by Gail Nall
Mom notices them at the same time. “Isn’t that Ellery? Why don’t you go say hi, Kaitlin?” She gives me a little push in their direction.
“No, they look busy. I don’t want to bug her.” Ellery hasn’t called or texted me in forever.
“I bet she’ll be glad to see you. Go on, now.” Mom gives me another push.
I look to Dad for help. He just grins at me.
I walk as slowly as I can toward the booth while pretending like I’m really interested in the dancing reality show blaring from the huge TVs hanging on the walls. Why does Mom always do this? I don’t even know these people, except Ellery. Maybe I should act like I’m looking for the bathroom and then pretend to spot her.
Yep, I’m totally searching for the bathroom and not trying to avoid awkward conversation. Don’t pay any attention to the girl who’s eyeballing the wood-paneled wall like it’s the most interesting thing ever.
Just as I reach the booth, I look toward the left and put on a surprised face as Ellery meets my eyes. I wave. She waves back and then starts chatting again with the guy sitting across from her.
No way am I stopping to talk. Especially since it seems like she wants nothing to do with me. I take a decisive step toward the imaginary bathrooms and almost walk right into a huge tray of pizzas and drinks blocking the middle of the aisle.
“Sorry, miss. Be just a minute.” The waiter grabs a couple of drinks and some straws off the tray to give to the booth behind Ellery’s.
Great. Now I’m stuck here next to Ellery with nothing to say. Thanks, Mom.
“So . . . um . . . how’s everyone at the rink?” I finally ask.
Ellery looks up from her conversation. “Oh. They’re fine. How’s the Fall Down Club?” She giggles. The scrawny guy sitting across from her laughs. He probably has no idea what she’s talking about.
“Good,” I say. “Great, actually. I’m working on a new program that’s totally different from anything I’ve done before.”
Ellery gives me her full attention. “This close to Regionals? What was wrong with your old program?”
“It was kind of boring, don’t you think? And I’m really close to landing my triple salchow.” In my dreams. But of course I don’t say that to Ellery.
She tilts her head. “But you just started working on it a couple of months ago.”
“My new coach has this great technique he’s teaching me. I’m so close to it. Of course, I’m not allowed to do it in my program, but I might test up to Intermediate.” Now I’m just making stuff up. Aside from my first lesson, Greg hasn’t even mentioned working on the triple sal. Or testing up.
“That sounds really hard,” the dark-haired girl sitting next to Ellery says. “Can you do that, Ells?”
Ellery’s shoulders tense up. “I’m working on it.” Which is hilarious, because Ellery hasn’t even landed her double axel yet.
“And I’m going to start ice dance, too.” It’s like my mouth won’t stop. The words bubble up in my throat and fall out before I realize what I’m saying. It’s just like Praterville.
“I didn’t think you were into dance,” Ellery says.
“That was before I had a partner,” I lie.
“That sounds so romantic.” Ellery’s friend sighs.
Ellery shrugs. “Whatever. I hope he’s cute, at least. I’m just sticking to what I do best. Singles.”
The dark-haired girl giggles and pokes Ellery in the ribs. “I know who you’d like to dance with.” She nods at the guy across the table.
Ellery flushes. “Cut it out.”
I’ve never seen Ellery get embarrassed. Ever. It’s weird, so I look away. The closest TV shows a couple twisting and twirling to some tense music. Kind of like my new program piece. “And I’m going to learn to dance.”
“Yeah, you just said that.” Ellery’s face is back to a normal color, and she’s frowning at me.
“No, actual dancing. Like that.” I point to the TV, where the couple is gazing into each other’s eyes as they sashay around the dance floor.
“Ooh, I’d love to learn ballroom dance!” Ellery’s friend says.
Ellery doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking. Which seems to be my thing tonight.
“And guess who’s in all my sessions? Jessa Hernandez.”
Ellery swirls a bread stick in some marinara sauce. “I thought she retired.”
“She just took some time off. She’s going to make a huge comeback. And she’s helping me with my triple sal. Oh, we got a table. See you later!” I run off toward my parents. If I stood there any longer, I’d probably start telling Ellery I’d already qualified for the Olympic team. I can’t believe I made all that stuff up. And then said it out loud!
“Are you all right, Pumpkin?” Dad asks as I slip into the booth. “Your face is bright red.”
“Oh, yeah . . . I’m fine.”
“How is Ellery? Is she ready for Regionals?” Mom asks.
“She’s okay. I guess she’s ready. I didn’t talk to her much. She’s with a bunch of friends from school.”
“I’m surprised her mother hasn’t started homeschooling her yet. I don’t know how she’ll find enough time to practice once school starts again.”
I stab a bread stick with my fork and take a bite before Mom can say anything about it. Ellery was almost always at the rink before and after school. She didn’t seem to have any problems balancing school and skating.
“Did you tell your father about your new program?” Before I can answer, Mom launches into a detailed description of my new music and how it will benefit my skating. Dad just smiles and nods. Mom’s been talking nonstop about the program since Monday.
