I cough. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why can’t we just give a performance? You have to make it ridiculous, just like Ba.”
Each of his ideas was as ridiculous as brick shoes.Well,if Jamie thinks I’m ridiculous, I think he’s ridiculous, too. “You’re the one chasing a girl who’s two leagues ahead of you.”
His mouth wads up like a fist ready to punch. Straightening, I face him eyeball to eyeball. The phoenix may stand taller than the dragon by several inches, but he’ll never cow me.
He crooks an eyebrow. “Remember how you thought it’d be a good idea to juggle eggs on the rope? You got egg all over that woman’s head.”
“She should’ve been wearing her hat.”
A smile struggles to break free from his face. “I doubt the RMSTitanicwill look kindly on us if we crack their fine crockery.”
“So we won’t break it. We’ll practice, and if you don’t feel good about it, we’ll take it out.” I whack him on the arm. “Let’s do wake-up drills.”
We run through the stretches, and then I clear the floor to let Jamie practice walking on his hands.
He carefully lifts one leg, then the other. Locking them together, he takes small steps with his hands. But then he sways, and his legs fall apart. He manages to right them.
“When’s the last time you practiced?”
“It’s the ship,” he grunts. “It’s like walking on jelly.” Veering, he nearly kicks me in the chin.
“You’re like a hog on ice.”
He snuffles, then falls on his Queen Mum. “So maybe I haven’t practiced as faithfully as you. There wasn’t a point.”
“Family traditions don’t need a point. They’re traditions.”
“Wake-up drills aren’t traditions. They’re more like... chores.” He rolls out his tricky wrist. Sweat laces his forehead and parses his hair into wet tufts.
“All the more reason to do them. No wonder you’re a mess. Rusty as an old rake.”
How will he get up to speed by tomorrow? We can’t be out of balance. If he can’t ramp up, I’ll have to slow down, and then we’ll look like common street performers.
Hauling him up, I push him into a lunge. I won’t let this unseat us, not after coming this far. “Ready for the three count?”
“Aye.”
I grip his shoulders for support, then step onto his calf. “Yut-yee-som,” I count in Cantonese, then leap onto his shoulders, holding myself in a crouch. If I stood up all the way, my head would hit the ceiling. “Mind the drift, you goat!” The slightest wrong move can have great consequences for the person being carried.
“I am minding the drift. You’ve gained weight.”
“That’s rude. You’ve lost muscle.”
“Don’t insult the bloke holding your ankles. You and Bo aren’t up to anything, right, Sis?”
“Of course not.” My protest comes out too forcefully.
“Good.”
“And what would be so wrong about it if we were up to something?”
“There’s a reason you don’t put a puppy in a cockfight.”
“Who’s the puppy?”
“It’s not you.”
