I nodded through my irritation. Violet would show up on one of the worst days ever. I scrambled to make the sundaes, hoping that the faster I made them, the faster she and her friends would leave. Already my eyes burned from holding back tears. Right when I couldn’t bear another word, Violet walked toward me.
“Malie.” Her voice was quiet, dripping with faux sympathy. “I’m sorry about what happened with this Cinderella mix-up. I was positive you’d already told your mom about getting the part, otherwise I never would’ve said anything.” She offered me a peacemaking smile. “I hope you’re okay, and that there are no hard feelings.”
At first, I couldn’t even speak. How dare she feign regret? My throat closed in anger, my body turning rigid with the effort of staying calm. Finally, I uttered a strangled, “It’s fine. I’m fine. No worries.”
Violet golf clapped, and for a moment seemed to contemplate hugging me. The fierce look in my eyes made her think better of it. “What a relief,” she said as she glided back to her table. “I knew you’d understand.”
I blinked rapidly, refusing to give Violet the satisfaction of seeing tears. Then I refocused on the two trays of sundaes and splits before me, adding sprinkles and hot fudge. Meanwhile, Violet unveiled the Cinderella costume from a garment bag. It was a breathtaking shade—pearlish pink like the inside of a conch shell. It was covered in iridescent sequins, with a delicate heart-shaped neckline.
“It has to be taken in,” Violet was saying over her friends’ oohs and aahs. “But look at this. Sixty layers of tulle in the tutu! It’s the real deal.”
My breath came quick as I slid my hands under the trays. Balancing them precariously, I started for Violet’s table. Just get through it, I told myself.
I didn’t see the puddle of strawberry preserves in my path until my right heel skidded through the slick. A second later I was sitting on the floor, stunned, as trays and sundae bowls clattered down around me.
“Oh my god,” shrieked Violet, staring down at her costume in horror. “Look what you did!”
Ignoring the preserves and chocolate sauce dripping from my own hair, I stood up and stared at the red and brown splatters across the bodice of the Cinderella costume. “I’m so sorry.” My voice quivered. “Let me soak it in some cold water—”
“Are you kidding?” Violet’s face was the color of the strawberry preserves, her mouth curled into a scowl. “You did this on purpose, just to ruin it for me!”
“I didn’t!” I cried. “ I slipped—”
“What on earth?” Mom’s voice came from behind me, and I turned to find her staring at the scene in horror, Mr. Sneeves right behind her.
I opened my mouth to explain, but before I could, Violet exploded, “This is the worst customer service I’ve ever received.” She jabbed a finger in my direction. “She deliberately spoiled this costume, and her attitude is completely unacceptable.”
Mr. Sneeves stepped forward. “My deepest apologies. If you’d allow me, I’d be happy to have the costume dry-cleaned—”
Violet pulled the costume protectively to her chest. “No one in this shop touches this costume.” She stared at me. “I never would’ve expected you to be so cruel, Malie.” With that, she barreled out of the shop, her friends in her wake.
“Miss Analu.” Mr. Sneeves’s voice was deadly calm. “A word in the kitchen. Now.”
I could barely look at Mom as we followed Mr. Sneeves into the kitchen.
“Mr. Sneeves,” I began as the kitchen door swung shut, “this was a terrible accident—”
“No. I don’t think so.” He scowled as he turned to Mom. “Your complete inability to exert control over your daughter’s behavior has led to a level of unprofessionalism I never should’ve ignored.”
Mom shook her head, an apology already forming on her lips.
“Unprofessionalism?” I repeated before Mom had the chance to speak. The fury building in my throat poured out of me. “I’ll tell you what’s unprofessional, Mr. Sneeves. You criticize my mother for the way she runs this parlor, even though she works extra hours without overtime pay to make sure it’s successful. She deserves your respect, and if you would pull your head—”
“Malie!” Mom grabbed my arm, pressing it firmly. “Enough.”
“No, Mom. I can’t stand it—”
“Go home.” Her eyes were commanding, unflinching. “Now.”
I glared at Mr. Sneeves, whose face had gone from white to purple with rage, and suddenly a panicky doom washed over me. What had I done?
“No.” Mr. Sneeves’s tone was an ominous bell tolling. “Both of you go home.” He stared at Mom. “You’re finished here. Permanently.”
The tears I’d been holding back for hours now—tears of regret over Lanz, of fury toward Violet, of injustice for Mom— overflowed.
I turned, and without another word, without waiting for Mom, without even looking at her, which I knew would break my heart, I left the shop. Forever.
I smiled, listening to the sound I loved—the soft thud of ballet shoes landing on wood—as I leapt across the stage, basking in the spotlight. Then the thudding grew louder, more urgent.
I opened my eyes, then instantly wished I hadn’t. The reality of the last twenty-four hours crushed the remnants of my dream. I sat up in bed. The thudding—no, it was tapping—turned manic.
I looked out the window. Tilly was glaring at me from the second-floor landing, motioning for me to come outside.
I glanced at the clock. Seven a.m. Aue! I’d overslept, and school started in half an hour! I leapt out of bed and cranked open my window. As soon as I did, Tilly stuck her head inside.
“What do you think, it’s summer vacation? Get up already.”
I temporarily pushed aside my shock that Tilly was speaking to me after days of the cold shoulder. I pulled my hair into a mussed knot and threw on some clothes. “I can’t believe how late it is,” I said, dashing into the bathroom to brush my teeth. “Mom never lets me oversleep.”
“I don’t think she’s here,” Tilly said. “I knocked on the front door first.” When I came back into the room, she added, “I’ve been standing out here for ten minutes trying to wake your sorry butt up. The lengths I go to for you.”
I paused mid–shoe tying. “Is that a Tilly-style apology?” I desperately hoped it was, because I especially needed my best friend after the Once upon a Scoop debacle yesterday. Even now, fresh tears threatened.
