Mom had given me my phone back, so I’d emailed him again today to tell him the latest news. But I hadn’t gotten any emails back. His absence and silence were the only dark spots in my brightening mood. I wished I could talk to him face-to-face. I wished I could tell him exactly how I felt about him. I wished I could see his adorable curls again. I wished … I wished …
A demanding knock on the front door pulled me from my thoughts. I opened the door onto a perspiring, mottled Mr. Sneeves. He didn’t bother with a hello, but instead blurted, “Is your mother here? I need her. Right away.”
I stared at him. The nerve! As if he had any business asking after Mom, when twenty-four hours ago he’d fired her. “Sorry,” I said curtly, “but she’s at an interview right now. At the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop.”
“What?” He huffed. “Well. But. That’s not—”
“You fired her. Remember?”
He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. “But, but, I have an enormous ice cream order to fill at Once upon a Scoop!” His eyes turned pleading. “The Sanibel Resort wants fifty gallons of the Fairy-Tale Ambrosia for a wedding this weekend. The wedding is for the daughter of one of their best patrons. Everything has to be perfect. I haven’t hired a new parlor manager yet, and no one else knows how to make the ambrosia!”
“That’s a shame,” I said flippantly. “It’s the most popular item on the menu.”
His face was streaming with sweat now. “I don’t suppose … you don’t know how to make it. Do you?”
I hesitated. I could tell him no, and let Once upon a Scoop bomb. But what about what the parlor meant to Mom? She’d given it so much of her time and energy. She was proud of the parlor and the way she ran it. And Lanz? The Fairy-Tale Ambrosia had been his invention. Maybe this was something I could do for him—a small gift I could give him in thanks. My heart made the decision for me.
“I’ll make the ice cream,” I finally said. “But only on one condition.”
“Which is?” Mr. Sneeves asked impatiently.
“You tell my mom she can have her job back. She might not take it. She’s heard great things about the salary and benefits at the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop.” Mr. Sneeves grimaced. “But … you promise to let her have it back. If she wants it.”
Mr. Sneeves mumbled a string of indecipherables under his breath. “Fine. It’s a deal.”
“Good.” I grabbed my rehearsal bag and phone, knowing that I’d need every second I had between now and six p.m. to churn that much ice cream. I’d have to leave straight from the parlor for rehearsal. As I swung the door shut behind me, I said, “Mr. Sneeves, I hope you like pineapple.”
“Why is that?” he asked suspiciously.
I smiled. “Because you’re going to be chopping a lot of it today.”
Three and a half hours later, I snapped the lid onto the last container of Fairy-Tale Ambrosia and set it in the subzero.
“That should do it.” I turned to Mr. Sneeves, who was leaning against the counter, wiping his brow with his kerchief. As we’d been mixing the batches of ice cream, Once upon a Scoop had been swamped with an after-school rush of customers, and because I was the one who knew the Fairy-Tale Ambrosia recipe by heart, Mr. Sneeves was the one who had dealt with the customers.
Now he was kneading his hands, which were chafed and red from scooping. “I can’t feel my fingertips,” he mumbled.
“It’s just a little frostbite,” I deadpanned.
I nearly burst out laughing when he actually looked alarmed, but decided not to push my luck that much. “Kidding!” I said, then added, “soak them in some warm water for a few minutes and they’ll feel better.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t seem to have the energy for a rebuke. Instead, he surprised me by muttering, “Thank you. For making the ice cream.”
I nodded. “You’re welcome.” I glanced at my watch. Aue! Rehearsal was in fifteen minutes, and it would so not be good to show up late, today of all days. “I have to go.”
Mr. Sneeves stared at me in disbelief. “What? Now? But who’s going to deal with customers until the parlor closes? And clean up afterward?”
I shrugged, stifling a smile. “What are you doing right now, Mr. Sneeves?”
I tossed him a pair of fairy godmother wings and a ruffly purple apron. Then, without another word, I left the parlor.
