I took off my old ballet slippers and slid my feet into the pointe shoes. Then I slowly rose up entirely onto my toes. Suddenly, I felt taller, more graceful, as if the pointe shoes were transforming me. “They feel strange … but amazing.”
“There will be pain,” she warned. “Expect blisters and calluses. Only, for you, I think it will hardly matter. I do believe you’d dance on hot coals if that was your only option.” She wagged a finger at me. “Make sure you use your arch stretcher and keep up with your exercises. Break in the toe box tonight. That will help.”
My stomach knotted even through my joy. “But … they look brand-new. Did you …”
I’d had to tell Signora Benucci only yesterday that I wasn’t sure when I would be able to buy pointe shoes. I couldn’t ask Mom for the money to buy them, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to afford them anyway. And now here was Signora Benucci, giving me a pair of pointe shoes that were exactly my size?
“What nonsense!” Signora Benucci clucked her tongue. “I found them in our supply closet, barely used. Someone must have left them here some time ago.” It wasn’t coincidence, I knew; it was a kindness. Only I didn’t know how or when I’d be able to repay her. “Now go … prontissimo!” She clapped and turned away, signaling the end of the discussion.
I practically ran all the way to Once upon a Scoop, smiling every time I thought about my beautiful shoes. I burst through the back door of the kitchen, dying to show them off. Then I froze, remembering. I couldn’t show them off. At least, not to Mom. I’d have to keep them from her. My stomach fell. Another secret.
“Malie, is that you?” Mom called from out front. A second later, she stuck her head around the door. “I can’t find the latest inventory list. Mr. Sneeves said he dropped it off earlier today. Take a quick look in the back office and bring it out if you find it?”
“Sure.”
In the back office, I found stacks of papers and receipts, but no inventory list. I opened the bottom drawer of the desk and scanned the files, and when I opened the last one, my heart stopped. There was a stack of job applications, each with dates from the last few days, each with the job listing for “Store Manager” written across the top.
This could only mean one thing: Mr. Sneeves was interviewing people to replace Mom. Anger brought heat to my face. How could he do this to her? She hadn’t even had a chance to make any changes to the parlor yet. I gripped the file, pulling it from the drawer.
“No inventory list back here!” I called to Mom. Then I hurried into the kitchen and shoved the file into my schoolbag. Maybe Mr. Sneeves would think he misplaced it. I didn’t know if it would stall the process, but hopefully, it would buy us some time.
“Buongiorno!”
I jumped, startled, and fell back against Lanz. He caught me, laughing. His arms around my waist sucked the air right out of my lungs. No no no no, I scolded myself. This could not keep happening.
“Lanz.” I stepped away. “You startled me.” I made myself sound way more irritated than I actually felt. If the best offense was a good defense, then my defenses were going up. Way, way up.
His smiled wavered with his surprise. “But … what is wrong?”
“Nothing,” I grumbled. “I’m fine.”
He laid his hand on my arm. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe you are.”
I tried a glare and failed miserably. I wanted to be angry with him, to push him away. But it was impossible. His expression was too open, too cute, too … everything. “I just … ,” I started, feeling a storm of frustration building. “I’m just sick of this place! Of working here!” I threw up my hands. “I hate the ice cream, the customers. All of it!”
He raised one adorably crooked eyebrow. “You hate ice cream?” The corners of his lips slowly curled upward. “I do not think so.”
“Fine.” I blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t hate it. But … I hate what it does to my mom. How she spends every waking minute here and then loses sleep over it at night.”
Lanz sat down on one of the metal stools by the ice cream maker and motioned for me to do the same. “Tell me.”
I hesitated, feeling like I was standing on the precipice of something big. But Lanz kept looking at me, waiting, his dark, sincere eyes never leaving mine. Ethan, I pleaded as I teetered at the edge. Why couldn’t Ethan be here right now? Safe, constant Ethan. But Ethan, I knew, was staying late at school to work on his invention.
I took a deep breath, and started talking. Maybe a few minutes passed, or an hour. I didn’t know. At some point, a steady rain started falling. I could hear it tap-dancing on the roof over our heads, and I was thankful. Rain like this meant fewer customers. I heard the bell out front jingle half a dozen times, but that was no big deal. Mom stayed up front to handle the orders, which meant I could tell Lanz everything without her overhearing.
I told him what was going on with the parlor, and what Mr. Sneeves had said to Mom about needing to bring in more business. I told him about the job applications I’d found. And I told him how much I worried about Mom and
