Overture (Ambler Elite #1) ★

8. Mindy the Tyrant

The room was packed with dancers, so full there wasn't an empty gap along the wall, but nobody dared say a word with Mrs. Princeton in the room. Countless eyes followed her to her trademark blue stool. Once she sat down, she crossed her legs and said, "Let's start with the overture. Party guests, get ready."

Just like that, we were off. Rehearsals had only been in session for a few weeks, but everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Most of these people had probably been at Ambler their whole lives; they grew up watching these dances, and when it was their turn to perform them they were already familiar with the choreography. I wasn't like that—I was just the new girl here. I felt like I'd missed out on some unspoken initiation.

For the entire first act, Mrs. Princeton would run a dance through and then offer critique. Mrs. Ava or the other teachers sometimes chimed in from the doorway. Then she'd open up comments to the rest of the dancers. A few Level 9 or 10 girls would raise their hands to offer advice, but nobody else was brave enough. I knew I wasn't. I sat against the mirror, rubbing the frayed tip of my pointe shoes, and observed. That was all I knew how to do.

There was a hiccup at the battle scene because the mice were eight-year-olds who got thrown off my such a large audience. Riley, the Nutcracker prince, guided them through it, grinning so they knew not to be afraid of him. Of course he was good with kids, too. Ugh.

Then act one was at a close, and Mrs. Princeton dismissed everyone for a water break. Both of my parts were in the second act and I hadn't danced at all, but it was stuffy in Studio C and I was thirsty. Plus, I wanted to shake off some of the nerves because I was the first dance of act two.

Becca and Coral followed me out in the hallway, squeezing past groups of gossiping dancers. Paige, Lauren, Jordyn, and Summer slipped into the wardrobe closet that connected to Studio A—their favorite gossip spot. No doubt they wanted to make fun of everyone they'd just seen dance. Naturally, Paige would expect them to praise her, too. She lived off of applause.

"I thought everyone did really well so far," said Becca, pausing to fill her water bottle at the fountain. While we waited, she added, "We've got so many rehearsals left. If it's this good already there's no reason it shouldn't be flawless by show time."

"Yeah," piped up Coral. "And much as I hate to admit it, Paige did really well."

Becca was finished filling her water, so I stepped up to fill mine. "So was Riley. The battle scene's got to be tough to pull off with all those little kids."

"He does Nutcracker every year," said Becca. "He's used to it."

"What about Finn? Doesn't he ever get leads?"

"Finn started at Ambler this year, too." Becca took a giant sip of water and capped her bottle. "He's a newbie just like you. Everyone already knows him from Lincoln."

"Except Riley," said Coral. "He's going into Ambler High."

By now, everyone had moved from Studio C to the hallways and dressing room, and it was crowded. Dancers pushed past each other, throwing bottles and sewing kits and warm-ups back and forth, shouting about act one.

I looked down at my shoes and realized I'd put an old dead shoe from my dance bag on my right foot instead of my new pair—I was so lucky I noticed it before I went back it. Slipping away from Becca and Coral, I weaved through the crowd into the dressing room, picking up my bag from the corner.

I had a hoarding problem with pointe shoes. I kept the dead pairs weeks after I was done with them for no other reason than it hurt me to throw them away. Pointe shoes were expensive. Tossing a pair was ninety bucks out the window, just like that.