It Doesn't Take a Genius: Chapters 15–21

I hadn’t imagined how much I’d enjoy baking, all aspects of it—the measuring, the mixing...it’s like chemistry but with a bonus result.

Everyone wants to shine. And luckily for you, I’m giving you an opportunity. The ideal role.

You’ve got grit, determination.

The next recipe is up. “Ugh, snickerdoodles. Does classic always have to mean ‘bland’?”

“Those junior counselor positions are coveted gigs.”

I don’t mention that his intern is my nemesis.

“Why do girls always go places together?” asks Charles after the girls leave. “They lock arms and everything. Why are girls so...companionable?”

“Different forms of dance inform each other,” says Triple M. “And you’d be surprised at how much musical theater and mainstream forms of dance borrow from street culture.”

“The point is, it’s all our stuff, not just street culture. We are up in all forms of the art of dance,” says Triple M. Then he makes us do barre exercises for the next fifteen minutes.

I was telling these guys back home about Beat Street, but they nixed it.

There are solo opportunities, and I’m looking for someone to choreograph an ensemble number.

This man obtained almost sixty patents on his inventions, which included the folding ironing board, and—

But, as clichéd as it sounds, I did end up creating opportunities to help me do better and to do good. I get that this Superhero ‘be the best me’ stuff isn’t exactly meaty, but—tell the truth, were you hoping for like, actual superhero lessons?

When I give him side eye, he grimaces.

“How about it’s just a stupid bogus camp competition?” says Hannah, who apparently got to switch into this class even though camp’s half over.

“Sorry, E, we’re leading a found objects diorama workshop right now. I gotta get over to the studio.”

“Here, I have a job for you. Just because you have a free period doesn’t mean you should fritter it away,” he says, and I know better than to laugh at the fact that he said fritter.

It feels like I’m laying it on a little thick, like the time I told Pastor Booth that the Bible was straight fire (“And brimstone, young man! And brimstone!” he answered), but Dr. Triphammer seems pleased.

I think I’m coming up with something that has both old school and next generation appeal for the group routine.

“I can spend some time coming up with a...remix of my original idea that includes a little of everybody else’s, but not in a stealing way.” I add quickly, “More like...”
“You want it to be more collaborative,” Triple M says from behind me, making me jump.

We all do a quick “Show Up! Show OUT!” huddle, then I grab my stuff and run to shower and change; I’m hoping to maneuver myself into the seat next to Natasha in Black to the Future.

“So we’re gonna share the wealth, right? Redistribute resources?” asks Charisse.
A few less yesses, a lot of ums, and Bernard, who tells anyone who will listen (which is no one) that he started the first Black Republicans club at his school, says, “Aww, no, my parents are really gonna freak if this turns into some socialist thing.”

“My girl needs no help, she’s the epitome of Black girl magic, she’s flawless,” yells out Michelle.

“Y’all know how much I love quotes,” she says. “That’s one that’s usually attributed to the artist and educator Lilla Watson—look her up. Google is your friend,” she says to Hannah’s raised hand.

Derek and his buddy Ade look like they’re going to hang with us for some reason, but after a bunch of kids make a beeline for Luke’s group, Luke calls Derek over.

“So anyway, I kept thinking about it and started wondering if that talented tenth idea is kind of elitist, like only some people are important enough to contribute to the community. Ten percent? I mean, come on.”

“You’ll have the mic, record audio, and make sure our sound is on point.”
Well, that sounds tedious.

Yo, this boom mic is GINORMOUS. If anyone is completely not right for the part of GIANT MICROPHONE CARRIER, it’s me.

“Whoa, looks like you need a hand,” says a boy who’s a production assistant, which seems to be a euphemism for “do all the things.”

I get up on a chair a few feet away from Nurse Denene and hold the fishing pole thing that’s holding the mic as high above my head as possible. Which isn’t high enough, apparently, because everyone keeps shouting at me to MOVE BACK, MOVE BACK, and the director of photography, who seemed a little extra if you ask me, kept huffing and muttering about “remedial workshops for newbies” in one of those loud whispers that everyone can hear, and Natasha is telling everyone to be quiet.

“Maybe I should be solely assigned to Emmett, Natasha? I can be assistant to the sound assistant. Or I can be on mic duty alone. Emmett can have my job. It’s demanding, of course, and takes some physical, er, prowess.”

“I’m fine, I got this,” I say, standing up for real this time. “I’m just not used to it, but I’m a quick study.” Everyone stands around looking skeptical, and I grab the equipment from Production Assistant Kid.

I don’t know what Lance’s deal is, but I’m thinking that the only thing worse than flailing around with floaties in the baby pool is flailing around with floaties in the big pool where everyone can see me.

Lance tries to stand next to me and I slide away. Does he think I’m a kindred spirit or something?

“Luke,” I say, but he was ushering his group to a round table.