“You don’t have to.”
She hugged me. “No wallowing alone. It’s our besties rule.”
“Don’t argue,” Andres advised me. “You know how she gets when she’s on a mission.”
That was true. I remembered the time Tilly got it in her head that we should take a class trip to the Everglades to learn about conservation; she hadn’t backed down until our teacher agreed to it. Then there was the time she convinced Andres, Ethan, and me to adopt a sea turtle nesting site. Tilly was intensely loyal to all her causes, which also made her a great friend.
Feeling grateful, I linked my arm through hers and we headed to the library together.
I could only hope that the rest of this day wouldn’t be as bad as the beginning.
Later that afternoon, the storm had passed. As I walked from ballet school to Once upon a Scoop, the weather was sunny and fresh, with a salty breeze wafting from the ocean. Downtown Marina Springs bustled with people shopping and eating at the outdoor cafés. The vacation-y atmosphere only darkened my mood. I’d just had my very last class with Ms. Faraday, which had been hard and emotional. I knew it was likely my very last ballet class—ever.
When I turned the corner and spotted a line of customers outside the parlor, my mood only got stormier. Now I was going to have to put on a happy face for dozens of strangers.
And—even worse—there was Lanz, standing in line. My heart fluttered and heat rose to my face.
“Malie! How lucky to see you!” Lanz said, stepping out of line and walking over to me.
“Lanz.” My voice was wound tight. “What are you doing here?”
“What is everyone else doing here? It is hot today, so … ice cream, of course!” When I didn’t return his smile, he added, “Our apartment is not far from here, so I went exploring and found this …” He tilted his head back to read the sign over the door. “Once upon a Scoop.”
The name of our parlor sounded charming in his accent, but I refused to even crack a smile. “It looks like you’re going to have a long wait,” I told him. “And you got out of line.”
He shrugged. “This doesn’t matter. I have time.” He took a step toward the end of the line, motioning for me to follow. “It will go fast with company.”
“Oh no,” I blurted. “I’m not here to buy ice cream. I work here. My mom’s the manager.”
To my surprise, Lanz’s eyes lit up. “This is even better than I hoped,” he said with obvious delight.
“I’m, um, not sure what you mean?” I shifted my schoolbag, and he reached to slide it from my shoulder.
“Please, let me take it.” His fingers brushed my collarbone, and a shiver ran through me.
“No. Really,” I sputtered. “I’m fine.” But the bag was already off my shoulder, my protests ignored. “So, um …” I struggled to find my train of thought. “Why is my working here such a good thing?”
“Ice cream! I have, um—how do you say in English—skill with the ice cream?”
“Eating it?” The sarcasm in my voice was obvious, and I silently scolded myself. I had no reason to be treating him this way. But everything about his cheery, outspoken manner seemed to rub me the wrong way.
He laughed, looking disarmingly cute. “Eating it, of course. But also making it. I told you before. I am a gelatician.”
“Um, what is that?” I asked.
“Ah. This word is maybe not familiar in English? My father owns a gelateria in Verona,” Lanz explained. “He taught me how to make gelato. Ice cream, also.” He motioned to the line outside the parlor. “You’re very busy. And maybe I can help.”
“You want to work here?” My stomach sank further when he nodded, his eyes hopeful. “We’re not hiring.” My voice was clipped. “The parlor’s on a tight budget.” That was true. Mr. Sneeves wouldn’t let Mom hire any more employees. He said without more sales, he couldn’t spare the expense.
“Budget?” Lanz repeated, and I could see him silently translating that into Italian in his head. “Oh no!” he exclaimed. “I don’t need pay. I would enjoy helping. I have many ideas for flavors, and—”
“The parlor owner won’t let someone volunteer to help out. There’s paperwork, and … and …” Now I was making things up as I went along. Yes, Mr. Sneeves had a lot of rules. But I was technically an unpaid volunteer, and Mr. Sneeves had never said anything to Mom about me not being allowed to work at the parlor. “You can’t work here. I’m sorry.”
Lanz stared at me. For the first time, the smile was gone from his face, replaced by bewilderment.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I am causing you upset.” He handed me back my schoolbag cautiously, almost shyly. The poor guy had just moved here from across the ocean, and here I was, being the unwelcome wagon. “I only thought that you might need someone to fill in for you sometimes? Maybe while you’re at your dance classes?”
I flinched, feeling an almost physical pain. “I—I can’t take ballet anymore.”
He caught the quiver in my voice and took a step toward me, his eyes intent on mine. “But why? This was why you looked so sad this morning at school. Yes?” His expression was so focused, like he already understood me. How was that even possible? He was just trying to pull his charm act on me. I was not going to fall for it.
“Just … never mind. The reason’s not important.”
“You forget. I’ve seen you dance.” His voice softened. “I think this is not your decision, but someone else’s. Made for you. I think that you would never give up dance on your own. You love it too much.”
What was he doing, dissecting my soul? “The tuition at the conservatory just got doubled, okay?” I snapped.
