nerves and partly because it sounds good, tell the girl I’ll have the same. Before long we’re seated at a marble-topped table where we make nervous small talk until the girl calls out Daniel’s name, and he returns with two black mugs of steaming mocha.
“You’re a very good dancer.” Daniel smiles as he sets a frothy-topped mug in front of me.
I blink. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” He nods eagerly. “I mean, I’m no expert and I’m guessing your heart wasn’t totally into it, but I could tell you’re good.” “Thanks.” I explain to him what Madame Reginald told me about finding my inner ballerina.
“That makes sense. Sports can be like that, too. You go to the hard place, and you come back stronger.”
“Maybe...”
“I really admire you, Cleo.”
“Why?”
“You’ve been through so much, but you do it with... with...”—he pauses as if searching for the right word—”maybe it’s grace. Yeah, you do it with grace. That’s really admirable. And cool.” He smiles.
I look down at my mocha. If he had any idea... if he knew what role I played in my own mother’s death, what a horrible daughter, what a spoiled brat I really am... well, he probably wouldn’t even want to talk to me. And who could blame him?
“So I was determined not to bring you down,” he tells me. “And it looks like I’ve already done that.”
I look up at him, longing not to blow this moment, wishing I were someone else or that this were a few weeks earlier. “No, you’re not bringing me down. I’m just already there. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very good company.”
“No, you’re fine, Cleo.” He begins talking about other things, telling me about his plan to work at his dad’s radio station this summer.
“Will you be a DJ?”
He chuckles. “I wish. No, I’ll be more like a gopher. I work there every summer, and I’ve only been on the air a few times. But that would be cool.”
“You’d probably be good at it. You have a nice voice.”
“Thanks.” He actually does some little DJ narrative, which is really pretty good.
“Sounds like you’ve been practicing.”
“I keep trying to talk Dad into giving me a chance. You never know.”
We continue to talk about nothing and everything, and finally he tells me it’s after six o’clock. “Do you need to get home?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“Kind of.”
I reach for my bag. “Yeah, my aunt will probably start wondering.” Then I tell him about how protective my mom was of me. “And since my aunt is her sister, I suspect she’ll pick up where my mom left off.”
“That must be nice.”
“Nice?” I stare at him in wonder as we both stand. “Are you kidding?”
“My parents got divorced a few years ago.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not big news. Anyway, my mom remarried a guy I don’t get along with, so I asked to live with my dad and my mom didn’t protest.” He opens the door for me.
“Oh...” I try to wrap my head around this as we go out. “Do you miss her?”
“Sometimes.” He presses his lips together with a frown. “And sometimes I just get really angry at her.”
“Angry?”
“You know, for leaving my dad, finding someone else.”
“Oh... yeah.”
“Like maybe it would’ve been easier if she’d died instead.”
I feel slightly stunned by this statement.
“I know, it sounds horrible.” We’re walking back toward the ballet academy now, and I’m guessing he’s parked there. “It’s not something I’m proud of or go around saying ever. But it’s the truth.”
“I think I can understand that.” But the truth is, I don’t really get this. I would much rather have my mom leave my dad and be alive than the way things are. Still, I’m not going to say that.
“Here we are,” he says as we come to a small blue pickup. “My wheels.”
“Nice,” I say as he opens the passenger door for me. I’m surprised he’s such a gentleman, but I
“You’re a very good dancer.” Daniel smiles as he sets a frothy-topped mug in front of me.
I blink. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” He nods eagerly. “I mean, I’m no expert and I’m guessing your heart wasn’t totally into it, but I could tell you’re good.” “Thanks.” I explain to him what Madame Reginald told me about finding my inner ballerina.
“That makes sense. Sports can be like that, too. You go to the hard place, and you come back stronger.”
“Maybe...”
“I really admire you, Cleo.”
“Why?”
“You’ve been through so much, but you do it with... with...”—he pauses as if searching for the right word—”maybe it’s grace. Yeah, you do it with grace. That’s really admirable. And cool.” He smiles.
I look down at my mocha. If he had any idea... if he knew what role I played in my own mother’s death, what a horrible daughter, what a spoiled brat I really am... well, he probably wouldn’t even want to talk to me. And who could blame him?
“So I was determined not to bring you down,” he tells me. “And it looks like I’ve already done that.”
I look up at him, longing not to blow this moment, wishing I were someone else or that this were a few weeks earlier. “No, you’re not bringing me down. I’m just already there. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very good company.”
“No, you’re fine, Cleo.” He begins talking about other things, telling me about his plan to work at his dad’s radio station this summer.
“Will you be a DJ?”
He chuckles. “I wish. No, I’ll be more like a gopher. I work there every summer, and I’ve only been on the air a few times. But that would be cool.”
“You’d probably be good at it. You have a nice voice.”
“Thanks.” He actually does some little DJ narrative, which is really pretty good.
“Sounds like you’ve been practicing.”
“I keep trying to talk Dad into giving me a chance. You never know.”
We continue to talk about nothing and everything, and finally he tells me it’s after six o’clock. “Do you need to get home?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Do you?”
“Kind of.”
I reach for my bag. “Yeah, my aunt will probably start wondering.” Then I tell him about how protective my mom was of me. “And since my aunt is her sister, I suspect she’ll pick up where my mom left off.”
“That must be nice.”
“Nice?” I stare at him in wonder as we both stand. “Are you kidding?”
“My parents got divorced a few years ago.”
“Really? I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not big news. Anyway, my mom remarried a guy I don’t get along with, so I asked to live with my dad and my mom didn’t protest.” He opens the door for me.
“Oh...” I try to wrap my head around this as we go out. “Do you miss her?”
“Sometimes.” He presses his lips together with a frown. “And sometimes I just get really angry at her.”
“Angry?”
“You know, for leaving my dad, finding someone else.”
“Oh... yeah.”
“Like maybe it would’ve been easier if she’d died instead.”
I feel slightly stunned by this statement.
“I know, it sounds horrible.” We’re walking back toward the ballet academy now, and I’m guessing he’s parked there. “It’s not something I’m proud of or go around saying ever. But it’s the truth.”
“I think I can understand that.” But the truth is, I don’t really get this. I would much rather have my mom leave my dad and be alive than the way things are. Still, I’m not going to say that.
“Here we are,” he says as we come to a small blue pickup. “My wheels.”
“Nice,” I say as he opens the passenger door for me. I’m surprised he’s such a gentleman, but I
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