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probation?
    â€œOkay.” Gina went on laying out the moves. Devane did everything she could to be exactly the kind of student Gina wanted as the class continued. But she kept getting distracted by the same question: How much time did I just add to my probation? It kept repeating itself, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. How much time did I just add to my probation? How much time did I just add to my probation?
    Devane felt like she was being stung by a wasp each time the question buzzed through her brain. She was relieved when Gina called the group over to her for announcements at the end of the class, and usually Devane never wanted class to end.
    â€œI just wanted to say again what a great job you did at the Disney World show,” Gina began.
    Devane felt her face heat up. She was the only one in the group who hadn’t been there.
    â€œAnd you’re going to get the chance to show your stuff again,” Gina continued.
    Max covered her mouth, but a little squeal came out anyway.
    Say it, Devane silently pleaded. Say the Kidz are going to the Southeast regionals.
    â€œBecause Maddy and I have signed up for the group to take part in the Southeast regionals,” Gina finished.
    â€œFlippin’ sweet!” M.J. yelled.
    Max leapt onto Fridge’s back and pounded him on the head with her fists. Sophie hugged Emerson.
    Devane wanted to holler and screech and do her victory dance and hug every single person in the room. But she couldn’t speak or move. This was beyond huge.
    â€œIf we’re selected as one of the top three varsity crews—that’s groups with members ages twelve to seventeen—we get to move on to the nationals. Six varsity crews from the nationals move on—”
    â€œWe’re going to the World Hip-Hop Championship!” Becca shouted, doing a split-leg cheerleader-style jump. “Yay, us!”
    â€œThere’s no guarantee we’ll make it all the way to the championship,” Gina cautioned. “But if you keep working as hard as you have been, I think we have a real shot. Now, we’re going to need to fit in some extra rehearsal time—because regionals are in just about two weeks!”
    â€œWho are we competing against?” Emerson asked.
    â€œShe means who are we bringing down,” Ky added.
    â€œYou’re going up against about sixty other hip-hop groups from all over our side of the South. That’s Louisiana on over and up to Virginia,” Gina told them. “The judges will be Joe O’Neal—”
    â€œHe choreographed Fly Girl,” Becca exclaimed. “I saw that movie about a gazillion times.”
    â€œNot to mention Miami’s very own J-Bang,” Gina went on, smiling at ill papi. He didn’t smile back.
    â€œYou mean ill papi’s own J-Bang!” Max leapt off Fridge.
    â€œPapi, your papi’s one of the judges. We’ve got this thing locked,” M.J. said. He fist-bumped ill papi.
    â€œCome on, now,” Gina said. “You know we can’t expect any special treatment from J-Bang because he’s ill papi’s father.”
    â€œYeah, my dad doesn’t play that way,” ill papi agreed.
    â€œAnd we don’t need it. We can win this thing on our own, right?” Gina cried.
    â€œYou know it!” Devane called, getting her voice back.
    â€œWhere’s the championship going to be this year?” Chloe asked, smoothing down her “Pale Is the New Tan” T-shirt.
    â€œYou’re gonna love this,” Gina told them. “Los Angeles. The nationals are there, and then the winners move right on into the world championship a couple of days later. And the whole thing is going to be televised.”
    This is it. This is IT. If I can’t get discovered in Los Angeles —on TV—then I am not Devane.
    And I am sooo Devane.
    She began her victory dance. Hands high, hips rocking, feet flicking. Forget the three-year plan. She