“I’m so sorry, Malie, but not anymore.”
I felt a wave of nausea. I could just imagine Violet gloating when she found out I was dropping dance. Without me auditioning for the part, she’d be a sure bet for the lead in Cinderella. I believed—really believed—that I’d had a shot, too. How could I give up this chance? My lip trembled.
Mom watched me worriedly. “Malie, this is my fault. After everything that happened with the divorce, I wanted you to keep some stability. Dance was what you loved, so I allowed it to continue.” She grew quieter. “I knew the day would come when you’d have to start thinking about more realistic goals, when you’d have to realize that dance is a hobby, not something you devote your life to.”
I stared at her, not believing what I was hearing. “Dance is not my hobby. It’s so much more than that.”
Mom frowned. “It’s a distraction for you, and it takes up too much of your time.” She clasped her hands in her lap tightly. “It’s better for this to happen now, before you advance any further. We can’t pay for you to keep studying. There’s a limit to how far you would’ve been able to go—”
“You don’t know what I might be able to do!” My voice rose an octave.
“It doesn’t matter. I need more of your help at the parlor anyway. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
Tears brimmed in my eyes, but I stood up quickly and walked over to my closet. I didn’t want to argue with Mom. So much of this wasn’t even her fault. If I stayed in this room a second more, I’d unleash every ounce of my anger and sadness at her. I threw on clothes, pulled my hair into a messy side braid, and grabbed my schoolbag.
“I have to go.” I hated the telltale quiver of my voice.
Mom looked stricken. “You need breakfast—”
“Not hungry.” I hurried from the room, Mom’s voice calling after me, then fading into the distance as I burst out of our second-floor apartment and down the flight of outdoor stairs that led to the street.
I ran the two blocks to school, rushing past the tourists with their boogie boards and beach totes, who were scanning the ominous clouds overhead. A rumble of thunder sounded, and blue lightning streaked the sky. Storms often blew into our town from the Gulf, barreling over us in a fury and leaving everything clean, fresh, and new. This morning, the dark clouds mirrored the storm inside me.
Go ahead, I challenged the sky when thunder cracked again, louder this time. Bring it on.
The first raindrops fell like hard pellets, stinging my cheeks, and camouflaging the tears that fell with them.
I dragged myself into Marina Springs Middle School, drenched and miserable. I didn’t bother wringing out my waterlogged hair and streaming clothes. It felt fitting that puddles should form wherever I stepped in the school’s hallways. It was like my own personal river of mourning.
I caught sight of Ethan up ahead, his back turned to me. His blond hair was cutely disheveled and the Invention Convention notebook under his arm was overflowing with wrinkled pieces of paper.
I blurted his name when I was still a few feet away, my frustration pouring out. “You’re not going to believe what happened. The conservatory doubled its tuition, and Mom says—”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” He turned to face me, his eyes widening. “You’re drenched! What’s wrong?”
Every thought I’d had on the tip of my tongue faltered. Because, I realized, Ethan wasn’t alone. He’d been standing facing a boy with tan skin and curly dark hair. It was the boy I’d run into at the studio on Saturday. The Italian boy.
The boy was looking at me now with the same mischievous grin, his eyes glinting like he’d just finished laughing at some hilarious joke. The memory of our collision hit me, and my heart gave an unsteady thump.
“Lanz, right?” I asked, knowing that my tone sounded rude but too upset to care. Why did he have to be here right now, in a moment when I so desperately needed to talk to Ethan?
“That’s right. And you’re Malie like ‘shopping mall.’ ” He cocked his head, and a lock of his black hair slid forward. His grin widened as my face reddened. Ethan looked back and forth between the two of us in confusion.
“You’ve met already?” Ethan asked.
“For a second,” I said quickly.
“A painful second,” Lanz said. “She pirouetted across my foot.”
I frowned, bristling. “Hey, I didn’t—”
He broke into laughter. “I made a joke. That’s all.”
“Oh. Okay.” I fumbled with my braid, something I did when I was nervous. Only … why was I nervous? I wasn’t. I was annoyed. Or maybe nervous and annoyed.
“Lanz was at the conservatory this weekend,” I explained.
Ethan nodded, as if that made perfect sense, which baffled me even more. “Lanz just moved here from Verona, Italy,” Ethan told me. “He was in the office getting registered when I dropped off my Invention Convention permission slip. Principal Thorton asked if I would give him a quick tour of the school before the bell rang.”
“I do not need a tour.” Lanz pushed a hand through his curls. “In new places, I like to find my way with … how do you say, ‘happy accidents’?”
“It wouldn’t be a happy accident if we were tardy,” I said, checking the hall clock. The bell was about to ring and I hadn’t even talked to Ethan about the dance disaster yet. Now there wasn’t a chance of it happening until later. “Our hallway monitor, Ms. Cad, gives out detentions like candy.” At Lanz’s blank look, I explained, “A detention is when you have to stay after school as punishment