“Malie.” Signora Benucci glided toward me. “It’s so good to see you.”
I smiled. “I’m so glad to be here.” The studio was a bustle of activity; the entire Cinderella company was here and warming up to dance. I soaked in the soundtrack of the room—the chattering of the milling dancers, the classical music playing in the background, the muted thunking of ballet shoes on the wood floor. Omigod, I’d missed this place!
“First things first.” Signora Benucci’s tone was all business. “Do you feel you can do this? You’ve missed over a week of rehearsals. Normally I’d never allow this type of break in protocol …”
“I know I can.” There was no room for doubt. Not if I was going to seize this chance.
She nodded. “We’ll need Will for the pas de deux, and a run-through of Cinderella’s dance with her mice friends. Now—”
“What’s going on?” Violet was marching toward us, her expression indignant. If she still felt any worry over Mom losing her job, there was no sign of it now. “I just heard that Malie was getting her part back?”
“If she shows me that she can dance the part,” Signora Benucci said.
“But I’ve had the part for over a week!” Violet cried. “You can’t do this! It’s so unfair.”
“No,” Signora Benucci replied matter-of-factly. “Unfair would be not giving her the chance to prove herself when she’s missed rehearsals for circumstances beyond her control.”
“But—but—” Violet held up a pair of silver glittering pointe shoes. “The costume’s already been altered. And there’s only one pair of Cinderella pointe shoes! There’s no way Malie’s feet are the same size as mine! Look!” She laid the shimmering silver pointe shoes beside my feet. It was obvious. They were much too small for my feet.
“I still have my pointe shoes,” I said to Signora Benucci, “but the toe boxes are dead. I could wear them at the performance if I have to, but I’m not sure they’ll hold up—”
“Will these do?” a voice said behind me.
My heart danced in my chest. No. It couldn’t be—
I spun around to see Lanz standing there in the studio. He held a pair of glittering pointe shoes in his hand.
“I added a pair on to Mom’s order form for you,” he said casually, as if it was no big deal he was standing here, Stateside. As if he’d never been gone at all. “In case you changed your mind about dancing. I always had faith in you.”
I couldn’t wait through another word. “Lanz!” I threw my arms around him with so much force that we both staggered backward, nearly toppling.
“Wow!” Lanz laughed into my ear. “Now that’s a welcome home.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “What’s this now? You didn’t miss me, did you?”
“More than you know,” I whispered into his ear. Heat rose to my face. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
“Ovviamente! Of course! This is my home now. And I wasn’t going to miss seeing you perform as Cinderella. Not for a million sundaes.”
“But—but you left. You said you were going back to Italy to be with your dad—”
“For the week. For a visit. Mom picked me up from the airport a few hours ago.” His eyes lit up in that familiar, disarming way, and it was all I could do to keep from throwing my arms around him again. “The annual gelato festival came to Milan this week. Dad flew me out for it.” His smile widened. “We won an award for best new flavor. Fairy-Tale Ambrosia. Of course, Dad added a few new ingredients, marshmallow cream and—”
My second hug, tighter than before, muffled the rest of his words. Then I pulled back. Everything about him—his unkemp
t curls and velvet brown eyes, his cutely crooked teeth—seemed to have grown even more adorable in the time we’d been apart. Oh, my heart. It was a puddle.
“Did you get my email?” I asked softly.
A tenderness came into his eyes as he nodded. “You said everything I needed to hear.” He tucked a finger under my chin, lifting it toward his face. I closed my eyes, and—
“Um, excuse me,” Violet interrupted. “I hate to break up the reunion, but are we going to see whether Malie can dance this part or what?”
We stepped apart. My cheeks flamed as I realized Signora Benucci’d been witnessing everything with wide, wondering eyes. Now she cleared her throat delicately but meaningfully. “Yes. I see those English lessons have been going very well.” She raised an eyebrow at Lanz.
“Now don’t throw any shoes at me, Mammina,” he laughed.