I swallow the last of the bread stick and fidget with my napkin. From a few booths down, I hear Ellery and her friends laugh. I guess that’s what happens when you go to normal school. You have friends to get pizza with. And you share secrets. Then they tease you about the guy you like.
It looks . . . fun. I wish I went to school.
But that won’t ever happen. I glance at the TV across from our booth. It’s showing another couple in a studio lined with mirrors, where the guy is teaching the girl some dance steps.
Maybe talking to Ellery wasn’t a complete waste of time after all.
“Hey, Mom,” I say. “I have an idea that I think will help with my new program.”
At practice the next day, I go through the program over and over and over. Learning the order of everything in a program is pretty easy. Actually doing it all—and doing it well—is the hard part. At the very end of the last afternoon session, I finally land all the jumps and push through the spins. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all. In fact, maybe Greg will be so impressed when he sees it, he’ll let me work on the triple salchow. Then at least something I told Ellery will be true.
Well, that and the dance lessons. Mom was so excited about the idea of me learning to dance for real in order to help my skating that she talked to Greg about it this morning. He agreed, so Mom called up a dance studio and signed me up for a class that starts tonight.
“Where are you off to?” Braedon asks as I follow Mom to the parking lot.
“I’m doing ballroom dancing. For my new program,” I say.
“Like this?” He drops his skate bag and grabs my hands. Before I can say anything, he’s pulling me around in circles between parked cars.
“Kind of!” I’m laughing so hard, I can barely even breathe.
“Dah dah dah dah!” Braedon sings some made-up tune as he swings my arms back and forth.
“Kaitlin?” Mom’s standing by the van, keys in hand. “We have to go. The studio is on the other side of town.”
Braedon drops my hands and bows. Then he waves to Mom, scoops up his skate bag, and runs toward a white car waiting near the rink door.
A little out of breath, I
climb into the passenger seat of Mom’s car.
And it hits me that I was just holding hands with Braedon. I feel warm all over thinking about it.
“Who was that?” Mom asks as she starts the car.
“Braedon,” I answer.
I can tell she wants to ask more questions, but she doesn’t. And I’m glad, because I’m not sure if I’d know the answers.
Chapter Twelve
The dance studio is really just a storefront in a strip mall. It doesn’t look like much, but I’m sure Mom read every review that exists on the Internet before choosing this place. So I’m betting it’s more than just pretty good.
I stand behind a clump of women who are Mom’s age, while Mom takes a spot in one of the chairs that line the far side of the room. There’s only one other person in the chairs, so of course Mom sits right next to her and immediately starts talking. I’m the youngest one here, which feels a little weird. There are a couple of older teenagers, a girl who’s standing right up front and talking to the instructor, and a boy in a baseball cap who looks like he’d rather be playing dolls with his little sister than be stuck here.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” The instructor raises her voice, and everyone quiets down. “This is the beginners’ tango class. I’m Jill, and this is my studio. My partner Fernando will be helping us out tonight.” She points to a tall, lean, dark-haired man propped against the mirrored wall.
“I am Fernando,” he says with a Spanish accent, like Jill hadn’t already told everyone his name. The women in front of me giggle, and Fernando shoots them a smile.
I turn back to Mom. She makes a walking motion with her fingers at me. I shake my head. No way am I moving up front. I’d rather learn to tango without anyone watching me. Besides, the women in front of me might get mad if I block their view of Fernando.
Jill raps her knuckles on the wall, and everyone looks back at her. “We will start with—”
The studio door opens, and in walks Addison and her mother. What in the world are they doing here? I shoot a glance at Mom, but she’s just watching them with her eyebrows raised.
“Sorry I’m late,” Addison says as she brushes past me to stand right in front of the giggling women.
Mrs. Thomas perches on a chair at the end of the row, far away from Mom and the other woman. She pulls out her notebook and pen and her phone.
Jill gives Addison a curt nod. “As I was saying, we will start with the tango hold.” She snaps her fingers at Fernando, who oozes across the floor to meet her. “The lady places her arms like this, and the man like Fernando.”
I stand on my tiptoes to see. The women in front of me giggle again, and Addison’s already imitating Jill. I raise my arms and try to crook my left elbow the way Jill is.
Jill and Fernando move through the group, adjusting everyone’s arms. Mine are starting to ache when Jill finally gets to me.
“No, no. Your left elbow needs to be down more. And your palm like this.” She pulls on my arm until I’m practically wincing.
Okay, if I knew this was going to hurt, I wouldn’t have signed up for it. This is way worse than crashing to the ice on a jump.
“All right, now we’re going to partner up and work on the hold together. And since our ladies clearly outnumber our men, we’ll have to take turns playing each role.” Jill waits while everyone pairs off.
The women in front of me all pair with one another. The older girl snags the red-faced boy in the baseball cap.
Addison looks back at me and then says, “Can I partner with Fernando?”
Jill shakes her head. “Why don’t you go with . . .” She points at me.
“Kaitlin,” I fill in. Great. Tangoing with Addison.
Addison makes a face and slowly moves toward me. “No way am I being the guy.”
“I think we’re supposed to switch off,” I say.
“Whatever. I’m going first, then.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and holds up her arms.
