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

bend my knees deep, push hard against the floor, and pray that I can get through this section. Just as I feel like I can’t do any more, I hit the last balance and my leg is right underneath me. I stay, balancing on one leg suddenly effortless. My body and brain click together and I hold the position for two extra beats, long enough to correct my timing and hopefully impress the judges.

Joy and relief flood through me and I float through the rest of my solo—the delicate circles of my wrists, the joyful movements criss-crossing the stage, all the way to the triumphant series of turns at the end. I finish with a flourish and hold it for a moment before I curtsey and run off the stage. Lisa is waiting for me with my jacket and an excited hug. “Oh my god, I thought you were in trouble but that was amazing!” she whispers to me as the next dancer walks onto the stage.

I hug her back hard, relieved that it’s over. “I thought I was going to completely flop it. The beginning was so bad,” I groan. Lisa shakes her head, but I continue anyway. “Nope, you know it was bad, don’t lie to me. But it’s okay, I saved it. I think. I honestly don’t remember what I did.”

“You totally saved it, Hannah,” Lisa assures me. She gives me one more hug before handing me back my jacket. I shove my arms through the sleeves, zip it up, then hold out my hands for hers.

“Okay, your turn. What number are they on?” I ask.

“I think I have two more?” Lisa says, peering out at the dancer on stage who is just finishing. We listen to the announcer calling on the next soloist and make our way to the wing where Lisa needs to enter. There is just one more dancer to go before it’s her turn.

“You got this Lisa.” I whisper encouragingly. She nods and stands on pointe with both feet, holding my shoulders for balance, then she slowly lifts one toe up to touch her knee. I can feel all the tiny adjustments she’s making to try and find her balance in that position. Slowly, she lifts one hand up above her head, then the other. She balances in that position for a few seconds before coming down with a smile on her face. “Feeling good?” Lisa nods, looking relieved. We stand in the wing together, watching the girl on stage as she struggles to get through a series of Italian fouettés. It’s a really hard step and I wince in sympathy when she loses her balance and has to do a couple of extra hops to get around, and then cringe as she kicks her leg up, her foot in the air loose and floppy instead of sharp and stretched. I feel awful for her, second-hand embarrassment for her making my stomach clench.

She wobbles to a finish and the audience claps politely. Lisa rolls her shoulders and I can see her spine snap to attention as she gets ready to go on stage. She waits for her name, tosses a smile at me over her shoulder, then calmly walks out onto the stage and takes her starting position.

I watch as she sweeps her arms over her head and steps into the first diagonal of the variation, her left leg sweeping up almost up to her ear before circling down in front of her as she travels from one side of the stage to the other. I cross my fingers and hold my breath as she steps backwards into the next series, the one she was struggling with earlier. She only does a single pirouette, instead of the double she usually does, but she lands cleanly. She does single turns three times in a row but on the last one she goes for the double turn. It’s a little wobbly at the end but she manages to save it and continue on. I can see how tired she is by the end of the solo, but she gets to the end without any major mistakes. Her double pirouettes in the last section are beautiful, I know she’ll be happy about that. I watch her curtsy and run off into the wing where I’m waiting for her.

“That was so good!” I whisper as we hug, relieved she’s done. Lisa shrugs her jacket on and gives me a tight smile.

“It was pretty good. I’m mad I singled those turns, but I didn’t want to fall.”

“Yeah, but your doubles at the end were-” I kiss my fingers like an Italian chef and grin.

“Come on, let’s get you ready for Kitri,” Lisa laughs and pulls me towards the dressing room. We scramble to unhook my tutu and change into my Kitri costume. I love this costume. I take a second to admire the black velvet bodice with lace sleeves and the red flounced skirt. The triple tiered skirt is made for swishing. I grab my eyebrow pencil and add fake curls near my ears and one at my temple. Lisa unpins my tiara while I color in the fake curls, then grabs a giant red rose and pins it on the side of my head, nestled up against the edge of my French twist. Stepping back, I admire the whole effect, satisfied in my transformation from regal princess to flirty and vivacious Spanish maiden.

I have time before I need to get back to the side of the stage, so I scroll through my phone while Lisa looks at hers.

Mom: Love you sweetie! Aurora was beautiful, you made me cry

Ms. Parker: Great job Hannah! Proud of the way you managed to get back on track. Deep breaths for Kitri, and use your plie!

Dad: Proud Dad! Love you!

There’s a picture of Katy blowing us kisses from the audience in our group chat. I laugh when I notice Ms. Parker’s disapproving face in the background of her photo. When I hear