As I finished my final pirouette and moved into a low curtsy for the judges, I broke into a smile. No matter what happened, I’d danced my best for them. I felt the truth of it in the tingling of my limbs, in the happiness hurtling through my veins.
I barely saw Violet or the other waiting dancers as I left the studio and changed into my street shoes; adrenaline turned the hallway into a heady blur. When I stepped out into the sunshine and saw no sign of Ethan, my exhilaration dampened. He hadn’t come. But as soon as the thought flashed through my mind, a second one came behind it, a voice censuring me. Who were you really hoping for? the voice whispered. Ethan? Or Lanz?
I struggled to silence the voice. Of course it was Ethan. It’s always been Ethan. But … what if I’d outgrown “always”? What if “always” didn’t fit Ethan and me—us—anymore?
I pulled out my phone. Five text messages. Three from Tilly—each one exhibiting more and more frustrated emoji faces—asking for an update on the audition, one from Andres’s phone (but really it was Tilly again), and one from Lanz. I read Lanz’s last.
My hand trembled as I stared at the screen, my heart lifted by his words. Then my phone vibrated, making me jump. There it was. A text from Ethan:
I pictured him hanging out with his Invention Convention buds, toasting their victories over slices of supreme pizza (his favorite). Even after my great audition, I wasn’t in the mood for that. But this wasn’t anger. It was the gnawing feeling of something shifting inside me, of some of the expectations that I’d had about Ethan and me blurring with confusion and doubt.
It was a simple text, but it felt like the beginning of something immense.
I had just gotten to school the next morning when it happened. As I stood at my locker with Tilly and Andres, my cell vibrated with an email. I knew it would be from the conservatory. I managed a weak “It’s here” to Tilly, who promptly made a grab for my phone, which I swept out of her reach.
“Let me see.” Tilly jumped up and down.
“Just … give me a sec.” I leaned against my locker, clutching the phone to my chest. Since yesterday, waiting had been excruciating. Of course, Mom had had no idea why I was so on edge.
“What’s gotten into you?” she’d asked last night, when I’d kicked the door of the deep freeze for not opening on the first try. “Is something wrong at school?”
I couldn’t tell her, but the guilt of keeping the secret from her only added to my moodiness.
Now I closed my eyes. I’ll be happy with any part, I told myself. Any part at all.
Holding my breath, I opened the email. I had to reread it twice before the words sank in:
Dear Ms. Analu,
It is with great pleasure we offer you the principal role of Cinderella in our June 1 performance. Daily rehearsals will be held 4–6 p.m., Mon–Sat. Attendance is mandatory …
“I’m in,” I whispered as Tilly and Andres, who’d been reading over my shoulder, whooped and grabbed me in a crushing hug. “I’m in!” I laugh-shrieked.
“Not just in.” Tilly squeezed my hands. “You’re Cinderella!” She stepped into the middle of the hallway and yelled, “Attention, peeps! My best friend is going to be a famous ballet dancer someday. So you better be picking up your trash, or she’ll tell the world that global warming’s all your fault.” A few kids slowed as they passed her, and she raised a threatening eyebrow at them. “That’s right. You heard me.” She turned to me. “I need to post this on my blog! We could do a role-model spin on you, talk about your conservation efforts …”
I yanked Tilly back toward my locker, giggling. “Famous is a teensy bit premature, Till. But thanks for the love …”
My voice died as I saw Violet walking in our direction, her lips in a composed smile.
“Malie.” Her arms went around me in a barely there hug. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
She held me at arm’s length, as if she were an adult appraising a child. “I didn’t know you had it in you. Cinderella! I cannot believe it!”
“Me neither.” I fidgeted with my schoolbag as an awkward silence settled between us. “So … what part did you get?”
“I’ll be Fairy Godmother.” Her careful smile quivered. “And they’ve told me I’ll be your sub for the part of Cinderella.” She waved a hand. “They always have to assign substitutes, because … well, you never know, do you?” She glanced down at the floor. “This is the first year I won’t be dancing as principal.”
“I know. I’m—I hope you’re not too disappointed?” I would’ve been, if I’d been in her position, and that made me feel a twinge of guilt, even through my excitement.
Her lips quivered faster, but she shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of chances in the spotlight. It’s only fair to give somebody else a shot. And anyway, I have a long dancing life ahead of me.”
“That’s a great way to look at it. It’ll be fun to work together. You’ll be a terrific Fairy Godmother.”
She tilted her head at me. “Aw. That’s sweet of you.” She gave me one more smile, then said, “I better go. You’ll want to spread the news.” She gestured to my cell phone. “I’ll bet your mom is going to be speechless!”
She breezed down the hallway as my stomach hardened into a boulder of dread.
“My mom.” I gave Tilly a pleading look. “How am I going to tell her?”
Tilly rolled her eyes. “Open mouth. Words
