His Love

But miraculously, things took a turn. The stock market swung wildly upwards for no apparent reason, and this time, I made sure Mary got her hands on the money.

“Put it in a bank account,” I commanded, eyes serious. “Really Mom, we can’t go through another scare. It’s not cool.”

“Oh of course, of course!” she babbled, waving her hands wildly. “I already put it in our local bank.”

I frowned.

“No Ma, put it in a real bank, not that weird investment club that Mr. James has going downtown. That’s not a real bank, and he’s doing something bizarre. Put it in a national chain, one that we know won’t disappear overnight.”

“Oh of course!” said Mary, airily this time. “Don’t be such a worrywart Kitty. I don’t need a thirteen year-old looking over my shoulder.”

I snorted under my breath, but there was nothing I could do. After all, I was still a minor and the money wasn’t in my name, not technically. But hopefully this time, Mary would be a little wiser.

Besides, now I was at Miss Harrison’s dance school, and the lessons were going amazingly well. Even though I’ve never done ballet in my life, the steps were like magic and the music moved my soul. I loved every part of it, rising to the challenge.

“Higher, higher!” Miss Harrison would call. “Lift your leg straight up, like a string’s pulling it from the ceiling.”

I arched backwards while raising my toe, and evidently, that was the right thing to do because Miss Harrison applauded wildly.

“Bravo Kitty! Beautiful, girls, look at Kitty. Isn’t that the perfect arch?”

Even with my head almost touching the ground, I flushed. Because compliments have always made me embarrassed, and now was no exception. But I love ballet. I love the passion of the dance and how it takes me away from things like high school and money problems. As a result, the compliment made me flush happily.

So when the scholarship to NYC Academy of Dance came through, it was a dream come true.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, running into the kitchen where Mary sat in front of her sewing machine, hemming a pair of men’s pants. “Oh my god, I got it, I got it!”

I’d received a two-year apprenticeship with the corps. It was a starting position that would pay for all room and board while giving me the opportunity to train with the most elite instructors.

Mary hugged me, pulling pins out of her mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you,” she said in a low voice. “I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Then Ma, why are you crying?” I asked. “It’s going to be awesome.”

She raised one withered hand to stroke my cheek, tilting that gray-haired head.

“My baby girl is growing up, that’s all,” she said softly. “You’re flying the nest. But it’s time,” she said to herself sternly. “You’re seventeen now, and this was always going to happen. You’re talented Kitty, and I’m so proud of you.”

I threw myself into her arms then, burying my face in her shoulder.

“You’ll be fine here, Mom. And I’ll call, okay? We can always talk on the phone, and there’s the internet too. We can video chat. Doesn’t that sound cool?”

I didn’t think Mary was going to be able to figure out how to use the camera on her phone, but maybe, just maybe, she could figure out WhatsApp or FaceTime.

“Video calls do sound wonderful,” she said softly, murmuring into my hair. “Seeing your pretty face on camera will be amazing. And I want you to have a good time in the big city. I want you to knock the socks off all those big-city folks because you’re good enough, Kitty. They’ll adore you, the same way I do.”

I’d sniffled then, sad to leave my mom. But again, the scholarship was like a gift from the heavens, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to see the bright lights of the big city, to train with the best instructors, to work with the best ballerinas and to be spun around by the most talented male dancers.

Except that I’ve been in NYC for three months now, and it hasn’t exactly worked out according to plan. I practice with the corps for sure. I’m surrounded by dancers day in and day out, but it hasn’t been easy. A lot of the other girls are really competitive and mean, and their words are like daggers coated in honey.

My heart dropped when the queen bee of the group, Megan, strolled into the studio early one morning. It was just the two of us so far, and bowing my head once more in a stretch, I tried not to look at her, focusing on the floor.

But no such luck. Immediately, Megan dropped her bag in the corner and turned to face me.

“Kitty, did you put on weight?” she asked, voice as sweet as sugar. “Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”