“Thank you, Miss Analu!” The loudness of Signora Benucci’s voice meant that this was the second, or maybe even third, time she’d tried to get my attention.
“Sorry,” I blurted, sweeping my right foot in an arc across the floor. My nervousness returned full force. “I get lost in the dancing sometimes.”
“It should consume you.” She gave a single, knowing nod. “As George Balanchine once said, ‘I don’t want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance.’ ” She tapped the pointe shoe against her palm. “Tell me, Miss Analu. Which type of person do you believe you are?”
“I don’t believe,” I responded without a second’s hesitation. “I know. I have to dance. And I will.” I sucked in a breath, then continued, “I was planning on auditioning for Cinderella. I don’t know if that’s still possible, but … that’s not all. I want to dance in a company someday and—”
“Those are big dreams, Miss Analu. There will always be others more advanced than you. Better than you.”
I nodded. “I want to dance at my best. Misty Copeland didn’t start ballet until she was thirteen, and she was dancing professionally two years later. It can happen.”
Signora Benucci’s eyes penetrated mine, as if she were the human equivalent of a lie detector. “And if I don’t take you on as a private student? What will you do then?”
“Find another way.”
She gazed at me for a few more seconds.
“Yes. I will teach you,” she said, and relief swept over me. “Your technique is coarser than I would like, but you have promising form, and you move with a passione I don’t see often. And if you progress, I will see what I can do about the Cinderella audition.” She lifted a finger of warning. “That is not a promise. Only a chance. You will be here every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon when school ends. Three p.m.?”
My heart soared. “Yes!” I gushed. “I will. Thank you so much, Signora Benucci! You won’t be sorry!”
Her lips lifted in an elegant smile. “Thank you for helping Lanz with his English.”
“What?” I said blankly, nearly forgetting about the promise I’d made to Lanz. I caught my mistake just in time, rushing on with, “Oh! Right! Yes, no problem. I’m happy to help.”
She glanced at the watch on her slender wrist. “My other students are arriving shortly. So … tomorrow at three?”
“I’ll be here,” I said as I quickly changed from my ballet slippers to my street shoes. I left the studio, my entire body bursting with joy.
Lanz met me outside the dance school. Before he could say a word, I threw my arms around him, gushing, “She’s going to help me! Chee-hu!”
It took about two seconds for me to realize I was hugging Lanz Benucci in the middle of Main Street. His arms tightened around me, and his laughter in my hair made the skin on the back of my neck tingle. Warmth flooded my body before embarrassment made me pull away, blushing like mad.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“I don’t mind. You should smile like that more often. Happiness brings out the amber in your eyes.”
“What amber?” I scoffed. “My eyes are brown.”
Lanz shook his head. “They have an amber rim. Like a halo. It’s bellissima. Beautiful.”
My heart fluttered, and I dropped my gaze, tongue-tied. No one had ever noticed that about my eyes before. Not me. Not Ethan. Ethan …
“I have to text Ethan!” I cried. “And Tilly! They wanted to know how it went.” I pulled out my phone to text them, but then when I saw the time, I groaned. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve got to get over to Once upon a Scoop.”
“I’ll come, too,” Lanz said. “Last night, I made a list of recipes. And—” He picked up a small cooler that had been sitting by the door. “I have some special ingredients.” He gestured to the windows high above the conservatory. “I grabbed them from our apartment while you were dancing for my mother.”
I didn’t have time to ask Lanz what was in the cooler, or to try to dissuade him from coming. I was too grateful to him, and too stressed about the time. I nodded, and off we ran toward the ice cream parlor.
Lanz and I stepped inside the kitchen of Once upon a Scoop to find the counters strewn with spilled sprinkles, toffee crumbles, and chocolate chips. And Mom in the middle of it all.
“Malie, where have you been?” Mom hissed, her eyes flashing. “Mr. Sneeves is here.”
She pushed open the door toward the eating area a crack, and I could see Mr. Sneeves’s familiar bald head and gray suit as he went from table to table, asking customers how the ice cream was and if the service was satisfactory.
“Five minutes after he showed up, I accidentally knocked over a bunch of containers.” Mom brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “I haven’t had a chance to clean them up yet because the line’s been nonstop. People are complaining to Mr. Sneeves about the long waits. And the soft-serve machine has been acting up.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I know I’m late, but you’ll understand when I tell you what happened.” I nearly laughed with excitement. I’d wanted to tell her about Lanz’s idea last night, but the second we’d gotten back to our apartment, she’d started paying bills and her mood went steadily downhill from there. Her mood didn’t seem much better right now, but maybe she’d be relieved that I’d found a solution to the dance problem that wouldn’t cost us anything. “See,” I pushed on, “I stopped at the conservatory and—”
“What?” Mom frowned. “You knew I expected you right after school and you wasted your time there doing … what? Saying hi to your dance friends?”
“Mrs. Analu.” Lanz stepped to my side. “I can