“Waterworks already?” Tilly said. “I didn’t even say sorry yet.”
“I know,” I blubbered. “But … I’ve missed you. And my life is a calamity.”
Tilly climbed through the window and swiftly grabbed me in a hug. “I doubt it. If I hadn’t noticed the sea turtle caught in the fishing net on my walk here. Or rescued it. Or told off the surfer that was ignoring it on the beach. That would’ve been a calamity. But … try me. I’ll be the judge.”
Five minutes later, I’d told her everything—Lanz leaving, the fiasco with Violet, Mom getting fired.
“Whoa,” she said. “That qualifies. For sure.”
I nodded morosely. “And I can’t undo any of it.”
“Nope. It’s like one of your sundaes. Once it melts, there’s no saving it. Unless you like ice cream soup.” She shrugged when I gave her a doubtful look. “Hey, I’ve always been a fan.” I giggled, and she smiled triumphantly. “Laughter. A good sign.”
I shook my head. “What am I going to do?”
She squeezed my shoulder. “Go to school, first off. Second … email Lanz to tell him how you feel.”
“What good will it do now?”
She stuck her hands on her hips. “Look at all the trouble lying’s cost you. Telling him the truth certainly can’t make things worse.” She handed me her cell. “Get your brave on. Do it now. Andres got his email address before he left.”
I looked askance at her. “You never even wanted Lanz and me to get together.”
“Hey. I needed time to process.” She jabbed a fi
nger at her phone, dictated Lanz’s email address to me, then disappeared into the bathroom to give me some privacy.
I logged into my email and wrote:
My hand hesitated, but I closed my eyes and hit SEND before I lost my nerve.
Tilly stuck her head around the bathroom door. “Did you tell him that you’ll travel to the ends of the earth to be with him and his gelato?”
I tossed a pillow at her, but then she checked the time and whistled. “Come on or we’ll be late.”
I grabbed a yogurt and banana from the fridge, read the note Mom had left on the table saying she had an early appointment in town, and left for school with Tilly. It was such a relief to be hanging out with her again that I felt the tiniest bit better.
“By the way, I am sorry.” Tilly kicked at an orphaned seashell, keeping her eyes fixed on it as it tumbled down the sidewalk. “I know I overreacted to your breakup with Ethan.”
“It wasn’t just my breakup,” I said quietly. “Ethan wanted it, too.”
Tilly nodded. “I had this idea in my head of how things would be. How they should be.”
“I know. But our friendship’s too important to let any boy get in the way of it. Ethan or Lanz or … whoever. We can be there for each other through the changes, right?”
“I hate change,” Tilly grumbled, kicking the shell into a nearby oleander bush.
I smiled. “You can’t hate change. Since you were ten you’ve been swearing you’re going to change the world by stopping global warming.”
She laughed. “That’s true.”
We walked for a few minutes in comfortable silence, but when we rounded the corner to school, I froze. Violet stood on the school steps, talking to her friends. The frown on her face said it all.
“Guess who she’s badmouthing?” I moaned. “I changed my mind. I can’t do school today.”
“Yes. You can.” Tilly steered me back toward the doors. “Your mom lost her job, your crush left the country, and you’re freaking out over her?” She scoffed. “Perspective, Mal.”
I climbed the steps to face Violet’s cutting glare. “Hi, Violet,” I tried. Her glare darkened. “I just want to say I’m sorry. Again. For your costume. And … I’ll pay for a new one.” I had no idea how I’d be able to afford it, but that didn’t matter.
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 six to nine. She says you have a lot of work to do. The performance is only three
weeks away, and as much as she wants you to dance, she’s not sure—”
“I can do it.” The certainty coursed through my blood. Then I hesitated, glancing at Mom. “But, Mom, it’s my fault you lost your job. It’ll be my fault if we have to leave Marina Springs.”
Mom shook her head. “It’s no such thing. Mr. Sneeves has impossible standards. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life, which is why …” She smiled shyly. “I have an interview at the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop this afternoon.”
“What?” I stared at her.
Her voice was laced with pride. “They’re looking for a new ice cream manager and were impressed with my experience.” She smiled. “And they’ve heard about our Fairy-Tale Ambrosia. Apparently it’s trending on Snapchat?” She shrugged. “It has quite the reputation around town now.”
I smiled. I’d have to tell Lanz. He’d be thrilled. A second later, my smile waned, but then I brushed thoughts of Lanz aside. “That’s great, Mom. I’m so proud of you.”
“And I of you.” She hugged me as the lunch bell rang.
“I better go.”
She nodded. “Me too. I have to figure out what to wear to the interview.” She smiled, looking sheepish. “And do you know what else I decided today? I’m going to start checking out some online dating websites.”
“Mom!” I cried, feigning shock when really I was thrilled.
She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not having a midlife crisis. I just want to get more of a life.”
I hugged her. “Good for you, Mom. I’m more than okay with that.” I pulled on my sneakers and tucked my pointe shoes into my schoolbag. As worn as they were, I’d have to make them last one more day. “So I’ll see you at home after the rehearsal?”
She shook her head. “No. You’ll see me at the rehearsal. I haven’t seen you on pointe yet.” She gave me one last hug. “I can’t wait.”
I unlocked the door to our apartment and rushed inside, adrenaline buzzing through me like a thousand happy bumblebees. If Signora Benucci said I could have the role back, would there be a Cinderella costume for me? What about my pointe shoes? And—biggest of all—what about Violet? Who was going to tell her about me dancing the part of Cinderella? Playing through every scenario of how she might react made my stomach liquefy. And through all my worry and excitement, Lanz was there, at the forefront of every thought.
Sundae My Prince Will Come Page 13
