Tilly rolled her eyes. “One minute Miss Negativity, the next Miss Matchmaker. Mal, do me a favor. Next time the cray-crays come knocking, don’t answer.”
I laughed and headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later when Lanz came back to start a new batch of lemon gelato, I found myself casting glances in his direction, wondering what he was thinking about. Or who. Had he had a girlfriend before in Italy? If so, what had she been like? Probably laid-back, with a great sense of humor, like Lanz. Nothing like studious Eve. Or—I thought with a sinking feeling—like me.
I crossed the floor in a series of bourrées, keeping my ankles as tightly knit as possible while taking the tiny steps on pointe.
“Lift your chest,” Signora Benucci said. “As if you are a puppet with a string at the center of your rib cage.”
I pulled my rib cage upward, tightening my abdomen to support my posture.
“Strong ankles … and where is your weight? Not in the back. Centered. Centered.”
I’d been on pointe for two weeks now, and I was slowly getting used to the redistribution of weight on my toes and arches. In a way, I felt like I was relearning every position. Step, step, step, lift, lift, lift. I tried to ignore the pain in my toes. They were throbbing, but I hardly cared.
Dancing pointe brought me one step closer to dancing professionally someday. I had a long road before me, and knowing that only made me want to work harder.
Now Signora Benucci clapped her hands, signaling the end of today’s lessons.
“How are your feet?” she inquired as I slipped off my pointe shoes.
At home, I’d broken in the toe boxes by crushing and bending them against the floor and my hands. Then I’d fitted the shoes with gel toe pads and sewed on the ankle ribbons. I’d been adjusting them over and over again until they felt right. Over time, I knew, I would learn how to customize each pair I owned, but with this first pair, it was trial and error.
“They’re all right,” I said to Signora Benucci, trying not to wince as I put on my street shoes.
She smiled knowingly. “It will get easier. You’re progressing nicely.” Then she shook her finger at me. “Don’t let what I just said blow your head into a balloon.”
I nodded, then paused, not wanting to ask the question burning in my chest, but knowing I had to. “Signora Benucci, the auditions for Cinderella are next week, and—” I stopped, too nervous to continue.
“You’re wondering if you might audition.” Her eyes bored into mine, and I held my breath, waiting. “I spoke to the board of directors. It wasn’t an easy task, but because you were already a long-time student here, they agreed to let you audition.”
“Really?” Relief made me giddy. “I can’t believe it! Thank you so much.” Then a worrying thought struck me. “Are you sure I’m ready?”
“Malie, I wouldn’t have asked the board to make an exception in the first place if I wasn’t confident in your abilities. You will be as prepared for the auditions as any other student here.”
“But my pointe technique—”
“Is still being refined,” she finished for me. “The same is true of all the other dancers here who’ve just begun pointe. The judges are aware of that. And the principal role in Cinderella has been choreographed with that in mind.”
“I’ll practice as much as it takes.”
She nodded. “I am only one of five judges on the audition panel. I cannot promise you anything.”
“Of course.” I understood how these things worked. But if only I knew how I compared to everyone else.
“Don’t think about other dancers,” Signora Benucci said, as if she could read my mind. “Think what you can show the judges.”
She disappeared into her office, leaving me in the studio, alone with my frustration. I thought about the hours and hours I’d spent in this studio over the past couple weeks, while Mom thought I was meeting Tilly for project prep. I fell asleep exhausted each night, only to dream of dance. Would it make a difference?
I walked out of the studio, lost in my thoughts. I didn’t see the figure standing in the hallway until I nearly collided with her.
It was Violet Olsen, peering down at me with her sharp, catlike eyes.
“Malie!” Her gaze flitted to the pointe shoes dangling from my hand. “What a shocker! I had no idea you were still dancing here. I was watching you.”
“You were?” I glanced at the studio door, suddenly wishing the window cutout wasn’t there. Of all the people to see me here, it had to be her?
Since I’d quit our ballet class, I’d only seen Violet in passing at school, hoping to avoid any prying questions. Only once, she came up to me in the cafeteria and said, “I’m so bummed to lose my dance buddy.” Uh-huh. Sure she was.
Now Violet smiled appreciatively. “Your pointe needs work, but A for the effort. Ice cream’s more your thing, don’t you think?”
I bristled. “Not at all, actually. It’s always been dance for me.”
“Huh.” Violet nodded. “So this is why you quit our class? To take private lessons with Signora Benucci? I’d love to know how you managed that.”
I shrugged. “She offered to teach me.”
Violet’s eyes darkened, but her smile remained unwavering. “Strange. My parents wanted me to take classes privately, but Signora Benucci told them her schedule was too busy.”
My cheeks flushed. I had to be careful in my reaction. “I don’t really know how it happened. Maybe she ended up with some free time after all?”
“Mmm. Maybe.” Violet’s smile widened, which made me even more worried. “Maybe my mom can call your mom? Your mom could fill her in on the details.”
“No!” My panicked voice echoed in the room.
