Description: Chapter One: The Man on the Stage One THE MAN ON THE STAGE Tuesday Relly L. Morton could dance where there was no stage. Everybody from grandmommas braiding hair on front stoops to the incense man trying to make a sale took note. Harlem knew Relly as the kid who danced from Marcus Garvey Park to the barbershop. From the Schomburg Center to the Apollo. If Relly L. Morton was not dancing, the world may as well quit spinning. "Broadway!" a man selling Harlem T-shirts shouted, giving Relly a nod. "You the boss round here!" "Boss" was Relly''s nickname. It was a bright blue Monday in March when Relly used the rail of a nearby brownstone to pretend it was a barre. He needed to warm up each muscle before the evening show. Sure, all the actors could warm up at the Ethel Merman Theater, but why wait until he got there? As he grabbed the rail, he bent his knees. He moved slow, stretching down, then lifting himself back up. Slower. Down, then back up. Steady. Down, up. Three quick plis as his brother, Bobby, crossed the street. "Really, Relly? In the middle of Seventh Avenue!" The brothers were on their way to 132nd Street. Relly nodded back to the T-shirt man as he eased into a walking dance, a dancing walk. Then he hopped the curb, lifting his feet off the ground until they were on their points. Tiptoes. Relly did a quick triple-time step, thinking of the move he would do on stage during the show''s opening number. The role of Pax in the Broadway musical Our Time called for Relly to be flexible, nimble, alert. Each show was a performance, each performance broken into acts. Each act was a workout. The show opened back in November. Since then, Our Time had sold out every day by noon. When tickets opened, they were gone in minutes. Even though it had only been four months since the start of the hit show, Relly felt he had been on Broadway for a lifetime. This was on his mind as Relly ignored his brother, concentrating on loosening his muscles. At the corner, he did a brush tap that made his foot go forward. It hovered over the smashed gum on the sidewalk. Crossing 129th Street, Relly''s feet did a single Cincinnati time step. He dug his heels into the sidewalk, then shuffled and brought them back. The move was in tune with the chime of the pedestrian walk sign. When Relly walked, he danced. When Relly danced, he tapped. And Relly''s taps had zeal. Even if he had on sneakers, Relly''s dancing had essence. "Hurry up, Relly!" "I''m trying!" Relly let both feet riff. Three counts, three beats against the sidewalk as he stepped past a toddler sound asleep in her stroller. Then he swiveled and swirled into the grand finale, an array of toe stands and rubber legs. Left and right, front and back, zigzag moves that made him feel free as a golden eagle taking off in flight. The motion of Relly''s feet was a force on the ground. A force so strong, it lifted him straight into Juanita''s door. In the middle of Harlem, Juanita''s Market was known for cheese sandwiches and a cat named Harold, and the cheapest pineapples this side of the Hudson. "What surprise come through my door this evening? Mr. Morton himself!" said the woman behind the deli counter, Juanita. "Harlem''s Broadway star. You come to let me have your autograph? You come to teach me some of your moves?" she joked, lifting her left foot forward and backward, showing off her own moves. Her off-white apron had the green embroidered nickname "Nita." Relly inhaled the scent of beef and toasted bread. Melted cheese and freshly cut tomatoes. Then, the smell of cleaning solution. His feet were still in movement doing quick tap moves across the bodega floor. In front of the candy stand, Relly was on his toes, then back down with his heels to the floor. Toes again, then heels to the floor. Up, down. Up, down. "Nah, not today. We''ve come to get some groceries, Nita," said Bobby, picking up a silver basket. Relly''s moves must have been a little too swift, because Bobby gripped Relly by the shoulders and squeezed so tight, Relly felt his soul leave his body. A yelp left his mouth. "Ow!" Bobby twisted his brother around. "I''m begging you. Swear l''ll give you the most valuable thing I own if you teach yourself how to be still." "Valuable?" Relly asked, pausing to take a step back from his brother''s grip. It wasn''t that Bobby didn''t have valuable possessions, but Relly was trying to think of a comeback. "You mean like those socks you collect? I''ll pass." The two brothers were used to exchanging words back and forth. Relly, being the brother who could not keep still, naturally annoyed his older brother Bobby. Bobby was quiet and calm. Bobby hated excess noise and could always be found with a textbook on his