I try to imitate Fernando, but I really wasn’t paying attention to what the guy is supposed to do.
“You’re doing it wrong.” Addison takes my left hand and moves it onto her back.
“Sorry.”
We stand there for a minute waiting, while Jill helps the older women and Fernando demonstrates the correct hold for the boy in the baseball cap.
“So . . . um . . . why are you here?” I finally ask Addison.
“I wanted to learn how to dance. You know, for my skating.”
“But your program is to Phantom of the Opera.” And last time I checked, there’s nothing tango-y about Phantom, but I don’t say that.
Addison shrugs, which is kind of hard to do when you’re standing in an awkward tango hold. “Maybe I’ll do a tango program next year.”
“Okay,” I say. But I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out the real reason she’s here—to make sure I’m not learning anything that’ll make me a better skater than she is. Her mom probably overheard Greg talking about it, and immediately signed Addison up.
Fernando finally glides over to us. He gives us a once-over and clucks his tongue.
“No, no. Like this.” He takes Addison’s hands and almost lifts her off the floor as he shows me exactly how it should look.
Addison’s face goes a little red as Fernando stares her down with this super-intense expression.
“Excuse me.” Mrs. Thomas nudges me aside and starts clicking away with the camera on her phone.
“Mom!” Addison drops her arms and clenches her hands into fists at her sides.
“Good work, honey. You’re a natural.” Her mom pats her on the shoulder before she strolls back to the chairs.
Addison looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. Fernando moves on to the next pair, and I glance back at Mom. She’s busy pecking away at her phone—and probably not the camera app. Mrs. Thomas starts writing in her notebook again.
“What’s your mom always writing?” I ask Addison.
“None of your business.” She crosses her arms and turns to listen to Jill, who’s rapping on the wall again.
Oookay. I try to forget about Addison and pay attention to what Jill’s saying about posture. The rest of the class time is spent practicing the hold while adding some steps. Everything is really quick and snappy. I can see exactly why Greg created the footwork sequence the way he did. It completely fits the whole tango mood.
“Good. Very good,” Fernando says as he passes me testing out steps in front of the mirrors.
I smile at myself. Maybe I can do this tango thing after all.
Or maybe not.
“What are you doing with your arms?” Greg asks as I finish the last turn in the footwork during my lesson on Saturday morning. “You look so stiff.”
“Um, it’s the tango hold I learned at dance class.” I twist my hands together. I thought I was doing a good job of adding in what I’d learned to my program.
A corner of Greg’s mouth tilts up, like he wants to smile. “I see. What you want to take from those classes is more of the feel of tango. The emotion of it,” he says. “Not necessarily the actual dance. And relax your arms a little.”
I thought I was getting the feel of the tango. I mean, I was trying to do the quick feet thing and the arms.
“I think a lesson with Svetlana will help you connect the dance with your skating,” Greg says. “I’ll schedule one with her this coming week. Good work today. I’ll see you on Monday.”
I glide to the boards to collect my stuff, and Braedon scrapes to a stop next to me. “Hey, what are you doing now?”
Is he asking me to hang out with him? I swallow hard and pay close attention to pulling off my gloves as we walk through the doors from the ice. “Just hanging out in the lobby until stretching class.”
He pushes his hair out of his eyes,
and I try not to stare. His eyes are really, really blue.
“We’ve got some time. Want to walk down to the convenience store? I need a Coke, but the snack bar’s closed,” he says.
“Sure, I guess.” My heart leaps around in my chest. “Let me tell my mom.”
“Not enough time, Double Axel. Besides, she looks busy. She’ll never even notice.” He sits on a chair and yanks his skates off.
I glance at Mom. She’s deep in conversation with a couple of other parents. She didn’t even see me get off the ice. I pull my skates off too and stuff my feet into my sneakers.
“C’mon, let’s go.” Braedon leads the way to the front door.
I jog after him, feeling like I’m sneaking out or something. As we walk quickly down the sidewalk toward the corner, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m doing something wrong. I really should’ve talked to Mom. What if she’s looking for me? She’ll freak out when she can’t find me, and I’ll never hear the end of it. I should’ve at least grabbed my phone from my skate bag.
The bell over the door jingles as Braedon pushes it open. He pulls two Cokes from the shelf, and we make our way to the checkout counter.
“Hey, man!” A kid about our age with stringy blond hair is paying for a bag of chips.
A smile slides across Braedon’s face. And I can’t breathe. He’s so cute, with those dimples that only come out when he smiles. I’d noticed how good-looking he was before, but now I’m really seeing it. His bright blue eyes. The dark brown hair that’s just a little too long.
“Will? Hey, what’s going on?” Braedon says to the stringy-haired guy.
“I heard you got kicked out of school last spring,” Will says.
“Not kicked out, really. Just asked to leave,” Braedon says with a grin.
I’m dying to ask what Braedon did to get kicked out.
“Now what? Homeschool?” Will asks.
“Nah. Mom knows I’m no good at that. I think she’s lined up some private school over in East Washington. St. Benedict’s or something.”
“Wonder how long that’ll last?” Will says with a laugh.