Violet waved away the offer. “Mr. Sneeves had it dry-cleaned overnight,” she said, then added a reluctant, “he dropped it off at our house this morning. It’s fine, thank god. I mean, a costume from the ABT? You can’t just buy a new one at the mall.”
I bit back the angry remarks I was tempted to say. “I’m glad.”
Her rigid expression softened a smidge. “I heard your mom got fired. That stinks.” I blinked in surprise at the sincerity in her tone. “Was it because of what happened yesterday?”
I hesitated, tempted to make her feel responsible, but I was done with lying. “It happened for a lot of reasons,” I finally said.
“Oh.” Her obvious relief annoyed me. I imagined her thinking, Not my problem. Phew.
“Well … good luck with Cinderella,” I said hastily, wanting to finish this convo before it took a turn for the worse. “You’ll be great.”
“Thanks.” Violet nodded, not smiling, but seeming to respect me for saying it.
I waved, then made a beeline for the doors with Tilly beside me.
“At least that’s over with,” Tilly said.
“Yeah, but I don’t feel any better,” I said glumly.
She squeezed my hand. “You’ll get there.”
I sighed. It would take an eternity.
I lifted into a relevé, then lowered my feet, frowning. I’d been running through the Cinderella routines in the school gym for the last half hour, even though I was certain I’d never perform them for anyone but myself. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop. Except today, my pointe shoes were telling me something different.
I sat down to examine the shoes, pressing my fingers against the tips. Sure enough, the toe boxes were nearly worn through. My pointe shoes were dead.
It wasn’t surprising. This was the pair that Signora Benucci had given me. I’d been trying to make them last, but with all my practicing, they’d worn out faster. Who knew when—or if—I’d ever have another pair?
I leaned back against the gym’s mirror, closing my eyes. Instantly, I saw myself under the spotlight, dressed in that pearly pink costume, pirouetting across the stage. I dropped my head to my knees, trying to shake the image from my mind. I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Violet was Cinderella now.
I slipped off my pointe shoes, cradling them in my palms for a long minute, blinking back tears, feeling like I was about to say good-bye to a best friend.
“Don’t cry,” a voice whispered in my ear, and then familiar, oh-so-welcome arms went around me. “Ku’u momi makamae, my precious pearl, it’s going to be okay.”
“Mom?” I managed through my tears. She hadn’t called me a pearl since I was a preschooler. It had been her and Dad’s pet name for me, and now it only made me cry harder. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Mom kissed my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ears. Then she clicked her tongue at my tears, brushing them away with her palm. “No mother ever wants to be the reason for her child’s tears.” Her voice wavered as she glanced down at my pointe shoes. “I stayed up all night, thinking about you and your dancing.” She ran a finger along the toe box of one of the shoes. “I worry that I’ve been doing all the talking … and none of the listening.”
“I got you fired,” I cried. “I lied to you. I should never have gone behind your back—”
“No,” she conceded, “and I won’t excuse the lying. But … do you know what I spent last night doing?”
I shook my head.
“Watching every one of your ballet recitals. I began to wonder when I turned into someone who’s afraid to let her daughter dream. I didn’t used to be that way. But when hurt is too deep, it steals courage.” Her gaze was far off, and I wondered if she was remembering parts of our life before the divorce. “I’ve been trying to protect you from that same hurt.”
“Taking away dance doesn’t protect me. It hurts me.” I squeezed her hand. “This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. Even if I never had a single moment in the spotlight, I’d still love dance. I can’t not love it. It’s part of who I am.”
“I see that now.” She straightened with resolve. “Which is why it’s time I remembered my bravery. For me and for you. So I got up this morning and walked straight to the conservatory. I waited two hours for Signora Benucci to open the studio. Do you know I never realized how much I have in common with her? We talked for an hour!” She smiled. “In fact, we’re thinking of doing a girls’ night, dinner or coffee. Maybe we can try to get a better handle on this single-parenting thing.”
I smiled through my tears. “I don’t know, Mom. You’re doing okay in the parenting department.”
She shook her head. “I can do better. That’s why I met with Signora Benucci. You see, I had to speak with her, to hear it from her lips.”
I felt the smallest hint of hope. “Hear what?”
“What I knew in my heart when I watched the videos. That you have a gift. Rare and worth cultivating. Maybe it wouldn’t be my worst mistake as a mother, but it would be the one that would haunt me the most, if I kept you from dance.”
“But … what are you saying?”
She smiled. “I’m saying that the role of Cinderella belongs to you, if you still want it. Signora Benucci will consider letting you back into the show, if you can prove to her that you’re ready.”
“I am!” I practically shouted it, and Mom laughed. “I’ve been rehearsing every day during lunch. I know all the steps—”
Mom held up her hands. “Don’t tell me. Tell her. At rehearsal tonight. Signora Benucci had an errand to run this afternoon, so it will be later than usual. From