“Hmm … we’ll talk later,” she said, but she was smiling. “After this rehearsal, which we need to start. Now.”
“Va bene,” he said to her. “I’ll go. But first …” He knelt at my feet. “Adesso, let’s see if the shoe fits.”
Gently, he unlaced my sneakers, and then slid on the Cinderella pointe shoes as I held my breath.
“Well?” He glanced up at me expectantly.
I flexed my feet, then slowly rose onto my toes in a relevé, testing the shoes. I smiled, feeling regal. “They’re perfect.”
“We’ll see how you dance in them,” Violet said stiffly.
Signora Benucci looked wary as she studied the new pointe shoes. “You haven’t broken them in yet …”
“It’s all right,” I said. I flexed my feet again, knowing by feel that later, I’d have to crush the toe boxes. Instinct told me what I’d need to do to make them my own. “I can wear them for today.” I looked at Signora Benucci. “I’m ready.”
Violet gave an almost imperceptible huff as Signora Benucci nodded. “We’ll start with the opening number.”
Lanz offered me one last swoon-worthy smile before he left the studio. I smiled, my heart beating in anticipation of when I’d have my next moment alone with him. I wanted to hear about his time with his dad, and to fill him in on everything he’d missed while he was away. And—oh—I wanted that missed kiss.
But first, there was something I had to do. Instinct sharpened my focus until that welcome, familiar feeling of intensity and purpose solidified my resolve.
Dance. This moment was for dance.
Signora Benucci readied the music while the other dancers moved to the outskirts of the floor to watch. I took my spot at the center of the room.
The music began, and, seamlessly, as if I hadn’t missed a day’s rehearsal, I danced. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks melted away, until it was my body and the music. Everyone fell into silence as they watched, but that didn’t matter to me. Nothing mattered except the unbridled joy I felt.
I worked my way through the first three numbers before Signora Benucci called for a break. I glanced around the room and saw several people whispering, and Violet staring at the floor, looking uncharacteristically reserved. I held my breath, waiting, wondering if I’d done it.
“Malie.” Signora Benucci smiled at me. “You are our Cinderella.”
My heart thrilled, and I closed my eyes in gratitude, that I’d been given this second chance. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper.
Then I caught a glimpse of Violet’s lip trembling. I understood what that sort of disappointment felt like. I’d been where she was now, just one week ago.
I moved toward her, and before she could protest, I hugged her. “I’m sorry it can’t be both of us.” I meant it. “You’re an incredible dancer.”
“You are,” Signora Benucci said to her kindly. “I’m hopeful that both of you may have futures in dance, if you keep working.”
A stream of emotions crossed Violet’s face—anger, frustration, disappointment—and I wondered how much of her demeanor was shaped by her fear of rejection. Maybe, underneath her stuffy exterior, she was simply fighting for her dreams the only way she knew how.
“You deserve the part,” Violet said quietly, directing her words toward me without making eye contact. “This time. I knew it when I saw you audition. But—” She lifted her eyes to mine in a challenge. “Next season, expect some serious competition.” She held out her hand.
I shook it. “We’ll keep each other on our toes.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “You should really leave the jokes to your boyfriend.”
I blushed at the word, but I knew it fit Lanz perfectly. My heart belonged to him.
“All right, ladies,” Signora Benucci said, her tone all business. “Malie, we need to get you fitted for your costumes. And now I want to run through all of your pas de deux combinations with Will. Violet, I want you dancing with your fairy godmother wings on. You need to get used to wearing them. Your balance will feel different with them on.” When we didn’t move quickly enough, she clapped her hands. “Prontissimo, ladies! We have much work to do.”
I hurried toward the changing room, where I could already see the seamstress waiting with her measuring tape. Someone else was waiting for me, too. Mom.
“Malie,” she breathed. “I—I’m speechless.” She hugged me fiercely. “And so proud.” She wiped at her eyes. “We’ll buy you new pointe shoes first thing tomorrow! You’ll have to save your Cinderella pointes for opening night.”
