I giggled. “Don’t worry. The school’s Invention Convention will be over next month, and then you’ll have him back.”
Andres and Ethan had been best buds since kindergarten, and Andres took it personally when Ethan’s inventing sprees disrupted their hang time. I, on the other hand, never minded. I was driven in dance; Ethan was driven in science. Whenever Ethan backed out from movie dates or school dances at the last minute, I told him it was fine. He did the same for me when I canceled on him to squeeze in extra dance practice.
Tilly put her arm around Andres. “No pouting today. You’re way cuter without the frown.”
Andres’s expression softened. He never could stay grumpy around Tilly.
“So, who’s in for Heads Up?” Tilly asked, pulling out her phone. “I’m guessing Science Guy is out. What about you, Mal?”
“You have to play,” Andres said to me. “How else am I going to crush your winning streak?”
“That’s not happening.” I stuck out my tongue at him, then shot a glance at Mom, who was logging today’s ice cream stock on the parlor’s iPad. “I don’t know …” I leaned toward them. “Mom’s been riding me for showing up late today.”
“I heard that!” Mom piped up. “Okay, okay, you can have some fun, Malie. But only until the shop opens.”
I nodded, grateful. While Ethan scribbled in his notebook, the rest of us played two rounds, laughing hysterically when Andres tried to act out the word modeling by strutting through the parlor wearing Tilly’s wedge sandals. That one even got a chuckle from Ethan, but he refocused on his work seconds later.
Before I knew it, Mom was tapping me on the shoulder and gesturing toward the front door, where a line of customers was already forming. It was noon. Time to open.
I stood reluctantly. “I’m out. Scoop detail.”
“Okay,” Tilly said. “We’ll hang here for a bit …”
“… and try not to distract you,” Andres put in.
Ethan raised his head long enough to smile at me and say, “Good luck with the crowds.”
“Thanks.” I opened the door, letting a swarm of guests in.
By the time I took the twelfth order, I saw Ethan stand up, disgruntled by the noise. He grabbed his notebook and gave me a call-you-later hand signal.
I nodded and blew him a quick kiss. Tilly and Andres stayed for a while longer, but even they got tired of the crowd and headed for the beach. In the meantime, I kept scooping. And scooping … and scooping. At some point, my mind drifted away from ice cream. I pictured an empty stage with a single, gleaming spotlight. Then I was in that spotlight, spinning pirouette after pirouette. The crowd in the parlor transformed into an audience, holding its collective breath, waiting to see how many turns I could make. My entire body was poised, exhilarated. And then …
“Malie! The scoop!” Mom nudged my shoulder. I blinked, looked down, and saw my scoop poised in midair, dripping ice cream all over the floor.
So much for applause. I adjusted my crooked fairy wings, then leaned over another tub of ice cream. Where was my fairy godmother when I needed her?
“Malie?”
I could make out my mom’s voice over the classical music sweeping through my earbuds.
I blinked. Oh … right. It was Monday morning. I was supposed to be getting ready for school, but instead I was standing in my bedroom, using my dresser as a barre, and …
“Choreographing in your head again?” Mom looked even more tired than usual. When I’d gone to bed last night, she’d still been at the kitchen table of our small apartment, paying bills and sighing over every one. Never a good sign.
“I can’t help it,” I said, taking out my earbuds and putting my phone down. It was impossible for me to hear the music and not envision the moves that might accompany each trill of a violin or cello. When I glanced down at my feet, they were in third position. I was ready to dance even in pajamas.
Mom sat down on my bed, taking in the posters of Misty Copeland hanging on my walls. Misty was my idol—a ballet goddess who’d defied every rule by advancing faster in her dance career than anyone ever thought possible.
“It’s quite a collection you have here,” Mom said. “I never noticed …” She mumbled these words to herself, as if she was realizing something for the first time. She pinched the bridge of her nose—something she did right before sharing bad news. She’d done it when she and Dad announced their divorce, and again when they’d told me he was moving back to Hawaii. I felt suddenly nervous.
“Malie,” she began, “I got an email last night from the conservatory, telling parents about the new dance instructor.”
“Great!” I sat down beside her. This wasn’t bad news at all. “Who is it?”
“They’ve hired someone from overseas. French, or maybe Italian, I can’t remember.” She fidgeted with the bedspread, avoiding my eyes. “Apparently, she’s famous and was in high demand. And now …” She took a deep breath. “… the conservatory’s raising tuition costs to help pay her salary.”
My throat constricted. “By how much?”
“They’re doubling it.” The resignation in Mom’s voice was like a death knell. “And—I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you this—but the rent’s going up on our apartment, too. I found out last week. With the higher rent and now the tuition … we can’t afford the conservatory, keiki.”
My dread rushed headlong into panic. “What? Well, maybe I can cut back on my classes. Go only twice a week. Or …” My mind scrambled for possibilities. “What about scholarships? I can apply for one—”
“I already asked about that. Ms. Faraday and I have been emailing back and forth since last night. She’d love to help, but the conservatory doesn’t offer scholarships, or abbreviated schedules.” Her mouth was a grim line. “I’m afraid you’ll have to quit.”
The world buckled.
