Freestyle (Academy of Stardom Book 1)
Freestyle: Chapter 2

“Yo! What ya doin’?”

I turn around, my arms dropping to my side, my body stilling as I look at the boy standing behind me. He’s tall, like a foot bigger than I am, maybe even as tall as my older brother, David, who’s eighteen and towers over my Mum now. Apparently, I don’t have the tall gene. We’ll see.

Crossing my arms over my chest and breathing in deep, I look at the boy with dark hair and dark, dark eyes. They’re like the sky at night without any stars. If it weren’t for his amused smile that makes his lips pull up into a crooked grin, I might have been more wary of him.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m dancing,” I retort, rolling my eyes.

Obviously.

A bead of sweat slides down my forehead and I swipe at it with the back of my hand. I wonder how long this kid has been standing there watching me. My skin heats. I don’t dance in front of anyone, and the only reason I’m here in this playground is because no one on my estate uses it. The place is a fucking dump.

“Yeah?” he winks, sitting down on the rusty swing in front of me, that smile getting broader. He has really white, straight teeth, except for one which has a chip in it. There’s a little piece of his front tooth missing, and I replace myself wondering how he did it.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” I state, giving him a once over as I cock my hip, planting my hand there. He’s wearing beat-up, black Nike trainers and grey baggy joggers with his boxer short strap showing above the waistband, and a white t-shirt rolled up at the arms making his skin look tan against it. He’s kinda cute, but I’m not really interested in boys. Especially not ones who spend their time hanging out on street corners and causing trouble for the rest of the people living on the estate. Boys like my brother, David, who wears a cross around his neck like he’s one of God’s disciples even though he belongs to the fucking Devil himself. I’ve never understood it. My mum’s a church going, religious nut, and pretends she’s holier than though when really she’s worse than those nuns you hear about beating the shit out of kids in orphanages.

“That’s because I just moved here a couple weeks ago. Just scoping the place out…” he looks around the playground, unimpressed. “So, this is shit.”

The curse word rolls off his tongue with ease. I mean, I’m not shocked or anything. Everyone swears around here. I swear too, but mostly under my breath or in my head because my mum would give me a slap if she caught me. Not that she needs an excuse to hit me, she does it often enough without reason.

“Like really shit,” he emphasises.

“Yep,” I agree, popping the p.

He’s right, this playground is shit. There’s one swing, which he’s sitting on, a rusty see-saw and a slide that’s seen better days. The frame is covered in graffiti that isn’t proper graffiti, just a bunch of cuss words and images of dicks and tits. Totally unoriginal and nothing like the graffiti by Bling and Asia that’s dotted around Hackney. Those are real works of art.

“Did someone set a moped on fire?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the pile of rubble just over the other side of the iron fence surrounding the playground.

“Couple weekends ago. Stolen.” By my brother. Though I don’t say that part out loud. What’s worse than someone who snitches? Someone who’s blood and snitches. I keep my mouth shut. Telling on David would be a death sentence. A literal one. I have no doubt that my older brother is a certifiable psychopath.

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, jaded by the environment just as much as I am.

“None of the kids who live on this estate ever come here,” I explain, untying my long brown hair and shaking it out a little. I’m not sure why I decide to take it down, maybe it’s because Mum says it’s my best asset with a face as plain as mine. It’s the only backhanded compliment she’s ever given me. She doesn’t think I’m pretty. I don’t think I’m pretty. I push that thought away. “Most of them hang out on street corners, smoking weed.”

“Yeah, noticed that. So you come here to practice your dance moves?” He gives me a once over and I feel suddenly shy at his ogling. I don’t think he’s being creepy, just interested. I checked him out, he’s checking me out. I guess we’re even now.

“Where else am I supposed to dance?” It’s not like we’ve got any room at home. I share a bedroom with my little sister, Lena. She’s eight, annoying, and takes up all the room with her dolls.

“I know somewhere… Want me to show you?”

I bark out a laugh, almost doubling over. “You gonna offer me a sweet next in exchange for a blowjob?”

