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say." A nanny gave Eliza an apologetic look and gathered the little girl into a Mercedes.
Jacqui began wiping Madison's wet face. "Ignore them."
"What's this?" Mara asked, after Zoe handed her the report cards. Mara read them, appalled at the notes.
"Check this out. I strongly recommend Madison try another dance form. She is not cut out for ballet. It is a waste of time." Mara read aloud.
Eliza nodded. "Madame Suzette's pretty harsh." She too, had endured summers in the upstairs studio, and remembered the ballet mistress's baleful glare.
"This is totally unacceptable," Mara said. "She's only ten years old!"
Jacqui noticed that Zoe was munching on madeleine cookies, but Madison didn't have any. "Did you eat yours already?" she asked.
"Maddy didn't get any," Zoe replied.
"Shut up, Zoe." Madison snapped, humiliated.
"What do you mean she didn't get any?" Mara asked. "Why not?"
"Madame Suzette said she was too fat," Zoe said matter-of- factly.
Mara was so infuriated she couldn't believe her ears. Madison was a healthy child, and so what if she still had a little baby fat around her middle. What kind of person--what kind of teacher--would talk to her students that way?
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"I'm going to give that witch a piece of my mind!" Mara said wrathfully.
"Don't--she's like, French." Eliza said. "She's mean. That's why they send us to her."
"You went here?"
"Yeah. Everyone does. She's famous. She used to date Onassis or something."
"I don't care. You don't treat a kid like that! Look at her!"
Madison was sitting on the floor, hunched over her ballet bag. Mara knew that slouch. It said: No one notice me, please. I'm not worth looking at. Mara had been a little chubby as a kid. She knew what this was like.
"It's not right, Eliza." Jacqui agreed. "Ballet should be fun."
"And Madison loves ballet, don't you?" Mara asked.
"Uh-huh," Madison nodded. She did like it. Other than Madame Suzette, everything else about it was great. The music, the pianos, and every year they put on a recital and got to wear make-up and tutus and everyone came to the show to see them.
"Excuse me? Madame Suzette?" Mara asked.
"Oui?" The sixty year old former ballerina appraised Mara from behind pince-nez glasses.
"I'm Madison's, uh ... guardian," Mara decided. "And about what you
said this afternoon? I don't appreciate you talking to her like that."
"Excusez-moi?" Madame asked. In all her years teaching
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spoiled brats how to plie, this was a first. Usually the mothers were so intimidated by her resume and background, no one ever uttered a squeak of protest. But Mara didn't care if the New York Times had once called Madame "the most exquisite dancer this side of Pavlova."