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climbing.

    â€œI’m going to need some bottles of water for the Hip Hop Kidz Performance Group. Twenty-six should be enough,” Devane told Billy Wilson, the coordinator of the Southeast competition. “And there’s a burned-out lightbulb in our dressing area. I’m going to need that taken care of, too.”
    â€œWho are you again?” Billy asked.
    â€œDevane. I won’t be performing with the group tonight. But don’t worry, I’ll be bringing it to the nationals and the world championship. I’m the secret weapon,” she explained. “I noticed that PowerBar has signs up. Are they one of the sponsors?”
    Devane had gone to a basketball clinic at a sporting goods store with Tamal once—because he begged until she thought her ears were going to start to bleed. Gatorade had its name plastered everywhere, and everyone who showed up had gotten a bottle of the new flavor. And the NBA player they’d shipped in for the clinic—the Gatorade man had made sure he had a biiig bottle of the G. juice in his hand every time anyone took a pic. That’s how she had learned about sponsorship gigs.
    Billy shook his head. “What’s going to happen if I say yes?”
    â€œI thought the sponsor might have some of their product for my team. It would look good for PowerBar to have the Hip Hop Kidz seen using their stuff.” Devane winked. “We are going to be winning tonight.”
    â€œOh. In that case, I’ll see what I can do.”
    â€œI appreciate that,” Devane told him. Then she headed to the backstage area—part of the fairgrounds—that had been assigned to the Hip Hop Kidz. She was still the only one from the group there. Perfection. She wanted to have everything ready before anyone arrived. If Gina wanted to see a team player, then Devane was going to be THE team player.
    She reached under the long counter that the dancers would be using to put on their makeup and pulled out the banner that she’d made and a roll of tape. Devane decided to hang the banner over the entrance to the backstage area. That way, everybody would see it—not just her crew. Give the competition a little somethin’ to think about.
    â€œYou must be Devane,” a teenage guy said to her as she climbed up on a ladder and began to hang the banner. She glanced at him. He held a carton of bottled water and a box of PowerBars in his arms.
    â€œWhere’s my lightbulb?” she asked.
    â€œYeah, you’re her,” he said. “And I’ll get your lightbulb in a minute. Oh, the ladder—it’s mine, by the way, Princess.”
    â€œPrincess, I like that,” Devane joked as he passed by her.
    â€œWell, just so you know, Princess, there’s a producer here tonight. He’s checking out the talent. Looking to do some music videos and DVDs with a teen crew. I thought that was something you’d want to know.”
    A producer? Here? Tonight? Devane almost jumped out of her skin, wondering if she even heard right. Looking to do some videos? Imagine what that could do for my three-year plan. Slash it right in half. But she put her excitement in check. Didn’t want to show her excitement. Because that kind of behavior was totally A.M.A.T.E.U.R .
    â€œAbsolutely. I’ll make sure to follow up on that,” Devane told him.
    She was feeling fine. Tonight was her night. She knew it. She was getting off probation tonight. She had to—after everything she was going to do for Gina and the team. She wasn’t going to sulk around backstage the way she had at the Disney World show. She was going to work her tail off.
    â€œHip Hop Kidz Got the Juice,” Devane heard Gina read aloud. “Great sign.”
    Devane hopped off the ladder. “Thanks. No one’s here yet. But I heard there’s a guy who’s interested in making videos—maybe with the Hip Hop Kidz. I’ll keep my ears