“Maybe I’ll still get a chance to dance again someday,” I said vaguely.
Dad nodded. “You will. I’m sure of it.”
We ended our FaceTime session when Dad was approached by a customer. I hung up wondering if all kids of divorce tiptoed around certain touchy subjects like I did. I found myself wanting to ask Lanz about it, which threw me right back into emotional shambles. I pressed my face into my pillow, letting out a muffled scream of frustration.
When my cell vibrated, I grabbed it, filled with a completely illogical hope that it might be Lanz. It was a text from Tilly:
I fidgeted in my bed. I wanted to talk to her about Lanz, but what if she reacted badly? I thought back to when Ethan and I had first become a couple. Tilly had practically commandeered our relationship, playing matchmaker so that our foursome could stay intact. For the first time ever, I censored what I told my best friend.
I frowned at the screen.
My stomach lurched, and I sank back onto the bed.
I’d been staring at the screen, dumbfounded. I recovered enough to type a quick note to Tilly.
I turned off my phone and lay in the dark, picturing Lanz and Eve kissing. It was better this way, I told myself. Less complicated. I’d stay with Ethan, Lanz would go out with Eve, and all of us would be friends, without anyone’s feelings getting hurt. Besides, I had my Cinderella audition on Wednesday. Nothing—especially not some crazy unrealistic crush I’d conjured in my mind—was going to distract me.
Waiting in the hall of the conservatory, dressed in my leotard, tights, and pointe shoes, I leaned forward into a deep stretch. With my forehead touching my right knee, I hoped to give off the impression of being focused. But I was hyper-aware of the other dancers in line with me. We were all there to audition for Cinderella.
Some girls chatted excitedly, while others’ faces were pinched with concentration, or even nausea. I could relate, especially when I saw Violet breezing through the door, smiling and nodding to the other dancers like a queen nodding to her court.
“I have to be someplace by four,” she was saying to the girls at the back of the line. “Would you mind if I just … ?” Before anyone could complain or even answer, Violet glided to the front of the line, until she stood directly behind me.
“Malie.” She nodded hello. “You must be so nervous.”
I gave her my best nonchalant smile, then glanced at the glass doors leading to Main Street. I scanned the sidewalk for Ethan. He’d promised he’d be here. Where was he?
“I’ll come as soon as the list of kids moving on to the National Invention Convention is posted,” he’d said. He’d been talking about “the List” since Monday’s Invention Convention, when he’d presented his lifesaving surfboard to the judges. I’d snapped the pic of him and Eve holding their ribbons (they’d tied for first place). But no sooner had he taken down his trifold display than he refocused on making it to nationals. I wasn’t surprised. This was how it was every year. Only this year, I had this huge chance with the Cinderella audition, and I secretly wanted him to make a big deal out of it. My head understood the unspoken deal we had—that both of us would understand each other’s focus on our goals. But my heart? These days, my heart didn’t know what to feel. It had been in a dizzying pirouette since the carnival. I wasn’t the only one noticing, either. So far this week, Tilly had ribbed me at least a dozen times between classes or at lunch.
“Is it the audition?” she’d asked, then added as a side note to Andres, “I told you someday she’d snap under the pressure.”
It wasn’t only the audition. I couldn’t admit to her how often since the carnival I’d caught myself daydreaming about Lanz. How often I’d scanned the hallways for a glimpse of him with Eve. I’d seen them walking together a few times, and my stomach had turned to a block of ice. Lanz still ate lunch with us, and I saw him at Once upon a Scoop, but lately he was quiet and distracted, not at all his chatty, exuberant self.
I glanced out the conservatory door again. No sign of Ethan, and I was next in line to audition. Violet’s appearance wasn’t doing anything to calm me, either. Come on, I told myself, get it together.
“Being nervous helps me,” I said to her.
Her laugh was a tinkling bell, too practiced to be real. “I used to get nervous, too. Back when I was starting out. If this doesn’t work out for you, there’ll be so many other chances. Remember that.” She smiled sweetly.
“Thanks,” I said, vowing not to let her pretenses unhinge me.
“Malie Analu?” A woman was holding the studio door open. “You’re up.”
After one final glance toward the empty sidewalk, I stepped into the studio. My heart struck walloping beats against my ribs. I took in the five poker-faced judges seated at a long table. Only Signora Benucci gave me the slightest hint of a smile.
“You may begin,” the stern-looking man at the end of the table said.
I settled into fourth position. You’re ready, I reminded myself. I’d broken in my pointe shoes more over the weekend, and even managed to sneak in a couple extra hours of practice in the school gym during lunchtime. My toes and arches still ached, but I could tell they were already stronger than they’d been just the week before.
I pushed off from fourth position, tombé-ing with one leg as I swung my supporting leg up, performing a series of step-over turns. Then I moved into a pas
