Toe to Toe (On Pointe Book 1) by Penelope Freed (comprehension books txt) 📗

“You girls being pests?”

“I’m just so nervous!” Anna says, wringing her hands together. “Olivia?”

“What’s up?”

“Is Hannah here?” I want to roll my eyes so badly, but notice Ms. Parker eyeing me so I restrain myself. Barely.

“I think she’s in a class right now.”

MacKenzie’s face pops up between Ms. Parker and me, a bouncing blonde blob in my peripheral vision. “My mom said we could watch you guys do your contemporary solos tomorrow. Is she before or after you?” I shrug.

“Olivia is up first tomorrow, Hannah is after. I’m so glad you girls are going to come support Olivia and Hannah, that’s the kind of attitude I like to see.” Ouch. Man, Ms. Parker is really dishing out the guilt trips today.

I keep pulling the pins out of Haley’s bun, pretty sure there are more pins than hair. “Haley, who did your hair?” I ask.

“I did. It’s my dad’s weekend and he’s even worse at it than I am.” Haley looks embarrassed, her eyes a little glassy. I give her shoulders a quick squeeze before I start combing her hair back and re-doing the ponytail.

“Oh, trust me, I know how that is. When my dad had to do my buns, they were a mess until I figured out how to do it myself. And then they were a different kind of mess until Ms. Parker taught me how to do them properly.” I don’t tell her I only ever let my dad do my bun once while my mom was sick and I wouldn’t let him touch my hair after she died. Only my mom was allowed to do my hair, not him. My mom had the most beautiful golden hair, just like mine. I remember how she would brush it for me when I was little and she never pulled when there were tangles. I’ve wished so many times that I hadn’t made her stop doing it after my tenth birthday. I was so grown up, I thought only babies let their mom brush their hair. Now, I would give anything to have her back, so she could do it for me one more time.

Ms. Parker never said anything about my hair always falling out that year, but she would quietly squeeze my shoulders and fix it while she kept class going, never making me feel bad about it or stopping class to make a big deal of it. Once, I happened to get to the studio early and she saw me struggling to do it myself, so she patiently taught me. She even let me practice doing a bun on her own long silky hair.

“One of these days I’ll teach you how to do it yourself, but for today we want it to be perfect so I’ll do it for you.” I tell Haley as I pull her dark hair through the ponytail holder. I look up to see Ms. Parker smile at me and mouth “thank you” before I go back to pinning Haley’s hair.

MacKenzie bounces in front of me. “Smile!” She’s holding her phone up and takes a selfie of her and me, my hands buried in Haley’s hair.

“Hey chica, how you feeling?” I ask around the bobby pin I have in my lips, opening it up with my teeth before I slide it into Haley’s hair.

“I’m so nervous!” MacKenzie’s big blue eyes are wide and shiny, her stage makeup making them look even bigger than usual. Her hair is perfectly pulled back and her blue tutu glitters with rhinestones. “But I’m pretending I’m Hannah, she never gets nervous or messes up.” She’s bouncing on her toes and spinning like she can’t keep still, while I can barely contain my sarcastic laughter. Hannah never gets nervous my ass. The girl is a walking, talking bundle of anxiety at these things.

“MacKenzie, go do pliés again,” Ms. Parker eyes her with a raised eyebrow, jerking her chin towards a handrail in the hallway that is serving as a barre for several other girls.

“But…”

“Go. And this time do it slowly, pliés should take longer than thirty seconds.”

MacKenzie scampers off to find a spot along the hallway and I finish up Hayley’s bun. Ms. Parker hands me a matching purple rosette for her hair and I pin it in. “Thanks Olivia!” Hayley squeaks as she turns around and gives me a hug. Her long purple and white tutu swishes around her legs as she hurries off to join MacKenzie.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

Tyler: Do I need to beat someone up?

This is followed by a gif of some MMA dudes going at it. He tries.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re here helping me, instead of in class where you’re supposed to be?” Ms. Parker asks me in a suspiciously casual voice once she sends Anna off to join her friends. “I’m grateful for the help, especially with these three, but you should be in class.”

“I got here late. I didn’t want to be rude.” I explain with a shrug.

“And?”

“And I watched for a minute and he seemed like the kind of teacher who was going to yell at me and make me feel bad. So I decided I would rather come help you.”

“And why were you late?”

“Traffic was bad and I left a little later than I planned on.” Please don’t ask me why I left late. I’m crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping. “Um, should I go help them warm up?” I venture, hoping to distract her.

“You can go do barre with them after you tell me why you were late.”

Damnit.

“Tyler took me to Starbucks and it took longer than I planned. I’m sorry Ms. Parker, it won’t happen again,” I add, like a good little bunhead. But Ms. Parker sees right through me.

“Olivia, I know that doing this competition isn’t the be all, end all for you. But you did commit to being here, so you need to see that through. Don’t let yourself down by