lap. "Be studious, Relly. Open a book like your brother instead of doing all that running and jumping, commotion-making round the living room," their grandfather said before the brothers left the house. Bickering or not, aggravation or nah, it was all love. "Ha!" came Nita''s laugh from behind the counter. She wiped her hands on a cloth as Relly slid farther from Bobby''s reach. "I''m serious, Relly." "You? Serious? You better catch me first." Relly did a quick turn, a fouett in the middle of the floor, almost knocking over the rows of Kit Kats and Twizzlers with his stretched-out leg. He stood back on his two feet, easing away from the stand. "Listen to your brother, Relly," said Nita. "Love you both, but you knock over even one shelf, it''ll be you behind this counter making cheese sandwiches. That''s a promise." Relly couldn''t tell if Nita was serious or playing. He was not about to take a chance and find out. Before they stopped in the store, the sun had already started to tire. Its bright yellow hue had been exchanged for a muted orange. The last thing Relly needed was to be late for sign-in on account of destroying Nita''s store. "Noted!" Relly caught his reflection in the bodega window. Then he caught Bobby''s side-eye and narrowed eyebrows. The pointed look that told Relly to apologize. "I mean, I hear you, Nita! Sorry. Will not happen again. Promise!" The afternoon sun gave Relly''s deep brown skin a glow. Same shade as his momma''s, a shade darker than Bobby''s, a match to his grandfather Gregory''s complexion. Relly smiled, pleased with the dye job he had done on his hair. A purple mixed with pink that reminded Relly of a Jean-Michel Basquiat painting. He forgot the title, but he never forgot the colors during that third-grade school field trip to a SoHo art gallery. Only thing different about Relly was his height, if anybody dared call five foot three short for a twelve-year-old. "You got the list?" Relly caught up with Bobby down the baked-goods aisle. "Dang, you''re fast." That quick, the basket in Bobby''s hand was stuffed with sugar, salt, plus a giant bag of pecans. Bobby handed Relly the creased piece of paper and nodded toward the aisle of canned goods. Relly hadn''t been able to figure out why Momma wanted to make a pineapple upside-down cake for his and Bobby''s grandfather''s birthday. Thursday was almost a whole three days away. Plenty of time to buy a real cake. One full of buttercream. "Get the rest," Bobby instructed. "You literally almost got it all." "Imma ask Nita to make me a sandwich." There were only two items left on the list to pick up. Pineapples and cherries. The two most important pineapple upside-down cake ingredients. Relly walked down the aisle, passing up the artichokes, green beans, three different types of corn. He thought about his ninety-four-year-old grandfather back home. Grandpa Gregory would be ninety-five on Thursday. Does a ninety-five-year-old even care about cake? Relly picked up the glass jar of cherries from the top shelf. He made a mental note to check them off the list as he did another fouett. With Nita''s warning still stuck in his head, Relly made sure not to stretch his leg out nearly as far. One fouett up the aisle, then one fouett back down. No, let me do that again , Relly thought. Because what harm was there in practicing another? One more fouett down the aisle. An extra fouett back up. By now Relly had found the pineapples. Nita sure did keep an odd number of pineapples. Three rows packed with pineapples. Three rows stacked with pineapples. Momma wanted whole slices, big enough that when you pick up your fork, every bite of cake had a piece of fruit. In one hand he held the jar of cherries. With the other, Relly picked up a blue-and-yellow can. Ready to turn around and meet up with his brother, his eyes shifted back to the shelf. There were the pineapples in their cans, but there was an object behind the cans that his eyes gravitated toward. "Aye! What''s up with the timber? You selling firewood now?" There was one random slim piece of wood lying on the shelf. Relly shifted the can and cherries in the palm of his hand. Then he picked up the piece of wood and held it between his thumb and pointer finger. When he flipped it over, it warmed to his touch. Sun-shining-on-your-skin type warmth. The tingling traveled up the length of his arm. From the crook of his elbow, across his shoulders, the tingling went down into his spine until it turned into a tickle that crept into his feet. Relly wiggled his toes. Relly wiggled his nose. Nita had not answered his question. A rhythm swept into Relly''s ears. It was a pulse that strummed against his

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