She explained combinations I couldn’t pronounce and even corrected my posture.
Scott filmed her practicing in the hallway.
“Future superstar,” he announced.
“Delete that,” Audrey said, laughing.
One night, Audrey mentioned that Mia hadn’t made the advanced group.
By the fourth week, Audrey stopped showing us her steps.
“Derek says she’ll try again,” she said.
“Maybe you’ll perform together someday.”
“Maybe,” Audrey replied, without enthusiasm.
Later, Derek remarked, “Kids put so much pressure on themselves. Make sure Audrey knows there’s more to life than dancing.”
It sounded like ordinary parenting advice.
By the fourth week, Audrey stopped showing us her steps.
Her shoes stayed zipped in her bag. She ate upstairs. I assumed she was exhausted.
“How was class?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn?”
“Stuff.”
Her shoes stayed zipped in her bag. She ate upstairs. I assumed she was exhausted.
When the studio emailed about spring recital auditions, I asked Audrey what she’d chosen.
She once practiced through a sprained wrist until I stopped her.
Her fork stopped.
“I’m not auditioning.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not ready.”
She once practiced through a sprained wrist until I stopped her.
“Did your teacher say something?” I asked.
Over the next two weeks, things worsened.
“Maybe I don’t feel like giving a report every night,” she snapped, taking her plate upstairs.
Scott found me washing dishes later.
“Teenagers get moody,” he said.
“Audrey’s never acted like this.”
“She’s growing up.”
The following Thursday, Derek pulled into our driveway while I was taking the trash outside.
I wanted to believe him.
Over the next two weeks, things worsened. When I offered new ballet shoes, she snapped, “Can you stop trying to fix everything?” I apologized, bewildered.
The following Thursday, Derek pulled into our driveway while I was taking the trash outside.
Audrey was leaning through his open driver’s-side window, gripping his sleeve.
“But you promised you’d talk to her,” I heard her say.
Audrey turned, released his sleeve, and hurried toward the house.
“Audrey, not now,” Derek replied.
He noticed me before she did.
Audrey turned, released his sleeve, and hurried toward the house.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing,” he said with a smile. “She’s just upset we didn’t stop at the drive-thru.”
“She has dinner waiting.”
Inside, Audrey was crying in the downstairs bathroom.
“Then everybody wins.”
He drove off before I could ask more.
Inside, Audrey was crying in the downstairs bathroom.
“Sweetheart?”
“Go away.”
“It’s none of your business! Just leave me alone!”
“Did Derek upset you?”
“No!”
“Then talk to me.”
She opened the door, cheeks wet.
“It’s none of your business! Just leave me alone!”
She’d never spoken to me that way.
That night, I asked Scott to question Derek.
I stepped aside, more shocked than angry.
That night, I asked Scott to question Derek.
“About a drive-through argument?”
“About why Audrey was crying.”
“You’re reading too much into it. I’ve known Derek thirty years.”
I slept badly.
As the others filed out, a woman with a clipboard approached.
The next afternoon, I swapped shifts and drove to the studio without telling Scott. I wanted to speak to Audrey alone.
I arrived as class ended. Through the glass, I scanned the dancers at the barre. Audrey wasn’t there.
As the others filed out, a woman with a clipboard approached.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Audrey’s mother. Is she in another room?”
The woman introduced herself as Ms. Alvarez, Audrey’s teacher.
“Your daughter hasn’t told you anything, has she?”
Her smile faded. She closed the classroom door and turned back to me.
“Your daughter hasn’t told you anything, has she?”
My stomach tightened.
“Told me what?”
She led me into an empty office.
“Your daughter hasn’t attended class in almost two weeks.”
“She stopped lessons because she said you didn’t think she was talented enough.”
I stared. “She comes here three days a week.”
“To the building, yes. But she stopped lessons because she said you didn’t think she was talented enough.”