“What?! Fuck no!” he splutters, dragging his heels over the ground so that he’s no longer swaying, but still.

“So you’re not some weirdo, preying on young girls then?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest and trying to look all badass when inside I’m giggling like a freak because I made him so uncomfortable. He’s not a weirdo, I can tell.

“No. I swear…” he scrapes a hand through his thick, dark hair and grins when I burst out laughing. “I’m just making friends, and I dance like you. Thought we could hang out.” He shrugs.

“Show me…” I challenge him. I wasn’t born yesterday. He might not be a pedo, but he still might have an ulterior motive. I’ve not met one person around here who hasn’t. “Prove to me you’re not a pedo.”

“Fuck, man. I’m not a pedo. I’m fifteen. Besides, you’re not really my type.”

“I don’t hook up with boys,” I say haughtily. Thou shalt not covet dangerous boys with chipped teeth and black, black eyes. Nope, definitely not.

“Fair enough. How old are you anyway?” he asks, getting to his feet. I have to look up to meet his gaze. This kid is tall for fifteen, and broad. By the looks of his arm muscles, he can probably throw a wicked punch too. He’s not quite as filled out as my brother, David, or as scrawny as some of the guys on this estate, he’s kinda in between. His face is the same… in between. Like, he’s not really a kid but not really an adult either.

“Fourteen,” I answer.

“And your name?”

“Pen.”

“You’re called Pen?” He grins again, snorting with mirth.

“Short for Penelope. I hate it. So call me Pen, got it?” I scowl a little, hating the fact he replaces my name so amusing. I like Pen. I don’t like Penelope.

“Yeah, got it,” he retorts, holding his hands up in mock defence, watching me with his night-time eyes.

“Good.” No one’s gonna make me feel small. Besides, I’m used to kids throwing their weight around. It’s kinda what we do here on my estate. You either show the bullies that you’re a badass or you let them walk all over you. Despite my lack of height, I’m not a victim. Never will be. Besides, I’ve had plenty of practice dealing with shitty people, my brother’s the biggest bully on the estate and he takes great pleasure pushing me around. Blood might be thicker than water, but it means jackshit in my house. I hate him.

“Are you gonna tell me your name then?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

“It’s Zayn.”

“Zayn?” I snort with laughter, immediately thinking up rhyming words. “Zayn, the pain… in my arse.”

Zayn scowls. “I could be a real big pain in your arse if you say that again.” He steps forward, puffing out his chest and staring down at me, the smile gone. For a moment, his black eyes don’t look so friendly. Now it’s me who’s backing off, though I don’t think he’d actually hit me like some of the arsehole’s my brother hangs around with would.

“Whoa, just kidding. Chill, man.”

“I am chill…” He seems to shake himself. “Just don’t take the piss, and we’ll be good. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He makes a funny grunting sound that only makes me bite back another laugh. “So, Zayn, you were gonna prove to me you’re not some weirdo coming onto me, and can actually dance…” I say, standing back and folding my arms across my chest.

“What, right now?”

“Yeah, right now. It’s only fair.”

“There’s no music…”

“And?” I question. “You don’t see me wearing fancy headphones, do ya? I can remember a beat well enough. I got all the music I need up here,” I shrug, tapping a finger against my head.

To prove my point I start tapping my foot, swaying my body in time to the rhythm in my head. Filthy by Justin Timberlake starts to sound in my mind. When the first beat drops I lift my arms up and slide my foot across the floor, folding my body over as I turn my head to face Zayn. Giving him a quirk of my eyebrow, I make quick, jerking movements, keeping my hips still and torso stiff whilst moving the rest of my body robotically. Occasionally, I’ll intersperse my jerking movements with a smoother flow, my head rolling on my shoulders, my arms floating in the air as I spin on the ball of my feet. This is a dance I’m perfecting. A mash-up between contemporary and hip-hop, I guess. Well, at least I think it is given I only have YouTube to go by. Zayn watches me, a sudden light flashing in his eyes as he bops his head in time to my movements.

“Sick moves,” he says appreciatively.

