Amalia Romano is a selective mute. After years of enduring abuse from her step father, who has ridiculed and hurt her mercilessly, she doesn't want to talk, for fear of what might happen if someone doesn't like what she says.
But then her step...
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He replies to it within a few seconds.
DAD: I didn't expect her to be so good. Is she having fun?
ME: Yeah, she likes the teacher.
I follow it up with another picture of Amalia.
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DAD: I had no idea she's so talented. When does the session end?
ME: Half seven.
DAD: Okay.
She has half an hour left. She doesn't look like she wants this to end, and the excitement on her face makes me wish we could stay in this studio for the rest of time, so long as she's happy.
I agree with my dad—I had no idea she was this skilled. I thought she'd be a cutesy jazz dancer, but nothing like this.
Pride surges through me. I continue to watch her for the remaining thirty minutes of her class until she walks out. She doesn't even look tired, and there's a certain bounce in her step that wasn't there before. I smile at her when she walks over to me.
"Hi, angel. Did you have fun?"
She nods, biting her lip. I stand and grab her bag for her.
She holds up her empty water bottle, then looks over at the water fountain. She's going to refill it. I nod, and she walks away. I'm left with her dance teacher.
"She's really good, better than a lot of the students on my junior team. I'd like her to join that one."
"As long as she wants it, she can join whatever team you choose for her. When's the next class?"
"The other person for the duet I mentioned before is coming in tomorrow, so if she can I'd like them to meet and see if they fit well together."
