s the problem?”

  “I had to take care of my little brother. My mother…Look, can we just get to jumping?” I don’t have time to put my family’s business in the street, nor do I want to. I just grab the ropes and begin untangling them.

  No one says another word. We all just assume our positions. Mimi and Eva turn while Drea and I jump. Drea is a little chubby, probably from eating a lot of her abuela’s rice and beans, but she can jump like nobody’s business and she’s a really good turner. Eva is a lot like me, and sometimes we bump heads on ideas, but after a few frustrating arguments we’ve realized we make each other better. And although Eva’s glasses make her look nerdy, she’s quite bossy herself. Sometimes she gives me this feeling like she’s jealous of me or something. But whatever; they’re my friends, and we make a great team. And because we’ve known each other since third grade, unfortunately they know things aren’t always cool at my house. So I just push whatever is going on at home to the back of my mind and focus on the ropes. We get started with the warm-up routine that we all know inside out. Two of us turn, two jump, then we switch as we sing our warm-up song.

  Jump in! Jump in! Warm those legs till they burn!

  Get loose! Get loose! Watch the ropes while they turn.

  Pick up your feet, pick up the pace! No time for us to waste.

  Keep up! Keep up! No time-out.

  Let’s show ’em what the Double Dutch Jets are all about!

  Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

  We’re moving so fast that everybody stops and stares. We take up as much space as we need to do our tricks: cartwheels in and out of the ropes, double high hops, knee lifts, twirls, and other stuff we do carefully so we don’t catch the ropes with our feet. Everyone clears away, giving us room ’cause we’re just too fly for a small area. We get to my favorite part: speed. I always try to beat my last time and jumps per minute. Whistle! Ms. Jackson calls it quits on warm-ups. Even after the whistle, I still speed-jump.

  “Keep turning!” I demand.

  “One-two, one-two,” Mimi says to keep me on track.

  Eva rolls her eyes but turns feverishly while Drea thumbs the clicker on a handheld counter. After a few more speedy jumps, my feet catch the ropes. I haven’t even broken a sweat. Whistle!

  “What’s the count?” I ask in a big breath.

  “Three hundred seventeen,” Drea answers with a smile.

  Any number over three hundred jumps within two minutes is very impressive to judges. But before we can get excited about our progress, Ms. Jackson blows her whistle for the third time.

  “I’m not going to blow this whistle again! I need y’all to come front and center!” Ms. Jackson yells as she pops gum. My mom says popping gum is tacky, but Ms. Jackson has mastered it like a form of art. She says it helps her dieting, and she’s probably on a new one now ’cause she’s killing that gum. Either way, Ms. Jackson is always blaming her crankiness on her diet and telling us that “you need not get on my nerves.” Whoops. I think I already did.

  Having been one of the famous Double Dutch Divas, Ms. Jackson is familiar with the addiction to double Dutch, but she will not be disrespected by any “wannabe” champions, as she says so often. She’s constantly telling us how she struggles to volunteer her time and loves seeing us having fun, and how she believes someday we’ll keep the dream alive of bringing double Dutch to newer heights, maybe even making it an Olympic sport. In the meantime, she’ll “be damned if you all drive me crazy.” Ms. Jackson clutches her clipboard in one hand and rests the other on her hip. Her gum-smacking slows down as she stares at my team, the Double Dutch Jets, but mainly me, as we find a spot on the gym floor.

  “Double Dutch is not just about jumping rope. It’s also about respecting the sport, fellow jumpers, and everyone involved. And I don’t have to explain the meaning of ‘respect’ to you again, do I?” Ms. Jackson says, expecting the right
answer.

  “No, Ms. Jackson,” the group says in unison.

  “Good, ’cause when I blow this whistle, that means it’s time to stop what you’re doing and listen up.” Ms. Jackson says this looking dead at me, and then at the rest of the Jets. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Ms. Jackson,” we all answer respectfully.

  I know Ms. Jackson is referring to me. I twist my lips and roll my eyes, which I know she hates, but I can’t help it. Some of the kids are here just for fun, but I’m here to compete and win big. I think she understands my mission more than she cares to let me know, so she just gets on with her business.

  “Now, I’ve got some good news and some bad news. The good news is, regionals leading up to the National Jump-off at Madison Square Garden will start next week,” Ms. Jackson informs us. Everybody gets all excited. “Wait a minute, now. Let me finish.” She tries to settle us down. “The bad news is that not everyone from this league will make the cut,” she says matter-of-factly. The crowd moans.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to be in that competition,” I say without hesitation. There is a murmur among the teams about who’s going and who’s not. Some of them don’t think I can hear whispering that we’re—well, that I’m—conceited and stuck-up. Whatever. My team is good and they know it.

  “All right, everyone, settle down. And, Ms. MaKayla Mac, if you don’t humble yourself, you and the rest of the Double Dutch Jets won’t be going anywhere,” Ms. Jackson replies with attitude. No, she didn’t just call me by my full name. The oooohs swell in the room like I’m supposed to be embarrassed.