“Thanks,” I respond, grinning back. Apart from my little sister, no one has ever complimented my dancing. Mum thinks it’s a waste of time and my non-existent father doesn’t even know my name; let alone the fact I love to dance. My brother, David, he just mocks me any chance he gets, all the while holding onto his fucking cross as though that absolves him of all his sins. Urgh. “Come on then, start moving…”

Zayn swaggers towards me. “Alright, Pen. Demanding, ain’t ya?”

I stand my ground as he lifts onto the balls of his feet then shifts back onto his heels as he moves from side-to-side. He smirks then flicks his right arm out to the side in a wave that undulates back up his arm across his shoulders and to his left arm, his body following the movement.

“That’s all you got?” I question. It’s customary to provoke another dancer, and something about the arrogance he’s showing makes me want to do just that. I can already tell by this one simple movement that he’s a good dancer, he has rhythm. I just ain’t gonna let him know that.

“I got it all, Pen. I got it all,” he responds, taking the bait.

Zayn crosses his legs and spins on his feet, working his shoulders and snapping his wrists in time to a beat only he can hear. When he holds his arms out wide then smirks, I know he’s about to throw an impressive move. I wait, holding my breath. My skin prickles as he flips forward onto his hands and lifts his legs up in the air, scissor-kicking before flipping over and landing before me, kicking up dust and tiny grains of stone as he moves. He straightens up, panting, then crosses his arms over his chest and gives me this cute little smirk like he knows he’s the shit.

He is the shit. This boy can dance.

“Believe me now?” he asks, meeting my gaze.

“Yeah, I believe you.”

We stare at each other for a moment. My lip twitches as I try not to grin stupidly. I feel like I’ve made a friend. That doesn’t happen too often for me. I like my own company, mostly. Trust isn’t something I give very easily, and you have to trust someone enough to be friends with them.

“So, do you wanna know where you can dance without needing a tetanus jab, Pen?” Zayn asks, tipping his head to the side as he stares at me. I like the way he says my name.

“Sure…” I mutter, gnawing on my lip. My heart pounds at the thought of having a place to dance without fear of being caught by one of the arsehole kids on my estate and having to defend my passion. “Where?”

“You know the boarded-up house on Jackson Street?”

“Yeah. I know it, that’s where the drug dealers hang out.” Zayn shuffles on his feet and gives me a look that I don’t like. Shit, that’s where he dances? I step back, shaking my head. “No way, I ain’t going there.”

“It’s not a big deal, Pen. We got the basement to use as we like… We’re there most nights, hanging out.”

“We?”

“Me and my dance crew.”

“You have a dance crew?”

“Yeah, we’ve been looking for a fifth member. Interested?”

I am interested, but there’s no way I’m getting involved with that shit. My brother’s well known by the crims running the place on Jackson Street. “No.”

“I swear, we ain’t involved in any of that gang shit. We just use the space to dance. That’s it.”

He looks sincere enough, but I know how things go around here. Whatever Zayn’s connection to that place is, it will bite him on the arse one day even if he’s not involved with them right now.

“Look, I ain’t stupid. Whatever agreement you have with the Skins, I don’t want no part of it.”

Zayn sighs. “I’ll lay it out for ya. Jeb is my uncle. He promised my mum he’d look out for me. That’s what he’s doing.”

“Jeb, the leader of Skins is your uncle. Like hell-to-the-fuck, no.” I start walking away, all hopes of a new friendship and somewhere safe to dance disappearing with every step. Jeb is well known around here, not because he’s a good guy with good intentions, but because he’s an arsehole who fucks people over and sells drugs to kids.

“Wait!”

Stupidly, I do just that.

“I swear. We just use the place to dance…”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It ain’t like that. Jeb’s blood.”

“Won’t stop him from being an arsehole.” I should know.

“Maybe not to the general population, but he’s cool with me. I swear.”

Shaking my head and rolling my eyes I give Zayn a long hard look. “For now, maybe.”

“So you won’t come?”

“No. Not now, not ever.”

Except, a month later I replace myself at number fifteen Jackson Street, eating my words.