Juba! by Walter Dean Myers

Priscilla said.
    Dancing with the customers at Almack’s, when the sailors fell in from the ships or when the workers from the warehouses drifted in with their smells and heavy feet, was a rough and tumble business. Men who most women would not have looked at twice began to think they were somethingspecial as they ran their hands over the women or tried to kiss them. All the time, Pete and his staff would be peddling booze and pushing the girls out on the floor if they sat down for more than a minute. It was a scene you didn’t want to see.
    â€œYou can sing?” I asked.
    â€œSome,” she said.
    It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but I sat on our one chair and put my palms up. “Let’s hear you,” I said.
    Her voice was weak, and she came near the key some of the time, but most of the tune got away from her. And she looked so sad.
    I could see why Pete kept her around the club. She was still young, and she was light-skinned, which was what he was looking for, and most of all, she didn’t have any spunk in her. He could push her around and get her to do what he wanted, and that was all that mattered to him. He’d make his money and go to sleep happy. His dealing with a slave trader made sense.
    Lilly was another story. She was bringing Priscilla to me to see if I could do something with her. Why any woman would want to be with a man like Peter was a mystery, but I guessed that some women just stuck with who they found themselves with. Lilly had a good heart, and a little bit of influence with Peter, enough to push him in the direction of improving Almack’s but not enough to protect the women in the place.
    Priscilla finished singing the song, and I told her I would talk with her later.
    â€œI didn’t do too good, did I?” she asked me.
    â€œI’ll find a place for you in the show,” I said.
    â€œYou’re trying to wear four hats and you’ve only got one head!” Jack said when I told him about Priscilla. “Be careful you don’t find yourself out in the rain getting wet.”
    â€œJack, what does that mean?” I asked.
    â€œYou’re trying to pull off a show, you’re trying to raise this man’s club to something it ain’t, you’re trying to show off your talents, you’re trying to save this girl, you’re trying to get blacks and whites together on the same program, you’re trying to help Stubby set up his catering business, and you’re trying to elevate the colored race,” Jack said. “What more are you going to do, train some monkeys to knit sweaters?”
    â€œThat’s more than four things,” Stubby said. “First you said he was trying to pull off a show, that’s one thing—”
    â€œStubby, I can count,” Jack said. “I’m just trying to say he’s doing too many things.”
    â€œWhat kind of business did you say I was in?” Stubby again.
    â€œCatering,” Jack said. “That’s when you cook for parties or private people and bring the food to them.”
    Stubby was very interested in the catering business andwas getting Jack to explain it to him. Jack kept looking over at me, but he was being patient with Stubby and explaining how the event could help him, too.
    I felt a headache coming on because I knew Jack was right. The pressure was getting to me, and I was reaching in too many directions. Some decisions had to be made, and most of all, the decision about what I was going to be doing in the show. Everybody had their own interests, and I couldn’t let them run around me and not let my light shine. I decided to make a list of people who were going to be in the show, and what they wanted. The first thing I needed to do was to see if Margaret was really going to get some Irish dancers or if I would have to go find them.
    Margaret had her hair up with strands tied around paper. She looked like pictures of clowns I had