“Mom … we can’t—”
“We can.” She grinned. “While I was at my job interview, I got ten voice mails from Mr. Sneeves. Ten! Begging me to come back to Once upon a Scoop.”
I gaped. “No way. What did you say?”
“That I’d have to think about it.” She sniffed. “Until he offered me twice the salary, two extra weeks’ vacation each year, and agreed to let me hire three additional employees for the parlor.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s amazing!”
“Oh yes,” she went on, “and you and Lanz can stay on, too. I’m giving Lanz the title of junior ice cream maker.” She gave me a meaningful look. “But you won’t need to work as many hours now, which means you’ll have more time for this.” She waved her hand at the studio. “As much time as you want.”
My eyes welled with relief and happiness. After all this time, Mom finally understood me. Or maybe we finally understood each other better.
“Thank you.” I hugged her again, my heart swelling. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “I’ll never discourage you from your dream again. That’s a promise.”
After the seamstress took my measurements for the costumes, I went back to the rehearsal. Mom stayed to watch some of it, then headed home to start dinner. The rehearsal was exhausting, but amazing. When we were done and everyone had changed back into their street clothes, I was the last dancer to leave the dressing room. I walked through the studio hallway, dance bag in hand, humming happily.
And then, standing before me, was Lanz. Right in the spot where we’d first met. I realized he was probably waiting for his mom, who was still in the office. Lanz and I faced each other, alone.
“Congratulations, Malie.” He beamed at me, and I felt my heart jump again. “You did it! Your wish came true.”
“You’re right. Except …” I trailed off and blushed, not sure I had the courage to do what I was about to do. I felt as nervous as Cinderella before the ball.
“Except what?”
“I have another wish.”
He whistled. “Now you’re being greedy.” I laughed, then he added, “If you need another wish granted, you better go find your fairy godmother.”
I shook my head and my face blazed, but I pushed on. “Only you can grant me this wish.” I stepped closer to him.
His eyes twinkled, but his face was serious. “What is this wish?”
“To have a kiss.”
“From Prince Charming?”
I rolled my eyes. “This Cinderella doesn’t need a pr
ince to rescue her. But …” I smiled. “I’ll take the kiss. From you.”
“Now that,” he whispered as he cupped my face in his hands, “is one fantastico wish.”
He brought my lips to his, and the world spun. This was magic. Not fairy-tale magic, but a better kind—the kind that was real.
I stood in the wings, staring out at the stage. A dozen dancers in mouse costumes were taking their marks, getting ready for the curtain to rise. Behind them was a painted backdrop showing the castle, and an elaborately constructed fireplace prop. In just a few minutes, I’d be dancing by that fireplace, sweeping imaginary cinders from its glowing hearth.
“Hold still for one more second,” Jen, the conservatory’s seamstress, said around the needle and thread between her teeth. She was sewing me into the first of the five costumes I’d be wearing tonight—this one a long-skirted peasant dress that Cinderella wore before her transformation from servant to princess.
The backstage area buzzed with activity. Parent volunteers rushed from one dressing room to another, carrying heaps of tulle and sequined costumes while dancers added final sweeps of blush or lipstick to their stage makeup.
“Does anyone have more bobby pins?” Natalie, aka Cinderella’s stepmother, called out as she fussed over a strand of hair that had sprung loose from her bun. One of the stepsisters came to her aid while the other panicked over a snag in her tights.
“One more pic,” Violet said as she snapped a selfie with her friends, and then immediately set about posting it on social media.
Other dancers were stretching, or lacing up their pointe shoes. It was blissful chaos—the kind that made my blood sing with energy. I’d already gotten my good-luck hugs from Tilly, Andres, Mom, and Lanz. Andres had promised to film the entire ballet so that I could send it to Dad later, and so that Ethan and Eve could watch it when they got back from the Invention Convention. When the curtain rose, so many people I loved would be just beyond the spotlight in the front row, watching as I took my first steps as Cinderella.
Sundae My Prince Will Come Page 14
