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dancing away as if they had been friends for years.
    Martin couldn’t contain himself any longer. He turned his basketball cap backwards and hit the dance floor. His head was doing fine, on the beat every time. Now he had to get the rest of his body to work. He started with a stepping backwards and forwards movement which worked – he looked around to make sure no one disapproved. From there he added a sideways step that seemed to work, and he continued with a one, two, forward, a one, two, back, one, two, left, one, two, right trip which meant that he commanded even more space and still no one complained – the fact that he got the room he needed was a sign that he deserved it. After a minute he realised that he had to do more, it was becoming a bit routine and his hands weren’t doing much, so he took all the steps and applied the chaos theory, going forward, then left, then backwards, then left, then forward, then right, any way at all. Then he put his hands in the air and …PANIC!!!
No one else has their hands in the air,
he thought.
Do I look like a raver? I don’t want to look like a raver in here
. At this point he noticed a couple of people looking. His hands were still in the air but he didn’t want his concerns to be known, so he moved his hands from side to side and whilst he was doing that he lost the rhythm in his feet.
    Now he really began to panic. He screamed internally,
Oh, no, I look like Cliff Richard, I’m dancing like my parents.
The more he tried to return to his credible steps and find something useful to do with his hands, the more he thought he’d lost it.
No, they’re looking at me
, he said to himself.
What can I do with my hands?
    In front of him he saw somebody dancing and adding gymnastic moves to the dance.
That’s it
, Martin thought,
I can do that
. His feet found the rhythm and he chose his beat well. When it hit he went down for the splits and bounced back. It worked. He counted in his head,
one, two, three
and lounged forward as if he was going to fall on his face and at the last minute he put his hands forward to cushion himself. Now the other gymnastic dancer noticed and came to dance in front of Martin, copying his moves and falling at his feet. The crowd made a space and Martin realised they were now the central attraction. The boy went down into the splits position and put both his hands on the floor to his left, then he bounced again, bringing his hands to the right as hecame down, then he rolled forward head-first on to his feet, and as he landed he was still dancing with his hands on his hips.
    The crowd clapped. Martin looked around and there was Marica, Natalie, Naz and Teen bopping to the beat and looking on. ‘Go on, Martin, do ya stuff,’ came a shout from behind. It was Mark.
    Matthew stood silent, suffering from disbelief. Martin dropped into the splits with his hands to the left, then to the right. He then put his hands one to each side and picked himself up. After a little fancy footwork he dropped down again, spun himself around and rolled forward head-first on to his feet. This was enough to get the crowd going, but then to everyone’s astonishment Martin moonwalked backwards, took two steps forwards and somersaulted. He landed perfectly, finishing in a muscle man pose.
    The crowd loved it, they cheered and reached out to touch the two dancers. The two dancers slapped hands in the air and went their separate ways. It was a friendly competition and not a word had been passed between the two dancers. There was rapturous applause from the crowd and Martin, now the cool white brother, had earned some respect.
    Natalie and her friends made their way back to their corner. The Gang of Three followed after Martin had received all his congratulations and what felt like a hundred pats on his back. Natalie wasspeechless – less than two hours ago he didn’t like rap. In the past when she saw him dancing he looked as if