Overture (Ambler Elite #1) ★

8. Mindy the Tyrant

Mrs. Princeton must have called from Studio C, because everyone started filing back into the hallway. I finished unknotting my shoe and reached into my bag for my new one, hurrying as fast as I could.

A door slammed. I looked up and saw Mindy standing right in front of it—we were the only ones left in the room.

Great. There was no equation where this turned out good.

"Hey, Ever," she said, grinning. Her smile was dangerous: her chin was pointy and her beady eyes flashed and her lips curled under, like she was sizing you up for attack. She definitely wasn't the friendliest. "Having trouble there?"

"No. Just switching out my pointe shoes."

"Why?"

I tugged on my new shoe, gritting my teeth. "Because I put on the wrong one by accident." Go on, laugh. "So I'm fixing it."

"No, I mean why bother?"

Why did people keep asking me that? I was here to dance just like everybody else. Why did Mindy or Paige or anyone else have an issue with that?

I knotted my shoe with a decisive yank and tucked the ribbon, then stood. "I'm first up in act two, so I should head out."

"No, I don't think you should." She twisted the doorknob, opening the door a hair. "I don't think Snow will miss you much at all."

What?

"I'm leaving, but you're going to stay in here. Just for a while, okay?"

"Mindy—"

She jumped out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. Click. That was the lock. Perfect.

I pounded on the door and heard her laugh on the other side. "Don't you have something better to do?" I demanded. "Like dance?"

"I'm Dewdrop, sweetie. I'm not due in that room for at least twenty more minutes."

"But I am." I heard strains of my Snow music filtering through the hallway. Mrs. Princeton was going to be furious at me for missing it. "Mindy, come on. This isn't funny."

"You're right, it's not. But I owe Paige a favor, and here it is. I don't like being in debt."

"What's Paige have against me anyway?"

She had to yell to be heard through the flimsy dressing room door. "It's not my job to ask questions."

"So you just listen to an eighth grader? How old are you, eighteen?"

"I have my reasons."

So Paige had major dirt on her. Was that how it worked around here? Was blackmail the currency of choice?

Next I heard retreating footsteps. Really? Mindy was going to abandon me in here? I pounded on the door again, but there were no voices on the other side. Was I trapped in here for the rest of rehearsals? I might as well slam my ankle into the wall and claim I broke it. At least then Mrs. Princeton wouldn't hate me for not showing.

The Snow music died down. Mrs. Princeton was probably giving feedback now. I needed that feedback so I could improve, so I could prove to her that I was worthy of getting a bigger part in the next show. And sitting here on the bench, watching the clock on the wall tick time away, was so not helping.

Someone rattled on the doorknob and I jumped up. A second later it swung open and two Level 10 girls walked inside, laughing. It was a coincidence—they looked like they were in here for water or bandages or something—but it saved me. I scurried past them and down the hallway, stepping across the threshold into Studio C just as the Snow music started again.

Just like that, the music stopped. I froze and felt all eyes on me, trapping me. I didn't want to look in the corner and see Paige or Mindy preening.

"Ms. Avery." Mrs. Princeton's voice was cold—like negative degrees cold. "We value promptness at our rehearsals. "What was so important that it was worth being late?"

I swallowed and felt like everyone could hear the saliva slipping down my throat. This time I made the mistake of looking to my side. Sure enough, Mindy was grinning.

"Ms. Avery?"

"I'm sorry." Do better than that. "Um, I was delayed. It won't happen again."

"It better not. Take your mark; we're running from the beginning. I hope you know all the steps."

I hoped I did, too, especially since I wasn't in prime performance mindset right now. I slipped past a row of dancers to reach the side that represented the wings. As I brushed past Riley's shoulder, he caught my arm and murmured, "You okay?'

"Fine." I was actually not fine. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes. I hated being called out, especially when it wasn't my fault. Why was Paige after me? Why did Mindy have to join in? Why couldn't I get through one day of class drama-free?

The music started and I blinked away tears, determined to push through. One by one we entered "stage", and when it was my turn I felt like every watched me with pure judgment.

"Stay in line!" called Mrs. Princeton. "That sauté's on one. One two three four."

I couldn't concentrate on anything except the dance. No Mindy, no Paige, no Riley. I couldn't afford a single mistake. My next sauté was right on time, and I fell right into formation.

"Arabesque stays at forty-five degrees, Ever! Forty-five degrees!"

My cheeks flamed red. On a normal day I'd accept corrections for what they were—genuine encouragement to improve—but today they stung. I couldn't do anything right.

Exit stage. I had a few counts to rest. Breathing heavily, I pushed tendrils of my bun back behind my ear. Then more bourrées, and I was back on stage.

It got better. Like always, dance worked its magic on me. I couldn't stay mad when I was dancing Nutcracker, my favorite ballet of all time. Not when the Christmas season was fast approaching, when the familiar music streamed through the speakers, when I got exhilarated just as the thought of white tutus and Nutcrackers and late nights at tech rehearsals. No matter where I was in my love-hate relationship with ballet, Nutcracker was always there for me. One hundred percent of the time.

"All right, good," said Mrs. Princeton when the music ended. "Good. Not bad for the time you've had on it. I want you to work on your lines—on staying in formation—in future rehearsals. Got that, Ava?"

Mrs. Ava nodded, pursing her red lips.

"Any feedback from anyone else?"

I shifted from shoe to shoe, silently begging. Please let Mindy and Paige keep their mouths shut. Just this one. Pretty please.

Nobody said anything.

"Great!" called Mrs. Princeton, clapping her hands. "Let's move on."

For once, I'd been spared. I thanked all the dance gods and took my seat at the mirror.