Overture (Ambler Elite #1) ★

4. The Not-So-Perfect Lauren

Wednesday afternoon found me sitting inside Ambler two hours before class, which was pretty much heaven for me.

As much as I hated all the drama that went on inside these walls, when it was empty the studio was like a baby sleeping. Peaceful. Quiet. Afternoon sunlight coated the lobby and the studio floors, and I was the first to flick on the light in the dressing room. I felt at home here.

Mom had a call with her agent to discuss a new book deal so she'd had to drop me off at dance early. I didn't mind—I could work on some homework in the dressing room and still have plenty of time to stretch and warm up. Maybe I'd even find an empty studio and run through some choreography for Nutcracker. I couldn't even take the chance that Paige's stupid rumor about Mrs. Princeton cutting dancers was the corps was true. I had to be at my A-game.

The only other person at Ambler was Mrs. Princeton, working behind closed doors in her office. When I walked past it I heard her talking quietly on the phone, her words inaudible. If I got to work in Studio A she might poke her head out and see how hard I was working.

I decided homework could wait and reached for my pointe shoes instead. With my sweats and t-shirt still on, I crossed back through the lobby and creaked open the door to the first studio, which was in plain sight of Mrs. Princeton's office, the lobby, and the parking lot. I usually hated working in here because everyone could see me, but today I didn't care. There was no one here to judge.

I worked for over an hour. After I warmed up I ran through some of the combos Mrs. Ava gave us last night, including the turning exercise that wasn't too hard once I wasn't distracted by Paige or Riley. Then I went through some petit and grand allegro until my legs burned from all the jumping and my lungs begged for water.

Smoothing back my sticky hair, I went back into the lobby just as the studio's front door opened. A tall, thin, blonde-haired woman stepped inside—a mirror image of her daughter Lauren. The woman who had to be Mrs. Reinhart rapped on Mrs. Princeton's office door and then stepped inside.

I recognized her from Nutcracker auditions—she'd watched, and when I left after being cut she told me I'd done well. She was super nice, which I assumed was Lauren's default personality, too, except Paige had a way of scooping all the worst out of you.

The office door shut behind Mrs. Reinhart, but not entirely—it was cracked open just a hair, so their voices filtered out. I plopped down on the wooden bench facing the door and put on a great show of untying my pointe shoes, keeping my ears pricked.

"I know we've spoken about this before," started Mrs. Reinhart softly, "but I think I'm going to have to pull Lauren out of dance. I just wanted to talk to you first—it'll break her heart when I let her know."

Silence. Either Mrs. Princeton hadn't said anything or my hearing was bad.

"As you know, Lucas lost his job a few months ago and it's been incredibly difficult keeping everything together. His hard work and my teaching isn't enough, especially with Lauren in private school at Lincoln. And her brother William expects to start there next year."

Wait, Lauren had financial trouble? Since when? Dancing at Ambler wasn't cheap. Even after you paid for the hours and hours of weekly classes, there were audition and performance costs, pointe shoes, leotards...not to mention the physical therapy if she got hurt. And I didn't know too much about fashion, but I could've sworn I'd seen in her looking just as trendy as Paige, who owned a mansion in Ambler's historic downtown district.

Could it be that the Clique's glittering, perfect lives weren't as transparently flawless as I'd thought?

"I don't even know about this month's tuition, Sheri," continued Mrs. Reinhart. "I'm sorry. I really am. We've been scraping together everything we can to help Lauren with this dream of hers, but I don't think we can do it anymore."